In three hours Cruiser's owner was able to mount him, and Mr. Rarey's fortune was made, for the horse was a distinguished individual, whose return to society was hailed with joy. Queen Victoria expressed her pleasure at Cruiser's improvement and frequently came to see him and caress him.

Cruiser became the property of his tamer, and went with Mr. Rarey through the principal countries of Europe. Everywhere throngs came to see him and his still more wonderful master.

"My mission," said Mr. Rarey, "is to teach men that kindness, patience and firmness must be used in the management of horses. They are taught by gentleness and not by harshness."

Rarey gave free lectures to cabmen and truck-drivers wherever he went, and the crowned heads of Europe were glad to share the privilege of hearing and seeing him. Horses that had been frightened and angered by ill-usage became, under his treatment, mild and easily governed. The amount of good he accomplished it is not easy to estimate. He died before he was forty years old, but the lesson he taught is not wholly forgotten. Just before his death he said: "If I could only get back once more to the old farm, and put my arms round my dear horses' necks, I believe I should get well."



THE ARAB TO HIS HORSE.

Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling! On my shoulder lay thy glossy head! Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! And thou know'st my water-skin is free: Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses! Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye: Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,— Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, Prancing with their diamond-studded reins; They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness When they course with thee the desert plains!

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty! And the splendor of the Pashas there; What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not Take them for a handful of thy hair! BAYARD TAYLOR.





"WAITING FOR MASTER."

Though late the master's voice is heard above, And slowly lag his footsteps on the stair, No hint of weariness to him ascends From those who uncomplaining wait him there.

If patience, faithfulness and perfect love Are ranked as noble virtues everywhere, May we not claim for these three loyal friends A right in such nobility to share?



PART II

A GROUP OF WORKERS



ROBERT'S DREAM.

One hot afternoon Robert was playing under the maple tree. He was tired of his wagon and his train of cars, and he looked about for something else to play with. "Come here, Prince!" he said to his dog. "Let me put my hat on your head and play that you are a little boy."

Prince was sleepy and tired. He did not feel like playing that he was a little boy. He shook his head until the hat fell off, and Robert struck him with a stick. Then the poor dog ran away.

Under the rose-bush was Snowball, the cat, having a good nap.

"Oh, Snowball!" said Robert, "I will give you a ride." And he tried to put her into the tiny wagon.

Snowball did not care to ride. She scratched Robert and ran off as fast as she could go.

"What a naughty cat!" said Robert angrily.

"What a naughty boy!" said Robert's mamma, who had been watching him from the porch. "It was unkind to disturb Prince and Snowball as you did. I think you must go and stay by yourself a little while."

Robert ran upstairs, shut his door very hard, and threw himself upon his bed.

It seemed to him that he had been there only a minute when he heard voices. He looked up and found himself in the garden again. Near him several dogs and cats were talking. To his surprise he understood what they said.

Prince was speaking. "I am tired of living here," he said. "My little master does not treat me very well. This morning he took me with him when he went on his bicycle. I was tired out and very hot and thirsty when we came home, but he would not take the trouble to fill my pan of water. I asked him plainly for a drink of water, but he laughed at me and said he was busy."

"I scratched him to-day," said Snowball. "Perhaps that may teach him not to hurt me so often. He lifts me by one paw, and yesterday he swung me about by the tail. I am sure he doesn't know how much he hurts me."

"You are a brave cat to dare to scratch him," said a sober little kitten. "We have a baby at our house, and of course I can't scratch a baby. She pulls my fur and puts her fingers in my eyes. The other children catch me when I run away, and give me back to her."

"That is very unfair," said a dog who was walking about. "You must excuse me for walking while I talk, but I have been chained so long that I am quite stiff. Of course I run away when the chain is taken off. Who wouldn't?"

"But you have enough to eat," said a thin cat who sat under the tree and who was looking up longingly at the birds. "No one gives me anything to eat until I cry for it. Then I am scolded for making such a noise. I should be glad to catch mice, if there were any to be found in our house."

"Still, you have a home," said a faint voice. "It is something to be thankful for, if you have a place to sleep."

All turned to see where the voice came from. A forlorn cat came out timidly from the currant bushes. It made Robert's heart ache to look at her.

"You had a good home a few weeks ago," said Prince, "though I must say I hardly knew you when you came up. Do have some of my dinner. I am not hungry myself."

"Thank you," said the newcomer gratefully. "Yes, I had a good home, and the children were kind to me. They have gone to the seashore now, and the house is shut up. They are not coming back for weeks. I don't believe I can live till then. I wish I were dead. I should be thankful if somebody would be kind enough to kill me."

Her voice died out in a wail of despair.

Robert's eyes were full of tears, and he began to sob. Then he heard his mother say:

"Why, my boy, what are you dreaming about? Wake up, dear. It is almost supper time, and papa is coming up the street."

"Oh, mother!" said Robert, "I have had such a bad dream! I am sure I shall never be cruel to poor Snowball again."



ROBERT ON A FARM.

When Robert was ten years old, he spent several weeks on a farm. He had always lived in the city, and he was eager to know something of country life.

The farmer, Mr. Spencer, promised to teach Robert all that he could about the animals on the farm. The boy had not been long in his new home before he ran to the barn. There were three cows in the barn and two horses. They looked very comfortable and happy.

"What wide stalls they have!" said Robert, "and I never saw a cow in a box stall before."

"Yes," said James, who was milking the cows, "all these stalls are wide enough for the cows and horses to lie down whenever they like. Do you see, too, that the animals face the barn, instead of staring at a blank wall all day?"

"It must be more fun to look into the barn than at a few boards," said Robert, "but I never thought of it before."

"They like to watch what is going on," said James, "and they have better air than they would in a close stall."

"What delicious milk we had last night!" said Robert, stooping to rub Clover's head, to her great delight.

"Our cows give good milk," said James. "Mr. Spencer makes his cows happy, and he finds that it pays. Only last week he sent off a boy because he made the cows run on the way to the pasture. You know that injures the cows and spoils the milk."

"Do they go to pasture every day?" asked Robert.

"Yes," said Mr. Spencer, who came into the barn just then. "They go every day in summer, unless there is a heavy rain. Some cows take cold easily, and should never be out in a long storm. In winter, when it is not too cold, they have an hour or two in the cow-yard at noon. The barn is warm, and they have a good bedding of straw. In a cold barn, cows should be blanketed in freezing weather."

"Do cows eat anything but hay and grass?" asked Robert.

"Oh, yes!" said Mr. Spencer. "Cows need a variety in their food, and plenty of water to drink. My cows eat corn-stalks, carrots, mangel- wurzels, and sometimes bran and corn-meal mixed."

"How sleek they look!" said Robert.

"James cards and brushes them every day, to keep them in good condition."

"They seem very friendly," Robert went on. "Clover is not at all afraid of me."

"They have never been frightened or hurt," said Mr. Spencer, "and they are affectionate creatures. Cows are often homesick in a new home with a strange master, and they grow to love those who are kind to them. I knew a little boy who tried to comfort a cow for the loss of her calf. She was very unhappy and the boy did all that he could to show how much he pitied her. Soon the cow would follow him about the place. When he went away she was lonely, and when he came back she greeted him with evident delight."

"Is it easy to milk a cow?" asked Robert. "It looks easy."

Mr. Spencer laughed. "It is not so simple as it looks," he said, "but James will teach you, if you like. My cows never kick, but if you ever try to milk a cow that kicks, you must be very gentle with her. I have heard that a cloth wrung out in cold water and laid over her loins will keep her quiet when other methods fail."

"I will try to remember that," said Robert.

"Cows, like most animals, are kind to one another," said Mr. Spencer, seeing that Robert was interested in the pretty creatures. "I was at work in the barnyard one day when two cows came up the road to the gate. They seemed to be looking for something.



"It was a hot, dusty day, and suddenly the thought came to me that they were looking for some water. I opened the gate, and they went at once to the trough by the pump. When I had filled the trough they drank as if they were nearly choked with thirst.

"As soon as they were satisfied they went away, but in less than an hour they came back again, bringing three other cows with them. During all the hot weather these cows came to me every day for water. When I found out who their owner was I told him the story.

"'I am ashamed to think that my cows had to go away from home to find water to drink,' he said. 'In future I will see that they have fresh water in their own pasture.'"



ROBERT FEEDS THE POULTRY

On his way back to the house Robert met Mrs. Spencer carrying a large tin dish full of something which looked like hasty pudding. She turned as she saw Robert, and said pleasantly, "Do you want to help me feed the chickens?"

"I should like it very much, thank you," said Robert, and he followed Mrs. Spencer down behind the barn, where he saw several little houses opening into small hen-yards enclosed with wire netting.

"Why do you have all these little houses besides your large hen-house?" asked Robert.

"These little yards give the hens a chance to move about and scratch for their chickens. The old slat-coops were not half so comfortable as these. It is better, too, that the little chickens should be kept by themselves. They need to be fed often, and they cannot eat what the older ones like. In this way each brood is kept with its mother."

"Will you let me feed them?" asked Robert.



"Yes," said Mrs. Spencer. "You may put a large spoonful into every yard. It is better to give them a little at a time; then the food does not stay on the ground and get dirty and sour."

