rer ron eu Ors ni fsiebwie fale Pst Rate tee te ie Fs ae punter terete ess rig tint se tent at : en a ; on eae heleha debs) Rat Pash Ra tat Oni Po ote i Go Bs ya en » Fite Hate tee aon niente he Reteb chine tnt 7 tte he Pete lt (Teles = gn OD hag te ti hae tes Beh Ba Be altel > holst he hs } Beitr Ge Moreh sie tac th~' tathplbn hei sebelah: Se q raat = He "Fe? ea © a Ce Se anaied nhs b> ee Ontn-f es ae eS So eS ae oo tate ee hPa oeh Wed _* rw ~ ese ok, a fecha Bobet tel, oe re ty “ ot ae Persea * Fenton Pathe ah Ned 0 Oe an be er ee Dai =teate i= they o Me ets iets tel rer Re dart ee eaeeneee eee —" . - ~~ 4 . ¥ ~ ; : , fat bo* - : et X “ — - ap p ; - “ phn ? + ‘ , - i . ; ee oo x —_ ’ wet ers ania at & = - a = i" fe wt © Pm %e# $-Pare se) 2 ~ trates a deg le a So a A\ 88 / Wer ey 14 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S — ar ‘ i i ipl a mm SEE SANA Ah: iy a | H WAT EMTeT(rerrernTT (Try WUVIWOMI NUE HAUSE jy ut i Mi WR Wipe i H\ I lh 3 hi a Fe! Re UW) ‘S “S > Ceo (OY 4 Boll VN aN Mies NG y hi WISIN SS a WSS ue aN MS ot ONS add BREAKFA; 4 ispi AST AT MARCY’S. Frontispiece. a \y % % ‘ t Perse pane rss 50 Wei a x cs PEL wri tis 5a my ie : ; wen Hest sain * . Seu tee j 4 FUNNY FRIENDS OR QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S BY Sb Ee THORNE MILLER = Soo 8 AuTHoR OF ‘‘LiTTLE FoLks IN FEATHERS AND Fur,” ETC. sss Ye he ia, ; e ; i, By Ne.,' NEW YORK BP DUTTON. & COMPANY 31 West TWENTY-THIRD STREET j : ‘ ae zs % . Little & Co. _. Astor Place, New York ° t r ¢ 2 LES a (hy ‘ Nas as wee a ia “ ‘ . iid y + ‘ pete » ‘ '’ ¥ . 2 PREPACE. THE facts of Natural History in this volume are connected with a thread of story, to please the Little People, who delight in stories that are true. Because of that form, let no one suspect they are in any way fictitious. The facts are carefully gleaned from the best modern naturalists and travelers, and the stories of pets are well au- thenticated. Most of the latter occurred within my own circle of acquaintances, and the others are credited in the text to the proper authorities. To make a delightful story about animals is by no means the aim of the book, but to tell plain facts and true stories of ani- mals in a way to interest the Young Folk for whom it was written. Its value is greatly enhanced by the illustrations, which, with few exceptions, were drawn for the book, and from the very animals therein described, by Mr. Jas. C. Beard, of whose merits as a delineator of animal life no words of mine are needed. OLIVE EHORNE MILLER: CONTE NES. CHAPTER i MARCY S AND THE PEOPLE WHO LIVED THERE..... PP EBORN IN WA PRISON oi. 5 02060154 aoe meaner Hut Bee CMON SOD We Mae WMO Ss eh se. eed eet es 4.—DOcTOR DOT AND THE NEW-FASHIONED HENS..... bee bLACK ROGUE IN MBATHERS.. 0. otro sce aces OGRA AWB 5 cael ec iinn atm foe alee le he oe FF NE IEA OS eh 2 Us EA poe a S-—_ QUEER FAMILY THAT LIVED NEXT Door... ....... CHE NEW PET TAT ABBY CAUGHT... 0.25605... fo GEN RAL, LEA EVE. UN GA BOOM 60). os eee 2. eee Pee) NIEMINEN MONE ya CE ee ge se ae es ee duals ee RO USE Ol IVIL. is eee dicie oie eels e woes ip OMERe Men E a SNRANGER Soe eres oe oe 16.—A NATIVE AMERICAN........ ce aR POO 17.—THE BABY THAT LIVES IN THE SNOW COTTAGE..... St NEN O ORG ANID Ma@Bur asm some oR ee 7 108 I2ZI - 132 140 149 161 168 174 185 g CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE lo=— A. SAILOR WITH “WINGS... o. 00s eae ee 198 20) SAE TER HWS "DINNER 22440 0% aka oo onic s oo eee ee 204 Zi A EWAVS. IN TROUBLE. .1y.. 0.45 225 ee Oe 212 22. EE WMATT LE “HERMIT 600.4 eee ee 219 23. Ac DISTINGUISHED JAPANESE, GUEST. 2-5 )— eee 223 27 HE DARBY THAD S BURIED IN SAND 20.) Ae 231 25. IPE IN A LACE HOUSE. ....2 Bate ee 242 26.——NOPSA THE FIFTH CAT 00.4 Oe ee 263 BAN UGLY BABY fc. 3 25s os See 274 251 WO); FUNNY, SPERLOWS J elt as eee ae eric 290.—-WHAT THEY SAW IN THE PARK ...2.. .2:.. 5.50 290 20:.=--WITH ALONG “NOSE.2.4 f. 9c eo oe ne 298 31.--PUSSY'S (WILD COUSINS’)... 2-2. cee er 310 32: MERMAID 1.000 Oe oe er 325 33.—A STRANGE STORY OF A HORSE .-.. 00.02.55 320 34.—THE AIR CASTLE AND THE FAMILY THAT LIVED IN PP hoes de eS ie ee 338 35.—_PLAY-HOUSE, BUILDERS.”. 2220200 (0 ae BAG 36.—THE CURIOUS FELLOW THAT CAME IN A BOX..... 352 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. CHAPTER FIRST. MARCY’S AND THE PEOPLE WHO LIVED THERE. I NEVER knew a house that was so full of animal pets as Marcy’s. One needed to have his eyes open, to avoid stepping on a tame bird, or stumbling over a sleepy cat, and timid ladies were rather shy of it, keeping a sharp eye on dark cor- ners and under sofas, for any strange creature that might rush out at them. The house stood in the edge of a pleasant village near New York, and I call it Marcy’s, because Marcy—or Marcia, to give her full name—was the elder of the two children, and the chief keeper of the family menagerie, about which this book is written. Ralph was perhaps as fond of pets as she, but he was apt to get “tired” and to “forget,” neither of which she ever did, so 9 IO QUEER PILUS A TimiViiigeN ais: long as a bird needed seed, or a kitten wanted milk. She never refused to sit up all night with a sick dog, and many a time was not able to sleep, because the affectionate cat insisted on bringing her whole family of kittens on to her bed, or some grateful, but lonely, four-footed friend would not rest easy ex- cept in her arms. Many things the family suffered from their pets. Cats slept on the white counterpanes, and birds spattered the carpets from their baths; one dog insisted on sleeping between sheets, and a parrot nibbled the picture-frames; a canary picked holes in the plastering, and a kitten tore every newspaper to bits; foxes enawed the shoes and rubbers, and the squirrel made holes in the carpets. The house-mother was amused and annoyed by turns, and Patty, the cook, scolded roundly. The father only laughed, and Uncle Karl Uncle Karl. This best of uncles was Marcy’s great help and comfort. His but wait! a whole new paragraph must go to home was with them, and it was he who brought the queer pets, made pictures, and told the children about them. He always knew what to feed the strangers, and how to treat them when ill, In fact, without him, Marcy’s would never have been known as a home for pets, and you would never have had a book about it. He had one habit that brought him many a curiosity. He visited every ship from strange countries that came into the city, to see what animals the sailors had to sell. On the day my story begins, he brought home from one of these visits two new pets, one of which he gave to each of the children. Ralph’s gift was a parrot, which had come in a ship from PRANKS ON THE CLOTHES-LINE. II Mexico, having sailed around Cape Horn, a good five months’ voyage, and Marcy’s was a Florida Chamelion. Ralph named his Parrot Keeta, or rather, he named himself Parakeeta, and his master merely shortened the name; and it was not long before he distinguished himself as a bird of great perseverance and intelligence. When he set out to do any- thing, he meant to do it, and it took a great deal to discourage him. | One thing he had made up his mind to do, was to cross the yard on the clothes-line. He could climb a rope better than any sailor that ever lived; he had learned that on board the ship, where he would go up “hand over hand,” as sailors say, using his bill as a third hand, to any height he chose. Now, why should not so accomplished a climber be able to walk a clothes-line? Keeta decided that he could, and there- upon he began. He started out bravely, walking, of course, right side up, like a professional rope-walker. When he had gone a few feet the rope basely failed him, and turned over. Keeta suddenly found himself head down, holding on for dear life. He was not discouraged, however. He made the most frantic efforts to get up; but no sooner would he succeed in right- ing himself than over it would go again. Again and again he tried it, getting quite ruffled up, and really furious about it, while the children looked on and laughed till the bird began to be tired, and then Ralph held out a finger to him, which he readily accepted, and so reached a steadier perch. As long as he lived he never really gave it up, and every little while he would have a serious time with that clothes-line. His greatest passion was to throw things down, like a naughty 12 OULER (PETS AT VE ONaes: child, apparently to hear the noise, or to see what happened, for he would lean over and look with interest at the fate of the object thrown. When he chanced to get on the kitchen table or shelf, he would march along, and coolly push everything he could move over the edge, till Patty drove him out of the room in a rage. Keeta’s favorite place for playing pranks was in Ralph’s shop. Ralph was fond of tools, and had quite a collection in an unused room down-stairs. His father had a carpenter’s bench put in, and Ralph spent many happy hours, at work or play, in that part of the house. Of course Keeta was often with him, and seemed to be as fond of the shop as Ralph himself, though not for the same reason. He would walk solemnly along the bench, picking up every nail or tool that he could lift, and dropping it to the floor, cocking his knowing head on one side to see where it went. , The chalk-line was his special delight. Yard after yard he would throw over, watching the tangle it made on the floor, and now and then giving a quiet chuckle of delight at the mis- chief he had done. Ralph, who had it to wind up again, was not so well pleased with this trick, and he thought he would teach Master Keeta a lesson. So one. day he wound the line in a coil and tied it, leaving a long piece hanging from the other end of the bench. The next time the Parrot came in, Ralph went to work at the farther end of the bench, as though he did not see him, and Keeta at once spied the tempting coil of cord. Slowly and cautiously he drew near it, keeping an eye on his master all the time. iw rat (py! HH ag ly We } i, G4) rt k Ds lyr ieiaa i KEETA AT HOME, 14 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. Ralph, however, seemed absorbed in his work, and very quietly Mr. Keeta crept up to the spot, and leaned over to seize it. At that instant Ralph gave a sly jerk on the loose end of the coil, and the Parrot, astounded to see life in what he thought was a dead rope, sprang two feet into the air, with a squawk of dismay. He was suspicious, however, that Ralph had something to do with it, for he was well acquainted with ropes, and never saw one jump before. .So he turned one eye on’ bis young master, who seemed more busy than ever with his work. The Parrot then made up his mind that he had been mistaken, and once more he turned towards the rope. Again he crept up in the most wary manner, and again it sprang from under his very claw, making him repeat his leap and cry. He tried it several times, till Ralph had to indulge in a good laugh; but he was still not convinced that he could not take hold of the line. A favorite perch of the Parrot’s was on the edge of an old refrigerator that stood in a corner of the shop. There he could watch Ralph at his work or play, and also keep an eye on the street, through a window near by. Now his wings were clipped, of course, and sometimes in getting off this high place, poor Keeta would fall down behind the box, where he could not get out. Then would arise the most dreadful shrieks of ‘“ Ralph! Ralph! Parakeeta! Parakeeta!”’ till Ralph would come to his aid, letting down a rope, which the Parrot would seize, and climb out. He was a great talker, chatting to himself for hours; but his language was Spanish, and excepting the name Ralph, he never spoke a word of English. What killed him they never knew; but one morning he was THEY ARE WARY FELLOWS. 15 found dead on the floor, and his pretty white bones joined mae collection ~ in the Den. Parrots are very amusing pets, and have been kept as.such almost as far back as history goes. The early Romans kept them in cages of ivory, silver, and shell, and hired tutors to teach them to say Czsar. When America was discovered, they were found as pets in the huts of the natives. Miey are not petted, however, in the country where they abound. They are as full of mischief when wild as they are when tame, and they destroy great quantities of fruit and grain —much more than they can possibly eat, though they go in enormous flocks, and have very good appetites of their own. They are wary fellows, even before they have learned by sad experience how much they need to fear man. When a flock alights in an orchard or wheat-field, they keep the most per- fect silence; they know they are stealing. But if the farmer comes near, and the watchers they always have, announce it by a scream, they all rise in the air with fearful shrieks. The funniest thing about wild parrots is the way they live. They always have some spot for a bedroom. On the coast of Africa, as Du Chaillu tells us, there is a place of this sort called Parrot Island. In other places it will be in a bamboo thicket or some deep woods, generally where there are many hollow trees. There they come every night, beginning to arrive at about four o'clock in the afternoon, and flying in vast flocks, so mam, ane so fast that even the flocks cannot be counted. All are chattering and screaming, and making such a noise that they even drown the sounds in a noisy market. The fearful din is kept up for a long time. Evidently they are telling the news of the day, where they have been, what they aS iG "Hi y dogs: Ni (ey GEN Me M Wy THE AFRICAN COUSIN. Tie Wee) 0S BED ROOM, 17 have seen, where the wheat is ripe, and whose orchard has the most fruit. One by one they retire for the night, into hollow trees, where they will crowd till there’s not room for another claw. Early in the morning, before people want to wake up, the whole parrot city is awake, making plans for the day; while one after another the flocks will go off in every direction, to eat and enjoy themselves all day. About noon they seek some water where they may bathe, getting soaking wet in the operation, and hiding during the hottest hours in the deepest shade they can find. Noisy as they always are, they are not so careless as to let a stranger come near. They are as curious as monkeys, and the moment a person approaches the woods where they are, every sound is stopped as if by magic, not a whisper to be heard, and every parrot draws closer to the trunk of the tree, to be hidden. If the stranger shoots, they all fly with screams. All these sociable and lively times cease when nesting time comes, and each pair finds, or makes for itself, a cozy home in a hollow tree. There the mother-bird sits on her two round white eggs, while the father feeds her, till the ugly little blind babies come out, and then she joins him in hunting food for the hungry little fellows. They are not able to eat hard food, so it is softened in the crop of the parent, and the young ones are fed at regular hours, twice a day, at eleven, and at five o’clock. The parents are attentive and loving, and in eight or ten days the babies have their eyes open, and soon are able to fly about and help them- selves. Then the families unite in flocks once more, and gay life begins in the parrot world. 18 QUEER PETS, ATV. cS: Parrots, when tame, learn to eat and drink whatever people do, even coffee and tea and wine. They not only learn to talk everything, but they really seem to know what it means, and in fact they are extremely wise birds. One that I read of, put out a fire started by a cigar end carelessly thrown down, by turning over his drinking cup, and spilling the water on the fire. One that Mr. Wood tells about, got away after being taught to speak, in Brazil, and was afterwards seen in the woods teach- ing a crowd of his wild relations to speak Portuguese. He would say a short sentence, and they would all say it after him ; then he would give them another, which they would repeat as before. Then he would vary the lesson by dancing, and rolling his head, and at once the whole crowd would fall to dancing and rolling their heads. It was the funniest sight you can imagine. Perhaps, with such a school teacher, the Brazilian parrots may all learn to talk Por- tuguese—who knows? Another story that Wood tells is of a parrot who liked to be dressed in a doll’s cloak and hat. He would strut around and admire himself, go to sleep to order, aiid in many ways show his delight. But when Dolly was dressed in the clothes herself, Polly was very angry; he would untie the strings, and jerk them off of her, as if she had been a thief. However, Dolly mica care, so there was no harm done. The parrot’s greatest enemy, wild or tame, is a monkey, be- cause of an insane desire in every monkey’s mischievous head to pull out the beautiful tail feathers of the bird. Whenever they meet, the naughty monkey at once pounces on the feath- ers, and as he is the stronger, poor Poll has a sad time. Parrots are affectionate to each other. If one is shot, out of Ahi) WITH A KAMIEYV OF SLAVES. ite) a flock, the rest will not leave him, but will hover around and show their distress, so faithfully, that the whole flock may be shot, one after another. Not one will fly away. They nestle lovingly together in the trees, scratch each other’s head and neck, and sometimes sleep with their heads under a neighbor’s feathers. Living in New York at this moment is a bird of the par- rot family who has a strange story, which his master has written for a daily paper. I was about to say that he lives with a family, but it‘would be more correct to say that the family live with him, for if ever one small green bird ruled a house- hold, and owned a whole family of human slaves, this is the bird. : He is a paroquet, six or seven inches long, and his name is Pick. The way he came to adopt the family was this: He was one day flying about in the air of his native Florida, with a flock of his friends, screaming and having a fine noisy time, when a hunter came along, and—as hunters usually do—be- gan to shoot. One fell dead, and the rest came about him, for the parrot family, as I told you, never desert a friend in trouble. One after another fell before that terrible gun, till only two were left, and these were found clinging to the willows, one fatally wounded, but the other only hurt by the breaking of a wing feather. This is not a pleasant part of the story to any but a hunter. Let us hurry over it. The unhurt bird was a little fellow, dressed in beautiful satiny dark green, with gold-colored cap on his head, and a sharp temper of his own. He had not vet fixed his heart 2 20 QUEER: PETS AF MEARNS: upon the hunter, and he fought and screamed when he was smothered in a handkerchief, and carried off to a house. The captive was a bird of ideas, and when he reached the porch of the hotel, he had evidently made up his mind to submit to his fate, and see what would come of it. He step- ped from his bonds with the most perfect calmness, picked up a straw and began to play with it, ran after a beetle, and in other ways made himself entirely at home. He was not afraid of anybody. He decided to stay, and he was at once named Pick. What to eat was the first thing to be thought of, for the bird was not yet used to human food. Acorns were the only thing he seemed to like, and of course his devoted friend, the man who had shot him, tramped miles through the woods to set them. One day Pick found a pine coné and ate the secdsyane after that he tried experiments. First he ate nuts) walmuee pecan nuts, peanuts, and others, and at last he hit upon his choice of food, which he never changed, though before long he ate everything. His choice was almonds, and almonds are kept in convenient places to this day. He never tried to get away. Before his wing was well, he had lost all desire to do so, and he never was tamed. His master, or more properly his friend, became his idol, and a more adoring soul never lived than this small green bird. He learned to eat like anybody, came to the table, dipped into anything he chose, devoured onions, bacon, eggs, honey, preserves, and cheese. He drank tea and coffee hot, and lemon- ade cold. In fact, he did as nearly what his friend did as a small bird could, and attached himself to him in every way. vel. Jk JAARMAR GG PICK, ° 22 OUEDR PETS ATi iA CY «Gs: When he went out in a boat, Pick would climb to the top of the little mast, and enjoy the fishing in the liveliest and most | excited way. His wing got well, and he could fly, and then he would go off on short excursions to the groves; but never out of hearing, and he always came when called. Perhaps the greatest trouble at first was to find a comfortable sleeping place, and he never really suited himself till he shared the bed of his friend. He would creep under the blankets, and sleep close to his idol. Pick was not gentle in his manners; he was a born tyrant. When he wanted his head scratched—which he often did—he would walk up to somebody and lower his head in a way that said as plainly as words could do, “‘ Scratch my head.” One day he invited a small dog to do this service for him. The dog of course paid no attention to the demand, and, after one or two sharp orders, Pick rushed at him, gave him a severe bite through the paw, then flew out of the dog’s reach, and watched his cries with delight. Pick had one attack of homesickness—it was the last. His wing had been well for weeks, and one evening he flew away to the woods. He had tried human society for three months, and now he apparently longed for the wild, free life of his youth. He was gone six days; but he did not find the old life, for his friends were all dead, and a flock of these birds will not let a stranger come among them. One evening he came flying back, and alighted on the shoulder of his friend, thin, worn, and rum- pled, looking very little like the trim, well-fed little fellow that flew away. He was nearly starved, too, and, after eating his fill of al- monds, he went to bed under the bolster, and slept till ten PICK’S PLAYTHINGS. 