Junction City, Kansas.
Dear St. Nicholas: I like to read you very much, especially "Under the Lilacs" and "Dab Kinzer." I live in Junction City, and have a very pleasant home. We have a great many wild flowers growing on the prairies. One of them is called the soap plant. Our teacher says its name is "Yucca." It has long slim leaves with sharp edges, and the flower grows on all sides of the stalk, which sometimes is four feet high: the flowers are white. Then we have a sensitive rose. The rose looks like a round purple silk tassel. We have lots more of odd flowers, which I will tell you about some other time.—Yours truly,
Mary Keys.
Bunker Hill.
Dear St. Nicholas: I read an article lately against nicknames and spelling names with "ie," but I don't agree with it. I think when people are grown up their real names look better, but at home, among one's own friends, a pet name is pretty. I don't like to see a nickname in a marriage or death notice, but I do like it for young folks and in the family. They say it is a French fashion to spell names "ie." Whether it is true or not I like it, for all wise people say against it. I know I am only a little girl, and my opinion may not be worth much, but I mean to stand up for it, whatever they say. I suppose every one has a right to her own opinion, and if others don't agree with me, they needn't; but I don't like them to call me "silly" because I don't think as they do. I am willing they should have their own opinions, but I want the same privilege,—isn't that fair? I don't like such nicknames as "Tom" and "Bob," or "Mollie" and "Sallie," but like such as "Charlie" or "Hattie," and I think they look prettier spelt so than they do spelt "Charley" or "Hatty." If other people like them so, I am willing; but I want the right to follow my own choice in the matter, whether others like it or not. I think people have a right to spell their own names as they please.—Your friend,
Allie Bertram.
P.S.—My parents think my name is too pretty to be used so often as to get common, and so they call me "Allie," and I like it. I don't want any one but my friends who love me, and whom I love, to call me "Alma."
Dear St. Nicholas: May I tell you about a miniature fountain my sister and myself made long ago? It was lovely when finished, and fully repaid us for our labor.
We first chose a board, about four feet long, and two feet wide, on the sides of which we nailed laths, to hold the earth we laid upon it, after having bored two holes, one near the middle and the other close in the corner. We then placed the board on a box, and set a barrel near it on blocks that stood about a foot higher than the board.
We now cut a gourd in two, and making holes through the centers, fitted them over those in the board, the large one for the fountain-basin, the small one for a little spring in the corner.
The next thing was to connect this with the barrel by pipes. For this we used reeds, placing a small upright piece in the center of the middle basin, and joining to this a larger reed which ran beneath the board, and was let into the barrel near the bottom. The spring was finished in the same manner, with this exception, that there was no upright piece in the middle. We now searched the woods for moss, bits of twigs, and even some tiny pine and cedar trees, which we planted with other things in the earth banked upon the board. We arranged a small rockery with vines trailing over it; we made paths covered with sand; and laid out tiny dells, and hills and plains. We lined the fountain-basin with shells and the "spring" with moss, and made little water-courses for the overflow; and, after it was all completed, we filled the barrel with water; and, lo! we had the prettiest little garden imaginable, with a fountain spurting and plashing in the center, and a pretty little mossy spring in the corner.
Lillie F. Fales.
Sitapur, Oude, India.
Dear St. Nicholas: The people here live in little mud huts clustered together in rude villages. They worship grotesque idols, wear very odd clothing, and eat strange food. Carpenters, and tailors, and shoe-makers, use their toes almost as much and as well as they use their fingers, and men do the sewing and a great deal of the cooking. Little girls very, very seldom go to school, and are betrothed when they are babies. Little boys do not play ball or such games, but they are very fond of flying the kite.
There are monkeys here by hundreds. They live in groves and eat fruits. These are not monkeys which hang up by their tails at night to go to sleep,—they live in the mountains,—but great big fellows like plump dogs, only their fore-legs are short and their "feet" are hands.
The other day I saw a fight between some monkeys and about a hundred crows. The monkeys wounded one poor crow, and it hopped about upon the ground unable to fly. Then the crows settled around it and tried to carry it off; but they could not. The monkeys charged down upon them, and then the crows charged the monkeys. It was an exciting time. Seeing the crows were getting the worst of the battle I came to their rescue, but the monkeys charged upon me, and I had to run. At last, I carried off the poor crow, hoping to cure it, but it died the same day. The other crows followed me home, and made a most dismal noise, as if they could not trust me.
Here the squirrels are quite small and not at all wild. I saw a little boy, the other day, walking along with a saucy little squirrel perched upon his shoulder.
In the schools in the villages here, the boys sit upon the ground, write upon wooden slates, and study aloud. They have wonderful memories and commit everything, though they do not understand very much of it. It is much better to understand every lesson as we go along, isn't it?
Nearly all the little boys in India wear only a long coat which comes down to their knees. It is so very warm here for most of the year that the very little folks go without any clothing at all.
There are 60,000 soldiers in India, sent from England. One of the regiments is in Sitapur, where I live, and they have a brass band which makes first-rate music. They also have bagpipes.
In India there are persons from almost every nation—Hindus, Arabians, Chinese, Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, Frenchmen, Americans. There are twenty-three languages native to India. A great many Indians speak English, which is taught in all the schools, as Greek or Latin or French is taught at home.
But, although this is a great country, there is no place like America, especially to Americans. Three cheers for the boys and girls of America!
J.E.S.
Nauvoo, Ill.
Dear St. Nicholas: Here is something about my sister Lu and a strange pet she had: Her childhood was spent in a wild, new country. I cannot remember that she was ever amused with dolls and baby-houses. She made amends, however, by surrounding herself with kittens, dogs, fawns, ponies, squirrels, opossums, 'coons, and various birds, which, in turn, she petted and loved.
She lived in the Red River country of Louisiana. The climate there is so warm that out-door play may be had at any season.
The summer she was thirteen, with an older brother and other friends, she went fishing on the lake, whose waters were dark and still, studded here and there with cypress-trees in close ranks. Heavy timber filled the valley surrounding the lake.
After catching a full supply of fish, some of which were cooked on the spot, brother Ed., in wandering about, captured a young alligator, and led it along to where sister Lu was seated, saying: "I've brought you a new pet, Lu." She adopted the little monster at once, and it was carried home, and turned loose in the creek below the house.
In a few days the alligator was quite at home. It would eat anything which was brought to it, and soon learned to come to a call, seeming more delighted with notice than with what there was to eat. It whined and barked like a dog, and wagged its big tail when pleased. It enjoyed being patted on the head, and would caper around, the most awkward thing that ever attempted a frolic.
In a few months, the pet became so large and familiar as to be a nuisance. He would track up sister Lu through the field and about the garden, showing his scent to be true and keen. Often when Lu was seated, perhaps, at her tatting, he would come to her feet and lie as still as if carved out of stone, waiting for a little notice. He soon grew to like eating the young goslings and chickens, and began to climb the fence, and look longingly at the young pigs. At last the scaly, good-natured creature disappeared. He probably made his way to a neighboring bayou, and was never seen again by any little girl's eyes.
But Lu has never forgotten him, although probably he remembers nothing now of the good times of his youth.—Yours truly,
G.M.K.