"What is this I am giving them?" asked Robert as the chickens ran and clustered round the food. "They seem to like it."

"It is Indian meal, thoroughly scalded," said Mrs. Spencer. "Raw or slightly scalded meal is likely to do them harm."

"Isn't it fun to watch them!" said Robert. "What else do chickens eat?"

"They eat a variety of things. The first food I gave these little chicks was stale bread-crumbs wet in warm water, and I mixed with that the yolk of one hard-boiled egg. Oatmeal would have been just as good as the bread-crumbs. I always keep a dish of fresh water, too, in their yard."

"What nice little houses you have for them!"

"They are good little houses, tight enough to keep out the rain and draughts, for hens and chickens must be kept warm and dry. It is important, too, that their houses and yards and nests should be very clean."

"My uncle said it was too much trouble to keep hens, and he sold his because they did not lay many eggs," said Robert.

"It is a great mistake to think that we can keep animals of any kind without some trouble. The horse, the cow, the dog, the cat, the pigs and hens, all need patient, thoughtful attention.

"If they are to be well and happy, and do the work for us that we demand of them, we must feed them well and wisely, keep them clean, give them fresh water every day, and a comfortable place to sleep in.

"Unless we are willing to do this, we have no right to keep for our pleasure any living creature. It is selfish to expect them to do all they can for us, when we give them as little as we can in return."

While Mrs. Spencer was saying this, Robert had finished feeding the chickens, and he was sitting on the grass in front of one yard admiring a white hen with ten lovely white chickens. "I think these are the prettiest little chickens I ever saw," he said, "and their mother seems very proud of them. Is the mother hen always fond of her chickens?"

"Almost always," Mrs. Spencer replied, "but this white hen you admire so much is a queer creature. If her chickens are not all white, she will not own them.

"We found it out in a strange way. In her last brood all the chickens were white but one. She was not kind to this one when it was little, and as it grew older she seemed to like it less and less.

"One day James saw her drive it away when the other chickens were going to bed under her wings at night, but he thought she would let it in to its shelter when the chickens she liked best were safe. The next morning when James went out to milk the cows, he had a great surprise.

"A half-grown kitten, which had come to us, was waiting to go into the barn with him and get the breakfast which James always gave it when he had milked. In company with this kitten was the poor little chicken that had been driven away by the hen."

"That was very strange!" said Robert.

"We thought so," answered Mrs. Spencer. "After this the kitten and the chicken became fast friends. They ate together, and slept together in the barn, and seemed very fond of each other."

"Did you ever know of another cat that was friendly with a hen or a chicken?" asked Robert.

"Yes. I remember that a cat which had been deserted, and had grown very wild, made friends with our hens. He often used to be seen feeding with them in the barnyard."

"I wonder the hens were not afraid of him."

"They seemed really to pity him and never tried to drive him away. At first, and for a long time, the cat was so wild he would not let any of the family come near him. I think he had been ill-treated. At last he learned that we were his friends, and he became very fond of us. We kept him until he died of old age."

"That speckled hen with eleven chickens looks gentle," said Robert.

"She is brave, too," said Mrs. Spencer. "Last summer, when she was roaming about with a brood of chickens, a large dog came into the yard through the gate, which happened to be open.

"The brave mother hen flew at him and came down on his back. She clung to him and pecked him with her sharp bill, until he ran howling out of the yard with the hen on his back."

"How far did she go with him?"

"She flew off as soon as he was fairly out of the yard and came clucking back to her chickens, her feathers all bristled up, as proud a hen as I ever saw. She is very fond of me. Just see this!"

Mrs. Spencer opened the door of the little house and called the speckled hen, who ran out clucking and calling her chickens after her. The whole brood crowded themselves into Mrs. Spencer's lap, as she sat on the grass beside the house.

Robert laughed merrily. "That is the funniest thing I ever saw a hen do!"

"I never before had one that would get into my lap," said Mrs. Spencer, "though my hens often eat out of my hand."

"I thought hens were too stupid to care for any one," said Robert.

"I believe it is possible to win the affection of any creature we have under our care," said Mrs. Spencer.



HOW TO FEED AND CARE FOR HENS.

"Do you give meat to the hens?" asked Robert.

"They do not need meat in summer," said Mrs. Spencer, "because they catch bugs and grasshoppers. In the winter, if it seems to be necessary, it is possible to buy animal food that is prepared for the purpose.

"I give them potato peelings, or small potatoes mixed with some kind of meal, and in winter I always warm their food before I give it to them. A very good supper is whole grain, but in the morning it is better to give them soft food.

"They must have lime in some shape to form the eggshells. I give my hens burnt oyster shells, pounded fine, or clam shells. All the year they need some kind of green food; if they do not have this they are very likely to be sick."

"What do you mean by giving them green food?" asked Robert. "You cannot get grass in winter."

"That is true," said Mrs. Spencer, "but you can give them cabbage, which they like very much, or cooked vegetables. In the spring and summer they will enjoy the fresh clover. When they are allowed to have free range, they eat grasshoppers and crickets and do not need meat.

"All fowls must have some kind of grit with their grain food. Crushed stone, which can be bought, will supply this need. Fowls must have clean straw for their nests, and dry earth and plaster or lime must be put on the floor of the hen-house under the roosts. It is important also to sprinkle dry sulphur in the nests once in a while, to keep insects away.

"They like dry earth for their dust bath. Did you ever see a hen lying down in the dust, and throwing it all over herself? She enjoys this just as much as you enjoy going into the salt water, and she needs it as much as you need your bath."

"I should think a hen would find it hard to know her own chickens."

"Oh, no! The youngest chicken knows the voice of its mother, and the mother can tell the difference between the cry of her chickens and the voices of those which do not belong to her.

"It is interesting, also, to watch the rooster care for the hens. When he finds something particularly good, he calls them all around him, and often he will not eat a morsel until he sees that they are satisfied.

"Of course there are greedy roosters sometimes, as well as greedy boys and girls, but usually the rooster is good to the hens.

"Some thoughtless farmers carry live fowls with their heads hanging down. This is very cruel. Think how you would like being carried in that way. It is cruel also to crowd them into little hampers when they have to be carried to market.

"Fowls cannot be healthy if kept on the same ground year after year, for the earth becomes poisoned. They should be moved to new ground every year, and the soil occupied the year before used to grow grain, grass, and vegetables; then the fowls could be returned. Unless a movable coop is used it is a good plan to move the yard from one side of the hen- house to the other. If the fowls are diseased either through being kept on poisoned ground or as a result of crowding in taking them to market, their flesh cannot be wholesome for food.

"Fowls are sensitive, timid creatures, and should be treated with kindness. If one cannot take good care of them, it is far better to give up keeping hens and chickens."



ROBERT VISITS THE PIGS.

"Can I help you about anything this morning?" asked Robert of James, as he strolled out into the barnyard after breakfast.

"I am going to feed the pigs," said James. "You may go with me if you like."

Robert did not seem very much pleased with this invitation, and, as James looked surprised, he said:

"I do not like pigs, they are so dirty. Besides, they are always squealing, and they live in such a disagreeable place under the barn."

James smiled. "Come with me and see our pigs," he said; "perhaps you will like them better than you think."

James had a large wheelbarrow with him, and on the way he stopped in a fine field of clover and cut enough of it to fill the wheelbarrow to the very top. Robert helped him pile up the clover, and he would have liked to wheel the barrow, but it was too heavy for him.

They passed on into another field where Robert saw a row of little houses. Each little house had a yard inclosed by a board fence, which was not too high for Robert to look over.

In the first yard was a fine, large sow and six clean little pigs, four of them white, and the other two black and white. They were frisking around their mother and playing almost as prettily as young puppies. There was space enough in the yard to give them plenty of room for their frolic.

Robert was so delighted with them that he wanted to feed them, and James let him put an armful of the sweet clover into the yard. "I have fed them once this morning," said James. "They had their regular breakfast before I had mine, which was very early."

Robert went on to the next yard where a large hog was lying contentedly in the sun. He gave a cheerful grunt as if to say "thank you," when James threw some clover over the fence.

"Here, old fellow, are some acorns!" said James, as he took a handful from his pocket and flung them over into the clover pile. "That's right. Hunt them up!"

Robert laughed to see what a good time the hog was having. As he went on he saw that all the yards were clean and so were the pigs. There was a trough of fresh water in each yard, and another trough for the food.

"I thought all pigs were dirty," said Robert.

"No, indeed!" said James. "They like to be clean and to have room to run about. They need to root in the earth and roll in the mud, but they prefer clean earth and clean mud to the filthy stuff they often get."

"There's a great difference in mud," said Robert, in such a wise way that James laughed. "Pigs like sunshine, too," said he, "and when you have seen me give them a bath you will never say again that they like to be dirty. We wash them and brush them with a stiff brush, and they think it great fun."

"Do they eat anything but scraps from the kitchen?" was Robert's next question.