23 o’clock the next morning. That day he gave to making himself Mice once more. © Ele bathed twice, and spent hours cleaning and arranging his feathers. . After that time, Pick always insisted on a morning bath, and the wash-bow] was his chosen tub. He would walk up and de- mand his bath, and if there was no water, he would seat himself in the pitcher, and scream till some was brought. After all, little Pickie, though he looked so wise and grave, was but a baby, and was fond of toys. Anything bright, like a silver thimble, a button, or a bit of tin, he at once pounced upon and carried off to play with. Finally, a basket was filled with little things he fancied, and set apart for him. He knew this basket, and knew that it was his, as well as any child could. He never allowed a stranger to touch it, and he amused himself by the hour, turning over the things and throwing them on to the floor. The favorite plaything was a steel watch-chain, which he would wind around his legs, or lie flat on his back and roll over and over on the floor to play with. He was extremely curious, anxious to go through every door, and into every drawer or trunk that was opened. Whatever was going on, sewing, writing, or crochet, Pick had a hand in the business, and was always ready to express his opinion and give his help. When the time drew near for Pick’s family to go back to their home in New York, they began to prepare him for the journey by bringing in a cage. It was a strong affair of wire, and the bird at once looked on it with suspicion, and could not be coaxed to go near it. If he was put ‘nto it after dark, he would scream and work at the fastenings till he opened the door, or let down the bottom and got out. 24 QUEER PETS: AL MABENGS: It was three weeks before he would stay an instant in the cage, if he could help it, and it was months before he was contented to be left there. He would scream loud enough to alarm the _ household, and his voice was anything but pleasant. By the patient work of his friend, who would lie on the floor and talk to Pick by the hour, he was at last brought to submit more quietly. He would cling to the wires while his friend wrapped bird, cage, and all in a blanket, and then sat down to play him to sleep with a guitar, of which he was very fond. Pick would listen and chirp, and at last go to sleep, and his tired— but always devoted—slave would slip out of the room. Pick came to New York with his friends early the next spring. The sights and sounds of the great city amazed him. He would sit on the window-sill for hours, and watch the people, and listen to the sounds about him. } He was no more shut up ina cage, but flew about the house as he chose. Sand-paper was tacked to the wall, on which to sharpen his bill, and boxes of almonds were placed here and there in convenient places, and Master Pick set up housekeep- ing. The next winter they all went back to Florida, and the bird knew the place as well as the man. He was not confined at all, and he visited his old haunts with delight, going out gun- ning with his friend, and calmly sitting on the gun while it was fired. He made no attempt to go back to the woods; but one day two wounded paroquets were brought to the house. Pick was delighted, and at once welcomed them like a prince. He put the best of everything before them, and tried in every way to make them his friends. RPICTALS “POUSONE PD: 25 The strangers were wrapped up in each other, and would pay no attention to Pick. He set food before them, which they did not eat; he offered to plume them, and in every way showed his desire to be hospitable and polite. But they would not look at him nor accept any civility, and at last poor Pick got angry. He bristled up and flew at them. He pulled out their feathers and pecked their heads, screaming at them like an angry child. At this point the strangers were taken away, and Pick was once more alone. But it was a month before he became his old, careless, cheerful self again. His feelings had been deeply hurt, and never from that day did he ever pay the least attention to any bird. Eick had adventures inthe city. Three times he got out of the house and was lost. The first time he was found in a bird store, having been caught by street boys and sold. Another time he was found on the shoulder of a man in a tenement- house, and the third time, after being chased and stoned by boys, he came back himself. He had several narrow escapes from death by hawks and cats, by closing doors and dumb-waiters. But the worst was death by poison. A meerschaum pipe had left on the mantel a little stain of nicotine, and in his curiosity Pick put his droll little thick tongue to it. In an instant he fell over as if dead. There was great commotion in the house, and a messenger was sent to Pick’s friend, who came in hot haste to his aid. Books were hurriedly searched, and finding that tea was an antidote, hot tea was forced into his mouth. He got well; but he never touched a yellow stain again. Pick has spent five years with his friend, in the pleasant 26 QUEER PETS AT MARCY'’S. country in the summer, and in Florida or New York in the winter, and he still has his home in New York, in a house care- fully arranged for his comfort. Every door and window is protected with wire or springs, for his safety. Not because he wants to get away, but he gets lost in the city. No cat is allowed to show her head inside the door, and no cook can stay an hour in the kitchen, unless she can cheerfully accept Master Pick’s help in everything she does. He insists on walking over the kitchen table, inspecting her work, tasting and pulling over everything she handles. If she objects, he will scream, and that brings the mistress from above, as quickly as if it were the cry of a baby. There’s no use denying it, Pickie rules that house from attic to cellar. The devouring passion of the bird’s whole life is love of his one best friend; from'the first he has been his idol. While he is in the house Pick never leaves him, but sits on his shoulder rubbing against his face, creeps into his pockets or his bosom, or performs antics for his amusement, such as walking lame, flut- tering his wings, bowing and twisting his body, and other things, always insisting on his notice. At five o’clock in the morning he wakes and rattles the bars of his sleeping cage, till the door is opened and he can get to his friend in the bed, when he creeps close to him, or under the pillow, and is happy. He takes his meals with him, trying every dish on the table, and determined to like everything his idol eats. He will obey him too. If told not to touch a certain dish, Pick will leave it ; and when informed that he may chip the frame of a certain picture, he will exercise his strong bill on that one, and no other. HE NEVER SEES THE PARROT. 27 fae likes to help in the toilet of his friend, bringing him a neck-tie, and trying to lift a hair-brush. The mirror is his de- light; he passes hours before it, pluming himself, and seeming to know that it is not another bird, but himself, that he sees. | When his friend goes away in the morning, he screams his good-by, and then goes to the kitchen to spend the time. In that room, in a cage, lives a parrot big enough to eat Pick, who mocks and calls him half the time. ‘Here, Pick! Here; Pick-a-wick!” it will call; “Get down Pick!” and it will mimic every word of the mistress, in almost Exiciiy Wer tone. But Pick is not deceived for a. moment, and he never deigns to notice it. He takes his nap serenely on a shelf near the range, helps the cook, not two feet from the cage, but the saucy Parrot who lives there he never sees. He likes to spend the day in the kitchen; but when it grows dark, and home-coming time arrives, he gets upstairs, sometimes through an open door, and sometimes by means of the dumb- waiter, or by screaming at a door till it is opened for him. Up- stairs he sits down to watch for his friend, screaming to him the moment the outside door opens. If he is late, and Pick is abed, where he goes at nine, he hears the click of the key in the lock, and chirps a sleepy welcome. In fact, he is a civilized bird, and though he does not speak, he looks wise enough to do so, and one can’t help feeling that he could if he would. An interesting member of the parrot family is the cockatoo, and Lady Barker, writing from Australia, tells about a very wise bird of this kind who lived at a hotel in Melbourne. She says he would pretend to have a violent toothache, nursing the beak with his claw, as you see in the picture, and rocking back and 28 QUEER: PEELS AL MAGE V Ss, forth as if in the greatest agony, answering all offers of help and all presents of toothache drops with, “Olmit ain 6 awit onuse. (7 *©OH, It AIN'T A BIT OF USE!” Finally, he would come to the edge of the cage and croak out—the naughty bird !—“ Give us a drop of whiskey; do/” He would also pretend to sew, holding a bit of stuff under one claw on the perch, and pretending to use the needle with Us, S N XN x S } x4 me, N y THE COCKATOO FAMILY. 