"Of course," said James. "They have milk, beets, potatoes, a little grain, with plenty of hay, and green or dry clover. I don't give them much corn because it makes them too fat. In those small troughs I keep a mixture of clay, salt, ashes, and charcoal so that the pigs can reach it easily. In winter I always warm their food for them and take great pains to keep their bedding warm and dry. I am not allowed to give them any food which isn't sweet and fresh. If I were careless about it I should lose my place directly. Mr. Spencer made me understand that when I came. He said that a dirty pig-pen was a disgrace to a farmer and a danger to the neighborhood."

"These pigs look as if they knew you," said Robert. "Do you think they do?"

"I know they do," said James. "They are as bright as any of the other animals I take care of. Don't you know the old Welsh saying, 'Happy is the man who is as wise as a pig'? When they are stupid it is because they have been ill-treated. If we lived in a dark, damp hole under a barn we might look a little dull, sometimes. Don't you think so, Robert?"



A MORNING'S DRIVE.

One beautiful morning, when Robert had been at the farm nearly a week, Mr. Spencer invited him to take a drive to the sheep-pasture. There was a large basket in the buggy. "I am taking a little treat to my sheep," said Mr. Spencer. "Once a week I carry them some chopped carrots and turnips."

It was only a short drive to the sheep-pasture. As Robert and Mr. Spencer went through the gate the sheep came running to meet their master. They were fine, fat creatures, and so tame that Robert could stroke their woolly heads and soft noses.

The pasture was well fenced in, and four horses were near the fence, under a large tree. Three of them came up to share the carrots and to hunt in Mr. Spencer's pockets for lumps of sugar. The fourth horse did not move from where he was lying.

"Are these your horses?" asked Robert.

"Only one is mine," said Mr. Spencer. "The others belong to a wise friend of ours who gives his horses a vacation in the summer. Did you ever think how many horses work all their lives without any rest worth mentioning?"

"No," said Robert slowly. "I never thought of it before. It does seem hard that they shouldn't have a vacation sometimes."

"It seems hard that they cannot be sure of a rest on Sunday, at least," said Mr. Spencer. "Some horses work all the week, and are then driven for miles on Sunday."

"Yes," said Robert. "We often see tired horses taking heavy wagonloads of people to the beach."

"Horses need to rest one day in seven," said Mr. Spencer. "When horse- cars were used in New York, it was found that no horse could do good work unless he had a day of rest once a week. A horse is not a machine. He suffers just as we do with hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Sometimes he needs a dentist or a doctor, just as we do."

As Mr. Spencer talked he was walking toward the white horse under the tree. The horse got up stiffly and slowly, and rubbed his nose against Mr. Spencer's shoulder.

"Oh, what a wretched-looking old horse!" said Robert. "He doesn't belong to you, does he?"

Mr. Spencer patted the horse's neck and gave him a few lumps of sugar.

"This horse isn't old," he said, "but he is worn out with hard work and abuse. He doesn't look like my other horses, does he?"

"No, indeed!" said Robert. "How did you happen to own him?"

"A few years ago," said Mr. Spencer, "he was a fine young horse. He belonged to a man I knew who thought little of the comfort of the animals in his care. I doubt very much if this poor horse ever wore a blanket in cold weather, and I know that many a time a frosty bit was put into his mouth."

"Does a bit need to be warmed?" asked Robert.

"Oh, no!" said Mr. Spencer. "If it is held in cold water a few minutes the frost will come out of it, and there will be no danger of making the horse's mouth sore. The owner of this horse would never have taken the trouble to do that. His one thought was to be in the fashion. So he had poor Whitey's coat clipped, bought a curb-bit for him, and cut off his long tail."

"What a cruel man!" said Robert warmly.

"There are many others like him," said Mr. Spencer. "They do not see how helpless a horse is when his head is drawn back with an over-check or hurt by a curb-bit and when he has no chance to drive away the flies that torment him. To cut off a horse's tail not only hurts him very much at the time, but makes him miserable afterwards."

"If I were a horse and were treated like that, I'd run away," said Robert.

"That is just what old Whitey did," said Mr. Spencer. "He ran away. Then his owner sold him to a grocer."

"Our grocer is very good to his horses," said Robert. "I hope this one was, too."

"No," said Mr. Spencer. "Poor Whitey grew more and more miserable. The boys who drove the wagon whipped him and teased him. They cared little whether or not he had a good dinner, and water to drink, and time to rest at noon. At night they often forgot to rub him down, and sometimes, after a long, hard day's work, he went without his supper."

"That was mean!" Robert's voice quivered with indignation.

"One day last March," went on Mr. Spencer, "I saw the poor fellow standing in the cold wind and rain, with no blanket on. His head was down and he was shivering with cold. I could hardly believe that it was the same horse I had known a few years ago. To make a long story short, I bought him for a small sum and took him to a stable near by. There I saw him well rubbed down and fed with warm bran-mash. After a few days I brought him out here. He is very happy and comfortable, but it will take him all summer to get well. He can do only light work for the rest of his life."

"Does he need any food but hay and grass?" Robert asked, as he held out a handful of sweet clover to Whitey.

"If he were working, he should have plenty of oats," said the farmer; "and all horses need a bran-mash once a week, at least."

"Will his tail ever grow again?" asked Robert.

"No," said Mr. Spencer," but I rub him with an ointment which the flies do not like. I use it for all my horses and cows."

"I wish I could buy all the worn-out horses in the world and send them here," said Robert.

Mr. Spencer laughed. "I should need a big pasture," he said. "See the sheep in the brook, Robert! They enjoy running water as much as the cows and horses do."

"Do sheep need much care?" asked Robert, who found farm life very interesting.

"They need to be protected from stray dogs and to have a shelter from the cold and storms. Otherwise they give very little trouble. They should always keep their warm wool coats until the cold spring winds are over. Some farmers are very thoughtless about this, and their sheep and lambs suffer and die from cold. It would make your heart ache to see, as I have often seen, the little dead lambs in the bleak pastures."

"I'll remember that, when I have my farm," said Robert, with ready sympathy. "I'll have my sheep keep their coats on, just as I wear my reefer, until it is warm."



THE AIR-GUN

On the way home from the sheep-pasture, Mr. Spencer saw a boy by the side of the road with an air-gun in his hands.

"There is Frank Weston shooting birds," he said, stopping his horse. "What are you shooting, Frank?"

"English sparrows, Mr. Spencer," said the boy, coming forward. "My father said I might shoot all I could find. There's one, now."

"You are mistaken," said Mr. Spencer quietly. "That is a song sparrow and a native of our fields."

"Oh, yes, so it is!" said the boy carelessly. "But there are plenty of English sparrows. I shot five yesterday. They do ever so much harm, Mr. Spencer."

"They certainly do some good, also," said the farmer. "They eat cankerworms and other harmful insects. They are said to devour that troublesome pest, the tree caterpillar, which no other bird will touch."

Frank looked thoughtful for a minute. Then he said: "A boy wants to have some fun with his gun."

"It seems to me," said the farmer, "that it would be more fun to shoot at a mark than to give pain to some living creature. But a gun is a poor toy, at the best, Frank. Ask your father for a good pair of opera- glasses, and study the birds instead of killing them. We know very little yet about any of them. See if you can't bring me a bit of news about some of our feathered neighbors before the summer is over. I'm a real bird-gossip, you know, and I'm always anxious to hear of what is going on in their homes."

"All right, sir," said Frank, smiling into his friend's kindly eyes. "I'm afraid it will be hard work to find out anything that you don't know already, but I'll try."

Mr. Spencer drove on for a few minutes in silence.

"I never could understand why boys are always trying to hit something," he said at last. "When they haven't an air-gun, they throw stones and snowballs. I could tell you of some serious accidents from stone- throwing. A little friend of mine was killed by falling from a horse which had been frightened by a snowball. It is disgraceful that there should be no strict laws to forbid that kind of play."

Robert's cheeks and ears were beginning to burn.

"Father won't give me an air-gun," he said, presently. "He says it will make me hard-hearted to kill anything—even English sparrows. But I thought all boys threw snowballs."

"Perhaps they do," said Mr. Spencer. "I wish they could know some of the risks they run and the pain they give. I have seen little girls come home from school, crying and hurt, and I knew they had been snowballed."

"They were pretty mean boys who did that," began Robert. "We don't throw snowballs at girls."

"Tired old men and hard-working horses and other busy workers are not much better targets," said Mr. Spencer, and again Robert's cheeks flamed. "Perhaps, however, your snowballs always go just where you intend to have them. That makes it safer, of course."

The farmer's tone was so polite that Robert looked up suspiciously. There was a twinkle in the kind, gray eyes.

"Now, Robert," said Mr. Spencer, good-humoredly, "you have heard me preach a good many sermons since you came. Let me tell you just one thing to remember. Don't do anything, to any living creature, which you wouldn't enjoy if you were in its place."

"Why, that's the Golden Rule," said Robert.

"I know it," said the farmer, as he drove into the clean, pleasant yard, "but I never heard that the Golden Rule wouldn't work wherever it was tried."



APRIL SONG.

Now willows have their pussies, Now ferns in meadow lands Hold little downy leaflets, Like clinging baby hands. Like rosy baby fingers Show oak-leaves 'gainst the blue; The little ones of nature Are ev'rywhere in view.