30 OURER- PETS AT, Wien GVes, the other, getting into trouble with the thread, and at last singing a song in praise of sewing-machines. Another one was the pet of a family, and so fond of pulling flowers to pieces, that he was named after a celebrated botanist. He was a very sociable, good-natured fellow, and insisted on having a hand in everything that went on, even croquet, when he would follow his mistress about, and amuse himself by climb- ing her mallet. His funniest trick was to imitate the cry of a hawk, and the time he chose to do it was when his mistress was feeding her poultry. A great flock of hens, turkeys, and pigeons all around her would be busy eating, when suddenly he would fly off in the air, sailing around and calling like a hawk. In an instant there was consternation in the yard; every fowl would fly to shelter, calling the chicks, and squawking as if the dreaded creature already had his claws on them. When all were hidden the Cockatoo would alight on a hen-coop and laugh some time, and cry, “ You'll be the death of me.” All the birds of this family are well able to defend themselves, for they have beaks strong enough to dig into wood, and to crack nuts, and they have a special spite against feet and ankles. It is important, therefore, that one intended for a pet should be good-natured, and there is as much difference in parrots as there is in people. AMOI Ga Oe EAES VLE Es, 31 CHAPTER SECOND: BORN IN A PRISON. WHILE the children were looking over some pictures of par- rots and cockatoos, Uncle Karl showed them one of another bird which is found in the same part of the world—Africa—and has an extremely curious way of making its nursery. The bird is a hornbill, and the nursery is a prison. You wouldn’t suppose, to look at the mild and dignified expression of this bird, that he would be guilty of walling up his wife and babies, would you? But you can see for yourself, on the next page, the bill of the prisoner thrust out for something to eat. There is a good reason for this strange conduct, and you may be sure the bird outside doesn’t have the easiest task in the world to keep his prisoners supplied with food. The country of the hornbills is also the home of those mischievous fellows the monkeys, and for breakfast nothing is quite so welcome in the monkey family as a fresh egg or two. They not only like them, but they are very sharp in getting them, having four hands, and being able to climb anywhere they wish. So it is to keep the eggs and the young birds safe, till they are able to fly, that the hornbill mother consents to be © walled up, and the father undertakes to feed her as well as him- -self. At least this is supposed to be the reason by men who have studied their ways. 32 QUEER PETS “AT MARGY)S: x) 7 ye ANY yr Y yg FEEDING THE PRISONER. To prepare the curious nursery, must first be found a hollow tree, where there is not only room for the nest, but space above IN THE DARK NURSERY. 33 the entrance where the bird can go for safety, if any enemy does get his hand inside. Having found a suitable tree, the opening is plastered up with mud, by both birds, till there is left an opening just large enough for the mother bird to go in. Into this place she goes, and makes her bed of her own feathers, while her mate outside brings more mud, and walls up the door till only a small hole or slit is left, big enough to pass in food. In that dark room the eggs are hatched, and the little ones grow up, while the father finds his time well occupied in bring- ing food to his hungry family. Here the devoted mother spends nearly three months, getting very fat to be sure, but also very weak, from long confinement. Here also the queer little roly- poly babies, round and soft as lumps of jelly, big as a pigeon, and without a feather to their backs, grow into their first suits of feathers, before they get out into the light and air. You can see how they look in the picture at the end of this chapter. There’s another odd thing in the family customs; sometimes the little ones are made to take care of their younger brothers, in this way. While the first two are growing, another pair is hatched out, and the home in the tree seems small for so many. Besides, the poor father is nearly worn to skin and bones, hunting food for so large a family, for you know he can’t take a market-basket and fill it all at once, as your father can; he must make a long journey for every mouthful, and bring them home one at a time. So the door is broken down, and the mother hornbill goes out to help him. The entrance is walled up behind her, and both parents work hard from morning to night to feed the four hun- sry babies. You may think that birds have an easy life, with no 34 QOUERER IPE LTS AT WVATSOVGS. houses to keep, no clothes to make, and no schools to go to; but remember how they are obliged to hunt for their food, and bring every bit of material for their nests, in their on and you can see that they have need to be busy. When the youngsters are all grown, the family joins one of the great flocks of their kind; for, like parrots, they are sociable creatures, and live a gay and merry life in the tops of the trees in the deepest woods they can find. They fly about in crowds, croaking, and clattering their great bills, making a deafening noise, which always alarms a stranger. Some writers say the sound resembles a sudden, violent storm, and others describe it as a blast of a bugle and the hiss of a sky-rocket together. That is a curious mixture of sounds, and it is rather hard to imagine what it would be like. They seem to make all this noise simply for fun. One of the family, the Tok, makes a bow every time he croaks, and when he gets excited and says it rapidly, it is a very laughable sight to see him bowing as if he would jerk his head off. You can see in the first picture what a great bill this bird carries. Some of the family have them much larger than this . one, and it is thought it was a hornbill which was seen by an old traveler five hundred years ago, which he said was a bird with two heads. The bill looks like a terrible load to carry, for in some of them the upper part is as large as the lower, and does look exactly as if the bill of another had been fastened upon his own. But it is not so heavy as it looks, for it is almost as thin as paper, and of course extremely light. Moreover, there’s a curious thing about birds’ bones, which perhaps you do not know. Their bones are hollow, in some birds to the very toes, and the openings are so connected with the lungs that they can THE BONES TELL THE STORY. 35 be filled with warmed air, making them very light, as you see. Birds can even breathe through a broken bone. What is still more wonderful and interesting, the microscope is able to show where a bird has lived, simply by looking at the bones. This is surely the last place one would think of look- ing for a record of one’s life, but it is there—at least in birds. One who has lived in a house, among ladies, carries in its bones bits of gay silk and wool, from the dresses and em- broidery. One whose life has been in a baker’s shop, tells the tale by remains of meal and coarse clothes. You know, perhaps, that the dust of our houses is merely the tiny bits of whatever is in the house—carpets, clothes, food, and so forth. As the substance wears away, minute particles of it are set free in the air, and of course we, as well as birds, draw them into our lungs as we breathe. But birds drawing the air even into their bones, the particles are left there, and, as I said, may be found after the animal is dead, to tell the story of its life. | Hornbills never walk, they hop. Big and dignified as they look, they go up the trees by hopping from one branch to another a little higher, and on the ground they hop along as if they were no larger than sparrows. These birds eat almost everything—seeds and fruit, which they toss up and catch in their enormous bill, rats and mice, insects and snakes, which last they discover below the surface, and dig out to eat. Some of them eat nutmegs, which makes their flesh spicy and nice to eat; and if the fruit he desires is too tightly fastened to the tree, it is said the bird will seize it and fling himself off the branch, that his weight may break it off. In Ceylon it is said, by the natives, that the hornbill never 36 QUEER PETS Al, MAIGCYAS. goes to the water to drink, but catches the drops in his bill during a rain-storm. A hornbill is as curious about things as a crow, and instantly gives the alarm if a stranger appears. Not that he is afraid, for he is a brave fellow, and does not hesitate to pounce on the largest birds of prey, and he torments the leopard nearly out of his wits. They are affectionate birds; a pair of hornbills always perch close together. Dr. Livingstone tells a little story of one, which shows how fond they are of each other. A flock of hornbills were flying around the ship he was on, when a gun was fired, TOO YOUNG TO GO OUT, and a fine bird fell to the deck of the ship from fear. He was taken prisoner and kept on board. When the flock flew away together in the morning, the mate of the captive did not go with them, but flew about the ship, DIED OF GRIEF. 37 and called in the most pitiful way to her mate to join her. In the evening she came again, and repeated her cries and entrea- ties to him to come. The poor fellow grieved himself to death in a few days, refus- ing to eat or be comforted. He had not been hurt by the gun, and there was no cause found for his death except that. THE BOWING TOK. 38 QUEER PETS AT diaieeGyass. CHAPTER DHIRD: MARCY’S ODD PET. I SAID that when Uncle Karl gave Ralph the parrot, he also gave a new pet to Marcy. It was a Florida chameleon, or rather, a small lizard which is called so, though it is really, in the books, the green Carolina lizard. He was a pretty little fellow—for a lizard—about three inches long, with a very slim tail longer than his body. He was gen- erally of a greenish brown color on the back, and greenish white on the under part. But the most curious part of him was his feet. The toes were spread widely apart, and the last joint above the claw on each was flattened out like a little pad. He could walk up the side of a wall, or even glass, and he thought nothing of holding on for hours, head down, waiting for some wandering fly to come near. He could also jump, for which purpose he had very long hind legs. Marcy was much interested in the lively little creature, named it Snap, because of the way he seized a fly, and tried to keep him supplied with food. She also found a book in the library that had an account of some of the same family that were kept by an American gentleman, and she made him a home, as near as she could, like the one his pets lived in. She took an old gold-fish globe of rather large size, put moss in the bottom, and a little dish of water, and to keep Snap in, a Lome — is NG ry ~tN GOA ay TYP» > { OMAN VC LLLNER AAS SNAP, THE FLORIDA CHAMELEON. 