There's purring in a sunbeam Where Tabby's babies play. The hen is softly brooding, Her chickens came to-day. Up in the crimson maple The mother robin sings; The world is full of caring For little helpless things. MARY E. WILKINS. From "Songs of Happy Life," by permission of publishers.



EARTHWORMS AND SNAKES.

The little earthworm, crawling across the garden path or burrowing its way into the loose soil, seems very common and insignificant, but it is a most useful servant to man.

Without the earthworms it would be difficult for us to live. It is by their help that grass grows for the cattle, and the garden yields food for our own use.

Long before any one thought of making a plough, the hard lumps of earth were broken up by the slender bodies of the earthworms. These worms have no eyes or feelers or feet, but they have, on each ring of their bodies, four pairs of bristles, which aid them in making their way through the earth.

Air is let into the soil through the holes that the worms make, and the moisture is drained away. Thus the roots of the plants are kept in good condition.

Worms are useful in another way. They can make poor soil into rich mould. This they do by swallowing earth and dried leaves.

After passing through the body of the worm, the earth is cast up in little heaps, which are soon scattered by the wind and rain. Hundreds of these "casts" may be seen in any large garden, and thus the whole surface is constantly changing.

In this way fields which were unfit for crops of any kind are made ready for the farmer's use. In some places it has been found that ten tons of dry earth on every acre are made into good soil each year by the worms.

No gardener can prepare fine mould for plants so well as the worms can do it, and no farmer can so carefully make ready his fields.

There are some creatures which are commonly disliked and avoided because they are not attractive to look at. Often this is a mere prejudice against them, and careful study reveals a beauty not noticed before. There is a very general and absurd feeling against snakes which is the cause of much unnecessary suffering. This fear is so common that for many children and grown people a walk in the woods and fields loses half its pleasure.

Most of our common snakes are harmless and are useful in destroying insects. Instead of shuddering with horror at the little green snake, watch him as carefully as you can. Soon you will begin to wonder how he can go so fast, what he eats, and where he makes his home. You will find that he is not at all like the earthworm. He belongs to a very different class of animals, but he is as innocent as the worm of any wish to do you harm. He prefers to be left to himself in the long grass, but you may be sure if he should glide over your feet, or across your hand, he would not hurt you at all.



HUMANITY.

Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, Nor crush that helpless worm! The frame thy wayward looks deride Required a God to form.

The common Lord of all that move, From whom thy being flowed, A portion of his boundless love On that poor worm bestowed.

Let them enjoy their little day, Their humble bliss receive; Oh! do not lightly take away The life thou canst not give! T. GISBORNE.



ANTS, BEES, AND WASPS.

Ants, bees, and wasps belong to the same family of insects. The ant, to begin with the smallest, is a good proof that size has little to do with intelligence.

These little people, as King Solomon said of them long ago, "are exceeding wise." A long chapter might be filled with an account of the wonderful things they do. In this country there are ants who are farmers. They plant their fields, keep them carefully weeded, and gather each year the seed for the new crops. They make roads, build bridges, and fashion wonderful houses with underground storerooms and galleries. If their harvest gets wet, it is brought out to dry on the first sunny day, and then carried back again with the greatest pains.

Other ants are master-builders and make elaborate houses of more than forty stories. These houses are made of bits of stick and straw. Some ants are soldiers, others are gardeners, while still others are famous bridge-builders. The red ants make slaves of black ants and become very dependent upon the faithfulness and industry of their servants. Many ants keep as cows the small green plant-lice on the rose-bushes. These tiny green cows fill themselves full of a sweet juice which they make from the plant-leaf. The little people like the sweet juice and have found out that they can get it by stroking the cows. So they keep herds of fat cattle and often mount guard round the branch or tree where their cows are feeding.

Ants have a keen sense of smell and a wonderful way of talking to each other by touching their antennae. They must have a complete set of signals, for they are able to carry on a long conversation.

How do we know so much about them? Wise men have spent years in studying their ways. There was a blind Swiss naturalist, named Huber, who, with the aid of his servant, was able to learn more of ants and their doings than any one had dreamed of before. It was Huber who found out that ants go to war and make slaves. In England another famous observer noticed that ants knew and welcomed each other after ten and twelve months of separation.

It would be interesting to know what the ants think of us, who in some ways are no wiser than themselves. How blundering and clumsy we must seem when with careless feet we crush millions of the innocent dwellers in their underground cities! Surely we might try not to disturb the little people in the wonderful homes they have made.

Bees and wasps are cousins of the ants. They have four wings, the front pair being the larger. In flight the two wings on each side are hooked together so as to form one broad wing.

We all know how helpful bees are to us. They lay up enough honey to feed themselves through the winter, and we think this a very desirable addition to our own table. The wax they make for their houses is useful to us in more ways than one. But they help us in another way, which is still more curious and interesting. While the bee is burrowing for honey in the heart of some deep blossom, the yellow flower-dust, or pollen, sticks to its hairy body and legs. When it flies to the next flower, some of this dust is brushed off and falls in the right place to make the seeds in that flower grow. So, without knowing it, the bee is helping us in our gardening. Some plants would never bear fruit if the bees did not carry the pollen from one flower to another.

Next to the ants, the bees are the most intelligent insects we know. They make wax houses of beautiful shapeliness, and they rear their little ones with great wisdom and care. There is always a queen bee, and no real princess is more royally tended than are the princess bees. They are fed on different food from that of the other babies, and the royal cradles are of the finest quality. Should all the princesses die, one of the common bees is put into the royal cradle and fed upon the dainty food, and she often makes quite as good a queen as if she were born in the purple.

Bees seldom sting if they are let alone. They are easily frightened by a sudden movement and will try to defend themselves. If a bee alights by mistake on your hand or face, it will soon fly away without hurting you if you can keep quite still. As a rule, they are good-tempered and harmless.

Wasps have not earned for themselves a reputation for good-nature or thrift. They have never learned to store up honey, and every winter many of them freeze to death in their elegant paper houses. It is considered wise not to handle a wasp, lest his feelings, which are easily ruffled, get the better of him. But there is room to admire his good looks, his skill in house-building, and his sturdy pluck and courage.



Wasps do much good in the garden by destroying grubs and caterpillars, and they are quite willing to take their wages in overripe fruit at the end of the season.



A LITTLE BLACK SLAVE.

I am going to tell you about a little slave who lived in France. Her name was Alerta, and she was a tiny black ant.

Not far from Paris there lived a colony of red ants—great lazy fellows who would not work and who would hardly find food for themselves. They thought that a set of slaves would help them very much.

"If we had slaves," they said, "we should not have to milk our cows or take care of our children."

So one fine morning they set out to conquer some weaker colony and make slaves of the prisoners of war.

It was not long before they came upon a nest of black ants.

"These are good workers," said the lazy red ants. "They will make good servants." So they fell upon the nests and carried off all the baby ants.

"We could never carry the older ones so far," said the red ants, "but these children will grow up before long."

This was true. Soon Alerta was a fine, strong young ant. One morning her mistress tapped her on the shoulder.

"Do get me some food, please," said she.

"What would you like, and where shall I get it?" asked Alerta briskly. She was glad to have something to do.

"Oh, run outside," said the red ant, "and you will find our cows grazing on a rose-bush near the door."

Alerta ran up the narrow winding passage-way and came out in the warm sunlight. Numbers of slaves were running about, but they were all so busy that Alerta did not like to stop them. At last, however, she saw one of them approach a small green insect which was clinging to a leaf, and tap it gently. A big drop of honey came out of the little insect, and the ant passed on to another.

"Those must be the cows," thought Alerta, and she hastened to follow her companion's example. She found that the honey was very sweet and delicious. Soon she had a good supply for her hungry mistress and was about to return to the nest, when she met another servant.

"Where are you going?" asked Alerta.

"I am head-nurse in a large family of children," said the other slave. "They need all my time and attention. I mustn't stop to talk, thank you," and she hurried on.

"I wonder," thought Alerta, "what would become of the red ants if it were not for us. They seem to be a very helpless people." Then she went back to her mistress.

"Now," said the red ant, when she had eaten all she wanted, "please carry me to bed."

"I wonder if I can lift her," thought Alerta doubtfully, as she looked at her heavy companion. "Still, I can try." So, with many stumbles and stops, and a great deal of panting, she bore the large ant to the place she pointed out as her bedroom.

"That will do," said the sleepy lady. "Now go and give the children a bath, and as soon as the sun is warmer, carry them up into the air."

Alerta ran off to find the nursery. The soldiers were on guard at the door, but they let her go by when she told them her errand. Some of the babies were being fed, while others were already on their way upstairs. Alerta was about to pick up one of the children when a cry came from above.

"Take the children down at once. It is going to rain!"

Down the passage-way swarmed a crowd of nurses with their charges.

"No," cried another voice, "it is not rain. Some one is flooding our house."

Great was the terror of the hard-working nurses. "Can we get the children to a safe place?" was their first thought.

"What shall I do?" cried Alerta. She was thoroughly frightened.

"Your first duty is to the children," said an older ant. "You see that not one of us is looking out for herself. But I think we shall be able to stay here after all. See! the water is going down."

At this moment a stern voice was heard outside. It was the first time that Alerta had heard human speech, but she understood every word.

"What a mean, cruel thing to do!" it said. "Were the ants doing any harm to you? In future, remember that you are never to hurt or frighten any creature, even the smallest of them, for your own poor pleasure or amusement. I am ashamed of you, my son."

"Now we are safe," said the ants joyfully. "Let us go on with our work. This is a great day for us. That boy will not harm us again."

Adapted from an English story.



A BUTTERFLY'S WING.

When a great green worm crawls across our path, we shrink with disgust because we are too ignorant to see its real beauty. But when, after a few weeks, a gorgeous creature is seen waving its exquisite wings in the summer twilight, we all are ready to admire the caterpillar in its new dress.

Moths and butterflies are among the loveliest things living. Moths fly at night, spread their wings when resting, and have no knobs at the ends of their antennae. Butterflies love the sunshine and fold their wings over their backs when at rest. Their antennae are thickened at the ends.

To some people, catching butterflies seems a harmless sport, especially if the pretty creature is soon released and allowed to flutter away in the sunshine. Those who have studied them, however, say that much suffering is caused in this way.

On the surface of the wing are soft, tiny feathers, set row upon row like shingles on a house. There are over two million feathers on each wing. When the butterfly is held in hot, hasty hands, these feathers are rubbed off and do not grow again. It is very much as if we should have our teeth pulled out, or our hair torn out by the roots. When we think of the shock and pain, and of the helplessness that will surely follow, catching butterflies no longer seems an innocent pleasure.



TO A BUTTERFLY.

Poor harmless insect, thither fly, And life's short hour enjoy; 'Tis all thou hast, and why should I That little all destroy?

Why should my tyrant will suspend A life by wisdom giv'n, Or sooner bid thy being end Than was designed by Heav'n?

To bask upon the sunny bed, The damask flowers to kiss, To range along the bending shade Is all thy life of bliss.

Then flutter still thy silken wings, In rich embroidery drest, And sport upon the gale that flings Sweet odors from his vest. JANE TAYLOR.



CUNNING BEE.

Said a little wandering maiden To a bee with honey laden, "Bee, at all the flowers you work, Yet in some does poison lurk."

"That I know, my little maiden," Said the bee with honey laden; "But the poison I forsake, And the honey only take."

"Cunning bee with honey laden, That is right," replied the maiden; "So will I, from all I meet, Only draw the good and sweet." ANON.



GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.

The poetry of earth is never dead! When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the grasshopper's, he takes the lead In summer luxury; he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever; And seems to one in drowsiness half lost The grasshopper's among some grassy hills JOHN KEATS



PATIENT WEAVERS.

Is a spider an insect? If you have thought so, you have been mistaken. Insects are made up of three distinct parts; they always have six legs, and they breathe through air-tubes along the sides of their bodies.

Spiders breathe through lungs as we do. Their bodies are in two sections, and instead of six legs they have eight. They have six or eight eyes on the top of the head. The spider spins from her body a silk so fine that we can scarcely see it, of which she makes a web as carefully measured as if she had a foot rule. In fact, she has a useful pair of compasses in the shape of claws at the ends of her fore legs.

The spider is one of the most industrious, cleanly, and patient workers in the world. More than six hundred separate strands go to make one slender thread of her web. She can choose, moreover, whether she will spin a fine or coarse, a dry or spangled thread for the particular work she has in hand.

In an hour a spider will make a web more than half a yard across, and of a strength wonderful in proportion to its size. Steel wire of the same thickness as a spider's thread would be less than two-thirds as strong.

The spider is a devoted mother, and will die with her little ones rather than leave them. Some kinds of spiders carry their babies about with them, while others fasten their cradles to a crevice in the wall. Spiders are very useful to us in destroying the flies and troublesome insects that annoy us. Though spiders are often called cruel, they never torture their victims, but kill them at once by means of a poisonous fluid which is said to deaden pain.

One day when the Scotch king, Robert Bruce, lay sick and discouraged in a lonely shed, he watched the patient efforts of a spider to repair its web. Six times she tried to throw the frail thread from one beam to another, and six times she failed.

"Six times have I been beaten in battle," said Bruce. "I know how to pity that poor spider."

But the spider was not discouraged. A seventh time she flung her thread, and this time she succeeded in fastening it to the beam.

Bruce sprang to his feet. "I will try once more," he said, and went forth to victory. Since that day, the story goes, no member of the family of Bruce will injure a spider.



THE WOODMOUSE.

Do you know the little woodmouse, That pretty little thing, That sits among the forest leaves, Or by the forest spring? Its fur is red like the chestnut, And it is small and slim, It leads a life most innocent, Within the forest dim.

It makes a bed of the soft, dry moss, In a hole that's deep and strong, And there it sleeps secure and warm, The dreary winter long; And though it keeps no calendar, It knows when flowers are springing, And it waketh to its summer life, When nightingales are singing. MARY HOWITT.



A MOUSE'S STORY.

Men call me a thief. I wonder if they are right. I used to live in the fields, and I found nuts and acorns in the woods for my little family. Then a man came. He dug up my field and planted his own crops. He destroyed my home and killed my little children. He said that the nuts were his, and the field, too, was his. I thought they were mine.

Now I have to live on what I can find near his house. I am sure I eat a great deal that he would not care for. Usually I am half-starved. It seems to me as if the world were big enough for me to have a corner of it in peace.

I dare say the man thinks that he is wholly in the right. He says I am very troublesome, and he sets a trap every night to catch me. One night I was caught by the paw, and held for hours in an agony of fright and pain. I have been lame ever since. He would have been kinder if he had killed me outright.

There is another dreadful trap which does not hurt at all at first, and it is often used for this reason. There is a little door which opens easily, and you find yourself in a wire house. There you starve to death, unless some one comes to drown you. If we are to be caught in traps, I wish that we might be put out of pain at once.



WISE RATS.

Rats are clever and intelligent, and in their way are very useful. In large cities they eat the garbage which collects in harbors and at the mouths of drains. This would cause sickness if it were not removed.

Although the rat's work takes him into the foulest places, he always keeps himself neat and tidy. To wash his coat he uses his tongue and paws in the same way that a cat uses hers, and he invariably takes such a bath after he has been eating or working.

Rats are disliked and hunted by men, yet they often shield our homes from the danger of disease. When rats infest a place it is proof that there is work for them to do, and though they may easily become a plague, we should remember that it was probably our own carelessness which first brought them.

The intelligence shown by rats is remarkable. They have frequently been known to carry eggs up and down stairs in their paws; one rat pushing the egg and others receiving it. It happened, one day, that a trap was set and carefully watched. A young rat was about to step upon the fatal spring, when the watcher saw an old rat rush to the rescue. The little one was seized by the tail and promptly dragged off to his hole. Probably he was told to be less reckless in future.

Rats have great courage and devotion, as many stories prove. Once, when some rats were being driven from a ship, a young rat was seen carefully making its way along a rope, with an old and feeble rat upon its back. It shrank from the stick in a seaman's hand, and it might easily have saved its own life if it had been willing to leave its companion. Instead of running away, however, it went on bravely and carefully in the face of danger. The gallant animal was allowed to reach a place of safety, amid the cheers of the crew, who knew how to appreciate such devotion and sacrifice.

Rats are said to become warmly attached to the friends who care for them. A minister had a pet rat which liked to sit on his desk. One day, having poked its nose into the ink-bottle, the rat was in evident discomfort in consequence. The minister went for a saucer of water, saying, "There, wash your face!" The neat little fellow carefully scrubbed its inky nose, first with one paw and then with the other, holding up at last a clean and satisfied face for its friend's inspection.

While rats may be useful and brave and wise, they are not good housemates. Cleanliness and care, however, are usually sufficient to keep them out of houses and storerooms, and a good cat makes an excellent policeman. In our wish to be rid of the company of the rats there is no excuse for treating them with cruelty.



THE SQUIRREL'S STORY.

Do you know who planted that little butternut tree in the field? I planted it; I, a tiny gray squirrel.

To tell the truth, I did not think of setting out a tree when I dropped my nut in the ground. I meant to leave it in a safe place until I was ready to eat it, and I forgot where it was. The first thing I knew it was sending up a fine green shoot through the loose earth.

I suppose you think I steal your nuts. Please remember that I plant nut trees, too. That ought to be put down to my credit.

I have a very pleasant home, high up in a large elm tree. It is carefully hidden so that the boys may not see it. That is the most important thing to think of in building a house.

My house is made of the smallest twigs, of dry grass, and of straw that I found in the field. I built it near a house where all the family are kind to me. The children feed me with apples and nuts.

I have had some happy days in my life, but I have had some sad ones, too. The saddest days were when I lost my two little children.

The brightest child I ever had was Chippy. He liked to ask questions and look at every new thing he saw. This was all very well if he had been a little more careful. One day when I was away, Chippy saw a box under the tree. Down he went to see what was in the box. Of course you know what happened. Chippy was caught in a trap.



The boy who had set the trap carried Chippy home and put him in a cage. He was kind to the little fellow and gave him fruit and nuts to eat. Still Chippy was not happy. He longed for the green trees and a frolic in the open fields.