40 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. wire-gauze dish-cover fastened over the top. Then she\ — good deal of time catching flies for him and watching his ways. I must say there wasn’t much to watch, for he didn’t seem to enjoy being in prison; he evidently preferred to jump about as he pleased, over the furniture and on the tables. Once, when the cover was displaced, he got out and ran away, and Marcy had hard work to find him. Not only to find him, but to catch him without hurting him when found; for he had no idea of giv- ing up his liberty, and just as she would think she had her hand on him, off he would dart out of her way. She caught him at last, by throwing a towel over him, and re- turned him to his home, where he was soon fast asleep in the sunlight. I said that Snap was generally of a greenish brown color; but he got his popular name—chameleon—from the fact that he changes color. When he went to sleep, he turned bright green, and he did the same when he basked in the sunshine; also when he died, which he did before long, his body was of a beautiful green. The gentleman—Mr. Lockwood—whose pet lizards Marcy read of, tells many curious things about them. Among the rest he describes the way they throw off their old clothes, which they do as they grow too big for them. The operation begins by the head turning gray, and the skin splitting across the top. As soon as this happens, the little fel- low rubs his head against something, pushing the old skin off from his head, and on to the neck, where it looks like a very large collar. A little while he sits up in the sunshine, and then goes to work again, pushing and rubbing it backward till it is as far as the thighs, though quite ragged. WE BATS: UL HIS COAT. AI He then takes a new way. He turns his head back, and, seiz- ing the old coat in his teeth, pulls with all his might. After tumbling over once or twice, a big piece is jerked off, which he at once eats up/ So he goes on, tearing off pieces of his old clothes, and swallowing them as fast as he gets them off, till all is gone, and he appears in a fresh, new suit. The same gentleman tells of a lady in Florida who had four of these little creatures as pets. She kept them fastened to her head by silk cord, and let them run over her hair and shoulders as they pleased. Let me copy for you a charming picture of lizard life in Flor- ida, from one of Mrs. Stowe’s letters: “The lizards have certainly very confused notions as to the purpose of our house. As they view it, it was built for a lizard park. On a hot day there is a lizard to. every shingle, sitting in every variety of quaint attitude, and winking at us with their gem-like eyes. Lizards live on flies. The chief end of a lizard is to eat flies. And oh! to see the gay assurance with which a thoughtless young fly will stand tattooing with his hair brushes, while a sly lizard is winking grimly at him close by. Snip! dart! and away goes my fly. It is the end of all things to the fly, but only a pleasant bite to the lizard.” The real chameleon, after which this little American is named because of his changing colors, is quite a different animal, and has often been kept asa pet. He is, however, the most indiffer- ent and stupid of pets, and was never known to get so tame that he wouldn’t try his best to get away. He is old from the very cradle, you may say. The baby chameleon, less than an inch long, is grave and deliberate as his mother, and she is noted for being one of the slowest of all liv- 42 OUEER PIL TS A 1 MATION is: ing creatures. One would suppose such an infant would there- fore be a comfort to her; but I regret to say that she shows the most perfect indifference to her little ones. | She simply places the round, white eggs in the sand, and that’s all the trouble she takes about them. This little fellow—like most reptiles—has to thank the warm rays of the sun for ever getting out of the egg-shell. No family cares for this strange mother! To bask in the sunshine, to have plenty of flies to eat, and to hide from her enemies are all she desires in the world. The chameleon is chiefly interesting on account of its wonder- ful change of color, and to study that, it has often been made a pet of. Mr. Wood tells of one that he bought from a dealer in birds and animals in London. The man brought a handful of them out of a bird cage, and a queer wriggling mass they were, some grasping each other, and some feeling wildly around in the air for something to take hold of, their eyes turning every way, and all rolling and unrolling their long, slim tails in disgust at this disrespectful treatment. He selected a strong, healthy-looking. one, and carried it home in a small cage. While he made ready a proper place for his new pet, he let it walk up on a curtain. The Chameleon liked this, and Mr. Wood went on to settle him, by fixing a forked branch of a tree into a board, which he hung upon the wall. When all was ready, he took hold of the little animal to put him into his new home; but the Chameleon was satisfied with his quarters, and did not care to move. He acted like a naughty child, who is being carried where he does not want to go, and catches at everything he passes. The Chameleon, when one foot was released from its grasp, A SLOW TRAVELER. 43 would hold all the tighter with the other three. Loosen the feet, and the tail would twine itself around a tassel, and hold on for dear life. In fact, as he did not want to hurt the little creature, the gentleman was obliged to climb up and remove him carefully from his hold. On the tree branch he lived for some time, and it was all the house he needed. He required no bed, for they never lie down, and no dining-room, for they snatch their dinner wherever they see it. For some time the only variety in his life was traveling the length of his branch and back, and traveling is a most absurd performance in a chameleon. When he made up his mind for a walk, he would first take an extra turn of his tail around a twig, and a tighter grasp with three feet, and then slowly and eravely raise one forefoot to proceed. Having poised it in the air, he would stop to consider. This moving about was a seri- ous business, and required thought. Sometimes he would stay exactly in that position for hours, before he would take the step, and lift another foot. : If he was disturbed or annoyed, by rubbing with the finger, for instance, he would gather himself into a funny heap, swell out his sides, and try to look very dreadful. He would—if angry enough—make himself look really terrible, so that a dog would be afraid to touch him. One day a dog was found vio- lently barking, and rushing towards a chameleon, who had raised himself in a threatening attitude, his fore-paws held up as though he would tear the dog to pieces, his harmless mouth open as though he would devour him, and swelling and puffing himself as big as his skin would hold, while he turned of the brightest yellow and black color, and hissed like an angry cat. No wonder the dog did not dare touch him. OW enh AK BA AL RIAN AHH ACA NAA \ i Wy | it ea ATA RN Sei ee i : ill I) nN i | MN | (sy! eis iil it AN i THE DOG DID NOT DARE TO TOUCH HIM. A RUNAWAY CHAMELEON. AS Mr. Wood’s pet did not seem afraid, and would take flies from his hand the first day he had him; but he never seemed exactly satisfied, and when left alone, made excursions about the room. The first time he was found on the gas-pipe, but the second time he seemed really gone. Nothing could be seen of him, till, after a long search, his owner looked out of the window, and there, basking on the hot bricks, was the missing pet. This got to be a favorite place of his, for there the sun was hottest, and the bricks grew so heated that a person could not bear the hand on them. Nothing can be too hot for a chame- leon, and there he would sit, fairly baking in the sun, and never stirring till the sun went behind the houses in the afternoon. He proved to be such a truant that he had to be tied up. Around one foot was fastened a long piece of scarlet silk braid, with a loop at the other end to slip over something to hold ham. >. So he passed his days serenely ; but there was one thing that excited him. One morning a big blue-bottle fly came buzzing and bumping his head against a pane of glass, too high for the chameleon to reach. He fixed one eye on the tantalizing creature, and he turned black and brown in streaks, till he looked like a jaguar. Changing color is the way a chameleon shows his feelings, and this color expressed the most furious rage, though his body was as stiff as if made of wood. The thing most heartily despised by this odd fellow was to walk on the ground, and no wonder! He was made to live on trees, and had no soles to his feet. In truth, you may say he had no feet, for they were much more like hands, to grasp with. When put on the round, he made the most hurried attempts 46 OCEER PELTS\ AT MARES: to get away. He could hardly be said to walk, and he surely did not hop nor gallop. His gait was a sort of scrambling wad- dle or a hobble, with his tail held up from the ground like the handle to a pump, a very droll object indeed. But place him on a tree, and he was at home. He would hurry—as a chameleon can hurry—to the top twigs, and there he would plant himself in some stiff position, flattening himself like a leaf, gathering himself into a bunch like a sprig of leaves, or in some other shape, that, being so near the color of the bark and leaves, he could hardly be seen. Where jhe wayac happiest, and he would draw himself almost into a ball, as he always did when happy, and sit patiently all day. In old times it was thought that the chameleon lived on air. He can do without food a long time, but he likes to eat as well as anybody, and this one, at least once, took a good dinner. His master wanted to see how much he would eat, and he kept account. He ate several blue-bottle flies, several crane flies, a grub, some drone flies, and two or three caterpillars. Think of that for a little fellow only a few inches long! He made a great fuss about his eating, chewing and gulping as though the mouthful was too big for him, even when it was only a common ant. He came near having an untimely death for want of water, for, although plenty was kept before him in a dish, he would not touch it; but one day a few drops were spilled, and Mr. Wood noticed that he greedily lapped them up as they rolled down the pane, and when all was gone he climbed the window and stuck his tongue into the corners. Of course a little more was spilled—on purpose—and the thirsty creature stood and lapped till he was satisfied. After PM Ge ON AG TAA SEAL, 47 that he never wanted for drink, and his favorite way of getting it was from a branch which had been dipped in water. I have read of a tame chameleon, belonging to a lady in Egypt, that would drink from a cup, lifting its head like a chicken, and also enjoyed mutton broth. This one lived on its mistress’ head and shoulder for months, fastened by a silk cord to a button, and was a fierce little fellow to others of its kind, biting off their legs and tails when shut up with them. He had notions, too; he did not like to have faces made at him. If a person opened the mouth at him, he would puff and turn black, and sometimes hiss. When he wanted to jump down—which he sometimes did— he would blow himself up like a small balloon, and then drop, and he never seemed hurt. To go back to