For several days after Chippy was caught, I was very unhappy, but I tried to be cheerful for the sake of my dear little Bushy Tail. Then I lost this little one in a way that is almost too sad to think of.

Bushy Tail was playing in a tree one day, running up and down and jumping from limb to limb, when some boys saw him among the green leaves.

They began at once to stone him. Poor little Bushy Tail ran up the tree as far as he could, but at last a stone hit him. For a minute he clung trembling to the branch, and I hoped he was not hurt, but another stone struck him and he fell.

The boys shouted when they saw him fall, but a little girl ran and picked him up so gently that I have loved her ever since that day. I was his mother, but I could not help him.

She carried him to a house near by and put him in a box filled with soft grass, but the little fellow was badly hurt. Three days later I saw her bury him in her little garden, and I knew his pain was over.

I went home feeling that I could never be happy again, but a great surprise was in store for me. When I had climbed up to my nest, there sat Chippy, safe and sound.

"My dearest Chippy, how did you get out of the cage?" I asked.

"Frank let me out," said the joyful Chippy. "He was watching me this morning, and at last he said, 'Chippy, I don't believe I should like to run in a wheel if I had been used to running in trees. I think those wires must make your feet sore. I am sure I should like my own home better than this dull cage. Chippy, old fellow, I am going to let you out.'

"Didn't I run! I forgot to say 'Thank you,' I was so happy, but I think he knew how glad I was."



FORBEARANCE.

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! RALPH WALDO EMERSON.



THE STEEL TRAP.

In a little village in the northwestern part of America there once lived a boy named Amos Hunt. In that part of the country the trade in furs is extensively carried on, and Amos frequently caught some of the smaller wild animals in his steel traps.

One morning, early in the winter, Amos went into the woods to look at two of his traps. As he came near the first one, he saw that a fine mountain mink was caught in it. The poor creature was struggling to escape, but the teeth of the trap held its leg so firmly that the more it tried to get away, the more cruelly its flesh was torn.

Amos ran toward the trap, when suddenly his foot slipped, and he was thrown violently to the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his ankle, which was held fast so that he could not move. He was caught in the other trap, which, in his excitement, he had forgotten.

He was not frightened at first, for he thought he could easily set himself free, but the chain would not yield an inch. Soon his ankle began to swell, causing him the most intense pain when he tried to move. The teeth of the trap pressed closer and closer into the aching flesh, and he knew that he could only wait for help to come to him.

Not far from where he lay was the mink, suffering similar agony, and after struggling in vain to set himself free Amos watched the frightened, trembling little creature. It panted with terror, uttering now and then low moans of pain.

For the first time, Amos realized how cruel he had been, and as he thought of the long hours which would pass before any one came to look for him, he wished that he might at least set his fellow-sufferer free.

"Poor little creature!" he said. "This may be a punishment for my cruelty. I know now how much pain my traps have given."

No one came and the long day went by. Night darkened, and the woods were cold and dreary. Amos was chilled through, and thought with longing of the warm fire at home. The little mink was still now. Amos hoped its sufferings were over. He almost wished that his own might end in the same way.

Suddenly, very early in the morning, there was a noise in the bushes, and a man came towards the traps. He saw at once what was the matter and ran to set the boy free.

"Now," said he, "you must get on my back and I will try to carry you home."

"Wait a minute," said Amos. "I have a fellow-prisoner there in that other trap. If he is dead, I wish you would bury him. No one shall ever have his fur to sell, and I will never catch another animal in that fashion."

The hunter walked over to the other trap and looked at the mink closely.

"I think it is still alive," he said.

"Put my comforter round it," said Amos. "I am going to take it home."

So the mink was carefully wrapped in the comforter and laid in the hunter's bag. Then they started homewards. There was great rejoicing when the missing lad appeared, and the little mink was taken out of the bag by gentle hands and kindly cared for. It became tame and affectionate, and when it was quite well again Amos took it to the mountains and let it go free.

As for the boy trapper, that was the last time that he ever set a trap for any of the creatures of the woods. "Even a cage-trap must cause much suffering from fright," Amos would say. "I shall not soon forget how terrible it is to be a prisoner."

Adapted from a story by Mrs. C. Fairchild Allen.



One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. WORDSWORTH.



THE RABBIT.

Rabbits are such gentle, pretty, furry little creatures that boys and girls like to make pets of them. A caged pet needs much more care and intelligent kindness than one that can run free, and the poor little rabbit is often made very miserable.

A boy or girl who is truly kind can take little pleasure in playing jailer to some unhappy prisoner who longs for the sunshine and green grass. Sometimes, however, the care of such a pet is forced upon one, and it is well to know how to make imprisonment as easy as possible.

The rabbit lives on vegetable food, cropping leaves and grass, and gnawing the young shoots of trees. Its teeth are beautifully adapted to the purpose. In the front of both jaws are two long, flat teeth, with, sharp edges like a chisel. As so much filing and scraping wear away the teeth very fast, these keep on growing from the root. Each upper front tooth meets one in the lower jaw, so that the constant rubbing against each other keeps both the right length. Sometimes one tooth is broken and the other goes on growing till it stands out like the tusk of an elephant. Then the poor rabbit, unable to gnaw its food, dies of starvation.

A tame rabbit should have carrots and turnips to gnaw, and sometimes young tree-twigs and cabbage stalks. If it has nothing hard to rub its teeth against, they will grow too fast, and the rabbit will be unable to bite anything.



In feeding tame rabbits, try to give them their green food with the dew upon it. A sprinkling of fresh water will answer the same purpose. They need plenty of water, and both food and drink must be kept fresh and sweet. Rabbits love the sunshine. They were made to live in warm, sunny lands, and they are too often shut up in cold, damp places.

A rabbit is the most timid creature in the world, but the devoted little mother will fight for her babies if she sees them in any danger. When she burrows in the warm, sandy earth to make a snug home for her family, she strips the soft fur from her own breast to line the beds of grass for her little ones to sleep in. Sometimes a mother rabbit's chest is raw and bleeding for days after making her nest. She is timid because she is so defenseless, but no one can call her a coward. Timid folk are often braver in times of real danger than the strong and daring ones.

Rabbits require variety in their food as much as we do. In summer there are many weeds which are a great treat to them. Dandelion, plantain, clover, grass and hay, with an occasional sprig of parsley, will give them much pleasure. In winter they may have carrots, turnips, and parsnips with barley meal and some oats. Too much green food is likely to make them ill, and too much grain is equally harmful. If we prevent them from finding their own food, we ought to give them the best we can, so that they may be well and happy.



DAVID'S STORY.

A man was fishing by the river. Splashes near by, round the bend, sounded now and then. David grumbled mildly to himself. Voices rose suddenly, and the splashing ceased. Presently a small boy came breaking through the bushes.

"Well, Sammy?" said David inquiringly.

"It's mean," said Sammy, in an explosive fashion. "A boy came and spoiled all my fun. Now I haven't anything to do."

"Too bad," said David. "How was it?"

"I was throwing stones at the biggest bullfrog you ever saw. That boy came along and made him jump."

"Anything else?" asked David. His voice was calmly indifferent.

"He said I was a coward," added the small boy.

"So you are!" said David. "The meanest kind of coward I know."

Sammy sat down on a flat rock to consider this astonishing remark. David drew up a lively fish, which he killed with a sharp blow on the back of its head.

"What did you do that for?" asked Sammy, glad to change the subject.

"To save his feelings," was the brief answer.

"Ho!" said Sammy contemptuously. "He hasn't any feelings."

"Nonsense!" said David in sudden wrath. "Does he wriggle? Yes. Why? Because he suffers out of water. I've caught him to eat, and I owe it to him not to make him suffer any more than is necessary. What did that boy say to you about the frogs?"

"He said frogs were good for something in the pond."

"So they are," said David. "When they are growing up they live on the decaying weeds and the rubbish which would be dangerous if left in stagnant water. What else did he say?"

"He said they were pretty," said Sammy scornfully.

"That's true, too," said David. "That boy knew a good deal. They are as handsome as they are harmless. Did you ever know of a frog's doing any harm? Well, that's more than can be said of boys."

Sammy was silent for a minute.

"They don't know much," he said at last.

David looked round quickly.

"Now who told you that?" said he. "In the first place, if ignorance were any excuse for tormenting a poor creature, I might make you wretched for an hour or two. Fortunately for you, it isn't. We don't have to stop and ask what you know before we can be kind to you. But you make a mistake if you think frogs are stupid. See how well they dive and swim! I have been trying all summer, and I can't dive like that. They don't ever go down on their shoulders and stick their heads in the mud. I taught a frog to come and eat out of my hand. That was a brave thing for him to do. He knew as well as you know what some boys would have done to him."

Sammy was beginning to look ashamed.

"There's just one thing more," said David. "When you have to kill anything, kill it as quickly as you can. Don't let it suffer pain. There isn't any excuse for half the suffering there is in this world. Did you ever hear the story of Theodore Parker and the frogs?"

"No," said Sammy; "I should like to."

"When he was a little boy, perhaps less than four years old, he had to go home alone by a frog-pond where he had seen boys stoning frogs. He raised his hand to throw a stone at a frog, when he heard a voice say, 'Don't.' He looked all around but could see no one, and he raised his hand again to stone the frog. Again he heard a voice say, 'Don't.' Still he could see no one. He was frightened, and running, home to his mother he told her about it, and asked who it was that said, 'Don't.' She took him on her knee and told him that it was the voice of God speaking in his heart, and that if he would always listen to it he would grow up to be a good man."

"Will you take me fishing this afternoon?" said Sammy, after a long pause.

"No, I will not," said David with emphasis. "I don't go fishing for fun, and I have here all that I need."

"May I go swimming with you then?" persisted Sammy.

"Of course you may," said David cordially. "We'll see if we can swim any better than the frogs. I haven't much hope of it, but we can try."

"All right," said Sammy as he rose to go. He had gone not more than thirty feet before he stopped. "I won't stone them any more, David," he called back over his shoulder. Then he went on into the woods.



I would not enter on my list of friends, Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility, the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. COWPER.



SOME READY HELPERS.

We often fail to understand some of our best friends in the animal world. We know so little about them that we think they are useless and uninteresting. Frogs, and especially toads, are often the objects of unjust dislike, yet their lives are very useful and full of interest.

The toad and frog are somewhat alike. Both come from eggs laid in the water, and both begin life as little swimming tadpoles.

The young toad, when he is a tadpole, is sprinkled all over with very fine spots, which look like gold-dust, while the frog tadpole is dark.

The first few weeks of a toad's life are spent in a ditch or a pond. Here he lives on water-weeds and dead leaves. After a while he eats water-insects and small grubs.

While living in the water the little toad looks very much like a fish. He has a large head and a long tail. He breathes through two branches, like feathers, which are called gills. These gills grow on each side of his head.

The toad changes very much before he is ready to live on land. In the water he has no legs, but soon he has four. His gills are gone and he draws in air through his throat. He is going to begin a new life. In the spring the toads go back to the shore of the pond. Mrs. Toad knows that her eggs must be hatched in the water, although she prefers to live on the land.

Frogs must live near the water, for they will die if their skins are not kept moist and cool. Yet they cannot live long in the water, and a drowned frog is no uncommon sight. Kind-hearted boys and girls should remember this, and be ready to lend a helping hand to some poor frog that finds the sides of his swimming-place too steep for him to climb.

Young toads are very sensitive to heat, and secrete themselves in cool places during the day. A summer shower will bring them out by the dozens, so that many ignorant people think that the thirsty creatures have "rained down." Mr. Toad carries under his skin a great many small sacs full of liquid. This keeps him cool and comfortable, no matter how dusty his home may be. If he is frightened he can defend himself with this liquid, which is harmless to the hands, but probably bitter and disagreeable to the taste, since dogs and cats show signs of discomfort after taking toads in their mouths. Care should be taken to wash one's hands after touching a toad, as this liquid is also very irritating to the eyes, and might be rubbed into them.

The most curious thing about a toad is its tongue. This is very long, and its tip is turned backward into the mouth. It can dart out and snap up a fly or a beetle so quickly that it is almost impossible to see the motion.

Toads are not only harmless, but they are our very good friends. If they are not disturbed they will live a long time in one place, and destroy many bugs and insects that injure our gardens.

It has been estimated that every year in this country property to the amount of $400,000,000 is destroyed by insects. If this is true all creatures which feed upon insects are entitled to our care and gratitude.

The United States Department of Agriculture has published a paper on the toad. It estimates that he saves to the farmer, by eating the cutworms which destroy the crops, about twenty dollars every season.

Toads eat the common house-fly, which is such an annoyance to us. A toad has been seen to snap up eighty-six flies in less than ten minutes.

Toads are sometimes kept for pets, and they are not lacking in intelligence. Once a toad lived in a garden, and every day at the dinner hour he came to be fed. It happened that the dinner hour was changed, and when the toad came there was nothing for him to eat. Mr. Toad made up his mind that he would not lose his dinner twice. On the second day he came at the new hour, and after this he was as punctual as the rest of the family. No one could tell how he knew that in the future his dinner would be served two hours earlier.

The toad is often the victim of thoughtless cruelty. He can do no one any harm. He cannot even run away when he is stoned and tormented. The fun of teasing him must be like that of beating a baby or a helpless cripple. No one but a coward could ever think it an amusing thing to do.

Perhaps no animal is so misunderstood as the bat. He seems such a queer compound of mouse and bird, and to most of us he is such a stranger, that we do not have a very friendly feeling for him.

Of course you know that he is not a bird at all. Birds have feathers and the bat has soft, smooth fur. He is absolutely harmless, unless frightened or hurt, and he is a very useful little fellow. He eats mosquitoes and house-flies and the insects that cause most of the worm- eaten apples.

Bats fly only at night. They soon become friendly with any one who is kind to them, and will come to be fed or stroked. One who has studied them says that the good they do is very great and that the value of one of the little animals might easily amount to fifty dollars a year.

Are we not unjust to any living creature when we shrink from it because to us it does not seem beautiful? It may well be that our eyes are too dull to see its real beauty. But whether we can see the beauty or not, it is only fair that we should recognize the service which we are so willing to accept.



A TRIUMPH.

Little Roger up the long slope rushing Through the rustling corn, Showers of dew-drops from the broad leaves brushing, In the early morn,

At his sturdy little shoulder bearing, For a banner gay, Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring In the wind away!

Up he goes, the summer sunrise flushing O'er him in his race, Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing On his radiant face;

If he can but set his standard glorious On the hill-top low, Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious, All the world aglow!

So he presses on with childish ardor, Almost at the top! Hasten, Roger! Does the way grow harder? Wherefore do you stop?

From below the corn-stalks tall and slender Comes a plaintive cry; Turns he for an instant from the splendor Of the crimson sky,

Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow, Calling loud and clear, "Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow? Don't you cry, my dear!"

Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies; "Little sister sweet, Must you follow Roger?" Then he raises Baby on her feet,

Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender, Cheerfully and gay, All his courage and his strength would lend her Up the uneven way,

Till they front the blazing east together; But the sun has rolled Up the sky in the still summer weather, Flooding them with gold.

All forgotten is the boy's ambition, Low the standard lies, Still they stand, and gaze—a sweeter vision Ne'er met mortal eyes.

That was splendid, Roger, that was glorious, Thus to help the weak; Better than to plant your flag victorious On earth's highest peak! CELIA THAXTER.



PART III

OUR FRIENDS THE BIRDS



THE CANARY'S STORY.

Am I happy? No, not quite happy, though I sing as if I were. Do you think that a cage would make you happy if you had wings?

I am willing to say that I am grateful. Helen is very good to me. She never forgets to fill my seed-cup and my glass of water. Every morning I have my bath and my cage is cleaned. At night I am taken into a cool, dark room to sleep. If the house is too warm I am very uncomfortable, and Helen is careful to keep my sleeping-room cool.

Sometimes Helen takes me out of the cage for a while. It is a great pleasure to fly in and out among the plants in the window. I pretend that I am in the woods. For a time I am very happy.

I was a wretched little bird when Helen's mother bought me. For days I had been in a tiny wooden box, with no chance to move about. Every morning a man took several of these boxes in his hand and walked up and down the streets crying, "Birds! Singing birds! Only two dollars!" He swung the boxes back and forth until I was sick and dizzy. It seemed to me that I could never sing again.

Then Helen saw me and begged her mother to give the man two dollars, so that she could take me out of the hot sun and the narrow box. How big and bright this cage seemed then!

I am never cold and hungry, it is true, but sometimes I try to fancy how it would seem to be free, to fly where I like under the open sky, and to have other birds near by. I dream of waving branches and distant mountain-tops. I can almost hear the sea pounding on the sunny beaches of those warm islands where I first saw the light. Do you think, if you were I, you could be quite happy?



THE CAGED THRUSH.

Alas for the bird who was born to sing! They have made him a cage; they have clipped his wing; They have shut him up in a dingy street, And they praise his singing and call it sweet; But his heart and his song are saddened and filled With the woods and the nest he never will build, And the wild young dawn coming into the tree, And the mate that never his mate will be; And day by day, when his notes are heard, They freshen the street, but—alas for the bird! R. F. MURRAY. In the "Academy."



HOW TO CARE FOR A CANARY.

The original home of the canary was in the Canary Islands. These are warm, sunny islands not far from the west coast of Africa. Winter is almost unknown there, and before the bird-catchers came the canaries must have led happy lives.

The birds were trapped and sent to all the countries of Europe. The first canaries brought to America came from Germany in 1842. It was a long voyage in a sailing-vessel, and many of the poor little prisoners died on the way.

The birds are put into wicker cages so small that there is scarcely room to stretch their wings. These cages are packed in boxes or crates, and one hundred and sixty-eight birds are sent in one crate.

The birds are kept in the tiny cages until they are sold. The cups of food and water are put inside the cages. Sometimes when they are moved to a larger cage, the birds do not know where to look for their food. They have been known to die of hunger because they could not find their seed-cups, which in their new cages are on the outside.

Every day, when the cage is cleaned, fresh water and food should be placed in it. Birds like a daily bath in a shallow dish of tepid water. After the bath they should have an hour or two of liberty. It is unkind to keep them shut up in a cage all the time.