Mr. Wood’s pet. He was fond of a shower- bath from a watering-pot. He would also hold up his head —mouth open—while water was poured down his throat, and when it rained he would go out the window and enjoy it. A writer who has studied chameleons, says it is like two animals glued together, a sort of Siamese twin of a fellow, only the two sides seem never to agree on what they will do. One eye will roll up and the other down, one side turn green while the other is brown, and one side will sleep while the other is awake. I have told you more about this in another book. This curious fellow did not seem to learn by experience, as others do. He would crawl again and again on to a branch which was covered with prickles, and hurt him. He always slept in a fork of a branch, with his tail tightly twisted around a twig; but some that were kept by Dr. Bacheler, a missionary in India, slept hanging by the tail, or the tail and one foot. 48 QUEER PETS (AT MARGCYVGS: Those he had were brought by an Indian woman from the deepest jungle, where they spend their lives, and he kept them in a bird cage, though he let them out awhile every day. When let out, they were put on the ground or a tree, anda boy was set to catch grasshoppers and feed them. If left alone, they were sure to get on the trees and hide, by holding themselves perfectly still in some strange position. So he decorated each one with a tie of red worsted, and then he could easily find them. The power this little animal has to change its form is as strange, Dr. Bacheler says, as its change of color. Sometimes it looks like a “disconsolate mouse, sitting mum in a corner; again, with back curved and tail erect, it resembled a crouch- b) ing lion;” and sometimes it flattens itself like a leaf seen from below. His chameleon would lie with mouth open, waiting for a fly or other insect to come along, while Mr. Wood’s pet kept his mouth so tight shut that one could hardly see where-it was. So it seems that chameleons differ, as well as people. Many people have tried to find out how this queer little rep- tile changes its color, and why; but, except deciding that it is a display of his feelings—that he takes on stripes with one emo- tion, and spots with another, that he turns one color when angry, and another when pleased—they have not really found out much about it. ME IN THEIR NATURAL HO 50 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. CHAPTER POUR DOCTOR DOT, AND THE NEW-FASHIONED HENS. PERHAPS you would hardly call a chicken a queer pet; but I want to tell you of one that lived in the house at Marcy’s, and also about a new-fashioned sort of wooden hen, that lives on Long Island, and beats Madam Biddy herself at her own work. | It was one fine day in the spring that Dot went to live in the house. The way it happened, Marcy had been to visit her Uncle Daniel, who lived on a farm, and on that day started for home. Her uncle noticed, as he went through the yard to take her to the cars, that one of his Bantam hens had just made her — 7 appearance with a fine family of little ones, the tiniest atoms of chicks that ever walked. Knowing how fond Marcy was of pets, as a last joke on her, he hastily snatched one from the group, and carried it down to the cars. Then, telling her that he had something for her to remember them by, he carefully opened his hand, and, with a flutter and a faint peep, out popped the very littlest chicken Marcy had ever seen. It stood up quite pert and lively on her hand, and of course she was delighted. After being assured by her uncle that the hen mamma wouldn’t mind—that she had so many she would never miss it— she forgot ina moment her sorrow at leaving the country, and DOT CEES OP ON THE TABLE. 51 began to look about for some way to make the little stranger comfortable, being so interested in the operation that she al- most forgot to say good-by to Uncle Daniel. The train was speeding through another village some miles away before she had settled the traveling arrangements of her new pet, by hastily throwing ribbons and ruches out of a small round box in her satchel, lining it with a soft pocket-handker- chief, and punching holes in the cover to let in the air. Into this she put Madam Bantam’s baby, naming it Dot—it was such a bit of a creature—and in this curious carriage it reached home before evening. It was at once put out on the table for the family to admire, fed with bread and milk, which it ate as though it was hungry, and again put to bed in the round box, on a fresh bed of cotton. ‘Dot was the roundest, the funniest, and the wisest of chickens, and she was never in the least afraid of any one. She ate bread and milk for awhile, then varied this baby food with crumbs from the table, and now and then a fly which was careless enough to alight near her. She delighted to be on the table when the family were at meals. She would run from one to another and get a crumb © of bread, a bit of potato, or something from each one. But as she grew bigger and took things for herself, as a nip of the butter, or a lump of sugar, or hopped up on the platter, getting her feet in the gravy, and doing other naughty things, a law had to be made that Miss Dot must take her meals alone. Her greatest treat in these early days was to be put up on the window frame, in the middle, where the two sashes meet, and hunt flies, which delight in that spot. She would run after a fly as eagerly as any chicken ever ran after a grasshopper, 52 | QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. and was often so heedless as to fall off, so that Marcy had to stand by her when on that dizzy height, lest she should fall and break her neck. As she grew taller it was decided that though Dot was very well for a pet name, it was hardly dignified enough for a full name, and after much thought, and perhaps a little help from roguish papa, it was enlarged into Dorothea Daniel Davidson, the latter after the uncle who presented her. She was gener- ally called Dot, or D.D., or Doctor (which D.D. stands for), and at last, by this means, the name Doctor Dot was pretty well fastened upon her. It was rather a queer name, to be sure, but Dorothea didn’t care; she would answer to any one of the whole string. Perhaps you think it must have been lonely for one poor little chick in a house full of big folk; but she was not alone. She had one special playmate—Mother Bunch—and plenty of neighbors besides. To begin with, there was Abercrombie Fitz Plantagenet, the cat, who lived in a basket that hung from the gas, and was never so happy as when her basket was set spinning by some kind hand. One would think that performance would have mud- dled her brains, and made her a dizzy, topsy-turvy, good-for- nothing; but so far from that, she was one of the gravest and wisest of pussies, as you might know from her name, and when not spinning around in her airy cradle, would sit for hours at a time on a chair by the window, looking at the passers-by, and evidently studying human nature, and making up her mind about many things. Should no chair be near the window, or the blinds not be open, this wise cat Abbie (as she was usually called), would cry \ ABBIE AND THE BABY. 54 DOBLE TA TS WAT AVEUGNATS, and mew, and pull some one’s dress until she got what she wanted, when she would take her seat with dignity, and “re- sume her studies,” like the unfortunate young gentlemen of Dr. Blimber’s school. Very different from this stately puss was her baby, the only one which was left after a sudden calamity in her last family, and was named Mother Bunch, because she was such a funny bunch of a thing. From the first, Mother Bunch and the Doctor were the best of friends, and played together like two kittens. They would roll over and over together, and run after each other. The kitten would slap, and the chicken would nip. Dot seemed determined to do everything that Mother Bunch could do. When in the yard together, Dot would play with a bit of clothes line hanging down, exactly as the kitten did, tak- ing it in her mouth and running around the post with it, and she often made most desperate efforts to climb the clothes post after Mother Bunch. At first the Doctor would run from a rat, or a strange cat; but as they grew older, poor little Mother Bunch became blind, and then she seemed to know that she must take care of her friend. No strange fence-cat could more than show his head in the back-yard before she flew at it, screaming, with mouth open, as an angry chicken will, till the quiet-loving cat—though of course not at all afraid—would retire to a more peaceful yard. Mother Bunch’s favorite napping place was between the blind and the window, and if it chanced to be shut, she would cry and teaze till it was opened for her. The Doctor always took her place on Pussy’s back during the nap, partly perhaps to watch over her friend, and partly to have a little nap herself. Dot was fond of playing with children, as she saw Mother PHEACHICKEN TRIES TO BEA KITTEN. 55 Bunch doing. She would run after them and snatch at their clothes, and once she drove a little boy into a corner, and frightened him half out of his wits by jumping at him as though she would eat him. She always thought the garden was made for her amusement. No sooner would a tiny plantlet show its head in the bed, than Dot would pull it out, apparently for fun, or to see what it could be doing there, and then she would scratch up the ground around it to see if any more of the saucy little leaves were coming up in her yard. As the Doctor grew bigger it looked rather funny to see a hen about the house, though she was a small one, but she would not be driven out to live. If she found the door shut against her, she would fly up to window-sill, and peep and cry to be let in, till some kind heart inside would open for her; for, after all, how should she know why the cat could live in the house and she be shut out. She settled the matter herself finally, for now that she was no longer a chicken, her frolics with Mother Bunch came to an end, and new fancies began to occupy her. She evidently thought it hich time that she had a nest. She grew uneasy, clucked around like any old hen, and teazed Marcy till she arranged a box with a nice nest for her. Into that Dot retired and laid her first egg. Such a cackling and clucking over one small egg you never heard. So important and fussy was she, that it was almost impossible to live with her. Egg after egg was placed in the nest, till she had enough to suit her ideas of a family, and then she took to sitting in regular hen fashion. When at last she came off with ten chicks, the ewe little 4 56 QUEER PETS AT MARCY'’S. mother in the world, another decree went forth, that