After a bird has had his morning frolic he should not be chased or frightened into his cage. When the little fellow is hungry he will be glad to go back, especially if he sees there a bit of food that he likes. In time he will even learn to fly to the outstretched finger of his master or mistress, and to answer, as well as he can, the caressing tones which he loves.

A canary is one of the most sensitive creatures in the world. A harsh or sudden noise disturbs it, and a severe fright may kill it.

Canaries like the sunshine and dread the cold, but they should not be left in the sun in warm weather. Do not hang the cage in a draught or away from the light. It should be about five feet from the floor and not too near a register or radiator.

Once a month the cage must be thoroughly washed and the perches scalded, if you wish your bird's home to be healthful. The floor and perches will also need cleaning every day. Coarse sand should be sprinkled on the thick, brown paper which covers the bottom of the cage. At night put the cage in a dark room or spread over it a square of soft, dark material, in such a way that the air is not shut out.

The ordinary bath-tub provided for a canary is much too small. Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller says that it should be nearly as wide as the spread of his wings, so that he can beat the water and toss it over him in a spray. A common earthen saucer belonging to a flower-pot is very good for the purpose. As this saucer will be too large to go through the cage-door, it should be placed on a large folded cloth or paper and the upper part of the cage placed over it. While the bird is taking his bath, the floor of the cage may be made clean for the day.

It is a good plan to give a canary bread, crackers, a little of the hard-boiled yolk of an egg, or a piece of apple. In summer he will enjoy a bunch of chickweed. In winter he may have a bit of lettuce or cabbage leaf. He should have something green every day. Of course he must have also canary and rape seeds, and occasionally a very little hemp seed for a treat.

If the canary or rape seed is poor the bird will scatter it and refuse to eat it. Only seed which is large and clean should be used. It is better to buy each kind by itself and mix them afterwards. The hemp seed is so rich that not more than half a small teaspoonful should be given at a time. Do not mix this with the other seeds, but scatter it on the floor of the cage.

Mosquitoes sometimes annoy a canary very much. A loose bag of netting drawn over the cage will save him from unnecessary suffering. When these poor prisoners are in our care we must do what we can to protect them and make them happy. No true bird-lover would choose to see his pets in cages, but we cannot turn the defenseless little creatures out into the cold. If no one would buy a canary, there would be no more caught, and the cruel business would come to an end. Is it not worth while to think how much better it is to have no caged pets at all? In this free land of ours shall we deny freedom to the bird, which, above all other creatures, needs space and sunshine?



AN INDIAN STORY.

In a little book about Omaha there is this story which is told by Bright Eyes, the daughter of an Indian chief. "We were out on a buffalo hunt. I was a little bit of a thing when it happened. Father could neither speak English nor read and write, and this story shows that the highest moral worth can exist aside from all civilization and education.

"It was evening. The tents had been pitched for the night, the camp-fire made, and mother and the other women were cooking supper over it.

"I was playing near my father when an Indian boy, a playmate, came up and gave me a little bird which he had found.

"I was very much pleased. I tried to feed it and make it drink. After I had played with it a long time, my father said to me: 'My daughter, bring your bird to me.'

"When I took it to him he held it in his hand a moment, smoothed its feathers gently, and then said: 'Daughter, I will tell you what you might do with your bird. Take it carefully in your hand out yonder where there are no tents, where the high grass is. Put it softly down on the ground and say as you put it down, "God, I give you back your little bird. Have pity on me as I have pity on your bird."'

"I said: 'Does it belong to God?'

"He said: 'Yes, and He will be pleased if you do not hurt it, but give it back to Him to care for.'

"I was very much impressed and carefully followed out his directions, saying the little prayer he had told me to say."



HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS.

Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in summer, Where they hid themselves in winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.



TO THE CUCKOO.

Sweet bird! Thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make on joyful wing Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring. JOHN LOGAN.



OUR FRIENDS THE BIRDS.

We have few better friends than the birds. They spend their lives working for us. Without them our crops would be destroyed by insects and mice. Soon no green thing would be left, and the earth would no longer be habitable.

Birds do all this without being asked. If we treat them kindly and try to make friends with them, we shall find that in addition to the good they do in protecting our fields and gardens, they may also bring us a great deal of pleasure.

Birds are the most beautiful of creatures. Their plumage is often brilliant and always pleasing. Their motions are so graceful it is a delight to watch them. Their voices are so sweet that they charm every one who loves the fields and woods.

It is very interesting to study the habits of birds. They make journeys thousands of miles in length and return to the same home each year. They build the most wonderful homes and take the best of care of their young.

If we would have these beautiful and interesting creatures live near us we must show them that we mean them no harm. Then they will come about our homes, cheering us with their glad songs, and amusing us with their intelligence.

It is sad to think that birds have learned to fear man because he has killed and trapped them, or robbed their nests of eggs or young. This is not a very good way to treat a friend, is it?

Travelers tell us that when they have visited islands where men did not live, the birds were so tame that they perched upon their shoulders and could be easily caught.

Birds soon find out when man is their enemy, and then become wild and shy; but they are always willing to become our friends again. If we can make them understand that when near us they are safe, they will show their faith in our good-will.

The wild eider-duck makes her nest and lays her eggs in the huts of the Icelanders because she knows that she will not be harmed. In nesting time the birds may be seen in the village streets. They are so tame that one might think they were domestic ducks.

In Europe the storks build upon the house-tops. The peasant welcomes them as friends when each spring they return to their home. He is glad to have them near him, and he places an old cart-wheel on top of his house as a foundation for their nest of sticks.

Near some of the steamboat landings in Florida no shouting is allowed. The wild ducks and coots quickly learn to know where they are safe, and in these places they are very tame, so that one can walk quite near them. But when they are outside the spot in which they are protected they are as shy as the wildest ducks.

Throughout the South it is against the law to kill the buzzards or vultures. These birds are very useful. They are public scavengers, devouring many things which would cause disease. The birds know that they have no one to fear and they hop about the streets as tame as chickens.

You see, therefore, that the birds will trust us when they learn that we are their friends. If you would encourage them to make their home near yours, you might provide little boxes for them to occupy or make holes in hollow limbs where they can place their nests.

They enjoy, too, a trough of water in which they can bathe. When winter comes a piece of tallow in the trees will prove a rich treat to the chickadee, and a few seeds scattered on the snow will make a feast for the hardy snowbirds.



FEATHERED TRAVELERS.

Some birds are great travelers. They may pass the summer in the Arctic regions and in the autumn go to Patagonia to spend the winter. Is it not wonderful how they can make this long journey without a compass or map to guide them?

Generally they follow rivers or coast lines; but they may have to cross large bodies of water where no land can be seen Still they find their way to and fro, returning each year to the same place Sometimes they even use the nest they built the year before.

Large birds and those which can fly swiftly, like swallows, are not afraid to travel by day. But the little birds, like wrens and warblers, that live in the shelter of trees and bushes, wait for the night.

They are not afraid of the dark. It hides them from their enemies. So when the sun has gone down and night comes, they fly up into the air and start on their journey.

If you should look through a telescope at the moon some clear night in spring or autumn, you could probably see the birds flying by. They look like bees going across the face of the moon.

Large birds, like ducks, fly very swiftly. It is thought that they may travel one hundred miles an hour. But the small warblers and flycatchers go less than half as fast.

Most birds that fly at night are far above the earth. They go as high as two or three miles. If you have ever been on a mountain top or a very high building, you will know how much farther you can see than when you are on the ground.

So the birds, too, can see a great distance as they fly by, high in the air. At night they can see the water sparkling in the starlight. This helps them to find their way.

When it is foggy or raining they cannot see which way they are going This is a sad time for the little feathered travelers. Some fly far out to sea and are drowned. The feathers of some are so wet that they cannot fly. Then they must seek shelter in the trees.

In wet and foggy weather the birds sometimes fly to the lighthouses. The light seems to attract them, just as a light attracts moths. They fly against the glasses which protect the light, and often are killed.

Sometimes large birds fly through the glass about the light. The light- keeper therefore puts wire netting outside the glass to protect it from these large birds.

While the birds are traveling at night they often call and chirp to each other. This keeps them from being lonely and from getting lost. If you should listen very carefully some still night in September, you might hear the birds calling as they fly swiftly by.

When morning comes the birds fly down to earth. Would you not think that they would be very tired after flying all night? They do not seem to be. But they are hungry, and as soon as they alight they begin to look for something to eat.

After breakfast they rest for a few hours. In the afternoon they go out for supper, for they must have a good meal if they are to fly again all night.



WHEN THE BIRDS RETURN.

How pleasant it is to hear the song of the robin on a March morning! At the first sign of spring he comes back to us from his winter home in the South. His cheerful song tells us that winter will soon be gone. In a few weeks we can look for wild flowers, and the fields will be green again.

The blackbirds follow a few days later. With a merry, jingling chorus they perch in the leafless trees. We know now that soon there will be leaves and blossoms, and the thought makes us glad.

Now we may look for the bluebird also. His soft, sweet warble is one of the most welcome of the springtime sounds. See him looking at the box in which last year he had a nest! Probably he is planning repairs. How happy he seems!