now, in- deed, Dorothea Daniel Davidson must live in a small house in the yard. So, under a pretty tree, in a nice low-roofed cottage with lattice front, now went to live Doctor Dot and her babies ten, so busy with her cares, that she never seemed to regret her change of homes. One thing more she did before she settled down into the life of a common hen. One night the door of the coop blew shut, and she and her family could not get in. It was cool weather, and she longed for her comfortable perch inside, so she came to the house for help. The door was shut, but she flew on to the old window-sill, and began to tap on the glass with her bill. Some of the family, not seeing her very plainly in the twilight, were frightened a little, but her old mistress knew her at once, and opened the window to let her in. But that was not what Dot wanted. She pulled her dress, and tried to draw her toward the door. “Perhaps she wants something,” suggested papa, and Marcy at once started out to see. She opened the door, and Dot ran ahead eagerly. Marcy followed, and she led directly to the coop, where the whole Bantam family were collected around the shut-up door. No sooner was it opened than they all hurried in, and were soon fast asleep for the night. : Another time there was trouble in the family. A gentleman walked into the yard with two young dogs. They were hunters, and thought chickens were made to be chased, so they both started for Doctor Dot and her babies. That plucky little hen did not run—not she! She was not afraid of a dog, nor even of two; on the contrary, she was en- raged at their impertinence, and she flew at them like a small A WOODEN MAMMA. 57 fury. Perching on the back of the boldest one, she beat him with her wings, pecked his head, and scratched with her claws till he ran yelping back to his master. The other pup quietly retired behind his master at the first alarm, and looked on with DOT DEFENDS HER BABIES. interest at the queer fight. The two young hunters sneaked out of the yard, and Madam Dot returned to her duties, shaking out her feathers and mut- tering to herself for some time. What would the little hen-mothers say—do you suppose—if they should find out that a man has invented a new sort of mothers for the chickens of our day? The chicks of the future are to have no fussy, clucking, feather-bed of a mamma, but a— machine | 58 QUEER’ PERS ATL MARGE. ;S. That man lives on Long Island, to be near New York, where he can sell his really motherless chickens, for, of course, he only wants them to sell. May be, after all, a wooden mother is good enough for a market chicken. , This man takes the eggs away from the hens, and how do you suppose he regards an egg, that wonderful pearly treasure in which lies cuddled up a pretty chicken? Merely as unripe fruit which must be ripened for market ! Let me tell you about his place, which though it is not a home is really a palace for poultry, where hens live in a three-story house, and take the air on a balcony. In one building two hundred feet long and twenty-four feet wide are two rooms, one upstairs and the other down. Down-stairs are the artificial mothers, and upstairs the nursery where the chicks go as soon as they leave the egg. When they have outgrown the nursery, they go to live with the grown-ups in a grand three-story house, with balconies and verandas and long sloping stairways leading to the fields where the whole family go to catch grasshoppers and other things nice to eat. This chicken-palace is kept in very nice order. It is plastered to make it warm, and whitewashed to make it sweet. It has plenty of nice perches, and dishes of water, and is swept clean every day. In fact, the residents are the aristocrats of the poultry family, if they did have a machine for a mother. But you must hear about these queer mothers, for there are two of them. The first one is nothing but a box in the shape of a barrel, with a chimney and a cover to come off. To hatch eggs are only needed two things—quiet and warmth. Now nothing could be more quiet than the bottom of a barrel, and the warmth is got by burying the box to its cover in the hot 71S ssi lb LY ES s . — e . SS ele —— a zl y SOME OF DOCTOR DOTS RELATIONS. 60 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. sweepings of a stable, as the gardener makes a hot-bed, you know. Twenty-one days the eggs stay there, one or two hundred to each wooden mother, instead of only ten or a dozen, as Biddy hatches them, and then the chicks step out. Up to this time it doesn’t make any difference to them whether they had a live mother, or only a warm place; but now who’s going to cluck to them? and, above all, to cuddle them under her warm wings from the cold? I can tell you—the second mother, or step-mother she might be called. The step-mother, then, who receives the big families of one or two hundred, as soon as they are out of the shell, is another machine, another wooden box, with a cover to come off. This cover is lined with something soft and warm, to take the place of old Biddy’s feathers, and is made to slide up and down so that it may always be high enough to just touch the babies’ backs, and not to press upon them. This mother is kept warm in the same way that the first one was. It is funny to see how quickly the chicks adopt their queer wooden mother, and run under her warm—would you call it wings? The little creatures seem very happy, and never appear to have a wish to live in a cottage in the yard, with one fussy, clucking mamma to take care of them. They eat and run about, and soon grow big enough to roost on the low perches in the nursery, and when they do that, in about three weeks, they are considered too big for the nursery, and then go to live in the big house with the hens. Sometimes in this place a queer thing happens toa hen. She takes a notion to sit, and she is not treated with a cold bath, nor set upon hot porcelain eggs, as many hens are. No indeed! A FUNNY SIGHT. 61 A very kind man at once provides her with a nest and a dozen eggs that have already been in the warm arms of the wooden mother in the house till nearly ready to break the shell. Madam Feather-top clucks her thanks, and settles herself for a three weeks’ job. In a few days, however, those precocious youngsters break the shell and insist on coming out, to the great amazement of the hen. “Dear me!” she says—in hen talk—‘‘ who ever heard of such smart babies as these! Really I don’t feel quite satisfied, and it seems a little strange, but—there’s no doubt of it. Here they are, every one, and my duty is plain.’’ She shakes herself out, clucks, and starts off with her brood. But wonders are not over in her experience. She leads her young family out to breakfast in the field, and, to her astonish- ment, they seem to increase. She started out with twelve, and before she knows it she has a hundred or two about her. It — =) THESE POOR CHICKS HAVE ONLY A WOODEN MOTHER, seems strange certainly; but, after all, they must be hers, and so she runs about and clucks and scratches for the whole crowd. It is a very funny sight, and reminds one of the dear little ‘old woman who lived in a shoe, and had so many children she didn’t know what to do.” 62 OOBERVPET S (AL MARCY ss, The truth is—as you have guessed—that man, who was so suspiciously kind about the nest and eggs, has slyly brought out all the others which the wooden mamma hatched on the same day, and completely fooled Madam Feather-top. With these new-fangled mothers people may think they are independent of poor old Biddy’s work, and it is true they are in a measure; but if she cares anything about it, she may console herself with the thought that, after all, they can’t yet find any one that can furnish a hen’s egg—except a hen, Sr es S =s Ta PON SS SN Ge ue ie ne SS wer oe NO MORE CARES FOR BIDDY. ROCKED BV EVERY BREEZE. 63 CHAPTER. BIE TE. A BLACK ROGUE—IN FEATHERS. THE next pet that I shall tell you about was Cudjo, the crow, who opened his eyes on this beautiful world in an airy home at the top of a big cotton-wood tree. In that retired spot, where the cradle was rocked by every breeze, Cudjo’s father and mother had built a comfortable residence of sticks and other suitable things—without doors or windows, stairway or roof, to be sure, but amply large enough for the whole family, and as complete as any crow could desire. The cotton-wood tree was not far from Marcy’s, and was admired by the children as well as the crows. Under its broad shade they spent much time playing and watching the move- ments of the crow family. The first thing that came to disturb the happy life in the tree was a railroad. Deep sorrow fell on the children when they heard the sad news that the great tree was to be cut down, and fears were entertained for the safety of the noisy little family on the top branch. But no one could help them, so the children stood mournfully around while great gashes were cut into the heart of the fine old tree, shaking its leafy crown with every blow. At the first alarm, papa and mama Crow, after flying around a few times, became alarmed and flew away, making noisy 64 OG RETR’ ELE TS ATS MATIC |S. complaint. When at last the tree fell with a terrific crash, the children hurried near, to see about the family in the nest. Alas! every crow baby—except one—was killed by the fall. That one was Cudjo, and Ralph carried him carefully home. It must be admitted that he was not particularly attractive. He was nearly all mouth, there being only enough bird attached to open it frightfully. He was too young to be afraid; he had not learned that he was a crow, and that people were his deadly enemies. His only feeling at that time was hunger. Ralph was deter- mined he should not starve, so he fed him three times a day, a whole egg each time. He would drop the raw egg into the big, open mouth, there would be a gurgle or two, when it would be swallowed, and the bird would be satisfied for awhile. On this food Master Cudjo grew rapidly, and before long had a fine, glossy, black coat of his own, and was promoted from the egg to a meat diet. He had his meals with the dog, but he most enjoyed taking dinner with the family, when he would take his place on the table and help himself to anything he chose. If one tried to drive him away, he would bite their fingers, and if too much annoyed, he would snatch a knife or fork, and fly away with it. When he did this, the thing was lost, for he never returned till it was completely hidden. } He soon learned his name, and would come when called, un- less it was Patty, the cook, who spoke. He always had a suspicion that her intentions were not friendly, for she some- times swept him out of the room with a broom, an insult that no crow could be expected to endure. When she called, therefore, Cudjo would walk out with great dignity. He seemed to have a desire to improve his mind, for often, AE PT AVS! A TOKE. 65 when a book was left on the table near the light, he would take his stand by it, and look it over in the most serious and earnest manner, as though absorbed in deep study. He was fond of Marcy, and would follow her everywhere, like a dog, catching her dress, and trying to play with her, but to his young master he gave the whole of his crowish heart. He delighted to sit on his knee or shoulder, and poke things into his pockets, rub his glossy head against his cheek, and in every way show his warm affection. One day, after a good deal of poking and fussing, he left between Ralph’s vest buttons a two-dollar bill. Perhaps there is never a time when two dollars would not be a convenient present for a boy to receive, but this time it was peculiarly appropriate, for, strange to say, Ralph had been loudly lament- ing for some days that he could not join a certain society for want of money. Where Cudjo found the bill they never could discover, though they inquired of all the neighbors. With all his solemn manners, Cudjo had some fun in him, and > could appreciate a joke. One day, when he had no particular business on hand, he happened to see a man in a neighboring garden at work. He had a broad-rimmed straw hat, and Cudjo evidently thought here was a chance for fun. He flew across the field, and alighting on the rim began running round and round the man’s head. Naturally the surprised laborer put up his hand to drive him off, when Master Cudjo pounced on his fingers, and resumed his ring performances. Again the man tried to shake him off, and again his fingers received a nip that was not agreeable. At last he ran for help, crying wildly that a crazy bird was on his hat. 66 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. As soon as help came near, Cudjo quietly flew up into a tree, with an air that said as plainly as words, “ Well, what are you going to do about it?”’ Another day an organ-grinder stopped near the house, and began to grind out his doleful music. Cudjo didn’t care much for that, but the man carried a monkey dressed in red coat and cap, and this queer-looking object attracted his earnest atten- tion from the first. He turned his head one side and then the other, to see if his eyes had not deceived him, and plainly could not decide to what species the strange animal belonged. He looked on quietly, however, till the poor little monkey took off his cap and made a low bow. That seemed to the bird a personal insult, and quick as a flash he swooped down, snatched the offensive cap, and flew into a tree. Neither scolding nor coaxing could ever induce him to give up anything he had once taken, so the family paid the angry organ-grinder for the cap, and the monkey went off bareheaded, though I don’t suppose he felt bad about that. He turned the laugh one day on some young sportsmen who came into the neighborhood to shoot. Cudjo was enjoying the fresh air on the top branches of a tree, when he saw a gun pointed at him. Now he was not afraid of a gun, of course, but he prob- ably thought a mistake might be made, for he deliberately flew down, and alighted directly on the gun-barrel, to the amaze- ment and almost horror of the hunter, who had never before seen a bird come out of a tree and give himself up in that way. To drive him away was now the desire of the man, for Cudjo enjoyed the joke, and refused to leave his perch, defending himself with his strong bill against all attempts. MORE JOKES. | 67 He had strong likes and dislikes, and taking offense at a young lady spending some days at the house, he resolved to play hera trick. One morning there was a great hue and cry through the house. Uncle John, an elderly gentleman, also a guest, had lost his false teeth ; they had been stolen from the bureau, and the house was searched without success. Cudjo meanwhile sat grimly on top of the book-case and heard all the noise, but he only perked his head on one side, and looked saucy as usual. At last the loss was laid to him, as was every loss in the house, generally with good reason; the turmoil subsided, Uncle John was attended in his own chamber, took his breakfast with a spoon, and sent for a dentist, while the young lady dressed for the street and started out on a shopping expedition. At the first place she stopped, wanting something from a small satchel she carried, she pulled out her pocket-handker- ehief, and, to her horror, there rolled on to the counter, before the astonished eyes of the clerks, the missing set of teeth. How they stared, and how she blushed and stammered an explanation, you can imagine. She hastily gathered up the obnoxious object in her handkerchief, stuffed it into the satchel, and hurried back to tell her mortifying story and scold Cudjo, who took it very calmly, dressing his feathers and peering at her excited face, with an occasional low “ caw,” when a reply seemed to be expected of him. Not more agreeable, though perhaps less distressing, was the joke he played on a dandyish young gentleman who failed to win his stubborn heart. Sauntering down the street one day in faultless dress, and black shiny hat on his curling scented locks, the young gentleman felt something dangling over his ear, and 68 OOLER PETSAL MARGCYS. carelessly putting up his hand to remove it, took hold of some- thing smooth and slippery, which, to his surprise, squirmed. Regardless of everything for the moment, he snatched off his 1 \ iil lity ‘ii VJ 3| * IS HE REALLY ASLEEP? hat, and there, hanging down from the lining, was a small green snake, which, of course, naughty Cudjo had stuffed into that snug hiding-place. Shaking out the snake and putting on his MISCHIEF TOO. 69 hat, the young dandy, with a very red face, hurried home, and Cudjo, with his usual calmness, received another scolding. As for the dog, it was always war to the teeth between them. When awake, the bird kept out of his reach, though he would now and then swoop down and snatch away a tempting bit of meat, which he would eat himself or hide away in the house, perhaps between the frame and mattress of a bedstead, where it would not be seen till its odor caused a close search. But when the dog took a nap, Cudjo was happy. He would go about the sleeping monster in perfect silence, peering into his house, and carrying off every bone in it. Now dogs are fond of bones to gnaw, even when the meat is gone, and to him this was a serious loss. Sometimes the dog would bury the bones he wished to keep, but that did not help him, for those bright, black eyes were always on him, and no sooner did he go to sleep than the bird would dig up the coveted objects and bury them in a new place where their owner could not find them. Another enemy lived in the chicken-yard. It was a savage cock, who ruled the fowls with a rod of iron. Every feathered creature on the place stood in awe of him—except Cudjo. He seemed to regard it as his business to take the conceit out of the crowing fellow. Many and severe were the fights between them, but Cudjo always came off victor, and at last the brave cock owned his master, and would run the moment he saw his black tyrant coming. There was something else in Cudjo besides fun, there was mischief. One day Uncle Karl brought into the house a thick photograph album, with places for large pictures. This seemed to trouble the Crow, who apparently thought the holes ought to 7O QU BIETR SV BINSN IN IES MAIO LES. be filled, and that he must do it. He never shirked a fancied duty, so one day he was very busy, scarcely seen about the house, and not till Ralph went to feed the rabbits was it sus- pected what important business had so occupied him. @ohis grief Ralph found his whole family of little rabbits killed, and skinned, and gone. Of course he knew that Cudjo was the guilty one, but where he had buried the bodies was not known for a day or two, till some one opened the new photograph album. There, between the leaves, in the holes kept for pictures, were found the unfor- tunate rabbit babies, sticking the pages together, and, of course, utterly ruining the book. He seemed to especially hate all little creatures. He would go into the poultry-yard and kill chickens, and the family were often called out by cries and squawks of indignant hen-mothers who rebelled against having their chicks carried off before their eyes. His great delight was to fish in a little pond in the yard. It was full of minnows, and so shallow that Cudjo could stand in it and not drown. There he would take his position and catch fish by the hour, hiding the bodies, as usual, some under the eaves of the rabbit-house, and some in water-pitchers in the bed- rooms. In fact, one could never know where he might find a dead fish. The fun he had in this pond came near being the cause of his death; for, knowing nothing of deep water, he once alighted in the middle of a stream. He could.not rise, and was struggling, and would have drowned, but some boys who saw him went out in a boat and rescued him. Cudjo was always ready for mischief, but there was one day of every week in which he was worse than usual, and that was “DOUGH DA VY." 71 “dough day.” It was Friday, and got its name from the fact that on that day no market was held in town, and Cudjo could have no fresh meat, so had for dinner a piece of dough. He would take it and fly up into a tree and eat it, but he did not enjoy it, and he was always cross after it. “As cross as Jim Crow on dough day,” was a family byword, for though his name was Cudjo, he was often called Jim Crow. The worst fault of poor Cudjo remains to be told. He was what is nowadays tenderly named a kleptomaniac / that is, he had an intense longing to carry off for his own use anything that struck his fancy. Being strong and quick, he generally succeeded, though the only object seemed to be to hide it away. He had the real miser spirit of hoarding. The neighbors all feared his ever-ready beak, and if he came into a house through door or window, no one ventured to touch him. Every one stood back while he hopped around and took whatever he chose —a thimble, knitting-needle, piece of money, or silver spoon— and carried it off to his hiding-place. One day, poking about the bureau in Mrs. Raynor’s room, he took a fancy to pull the pins from the cushion. Scolding did not stop him, so she rose to drive him away, when, quick as thought, he seized three new neckties that Mr. Raynor had just brought home, and flew out the window with them, and of course they were never seen again. 53 For a long time it was not known where Cudjo hid his treas- ures, but one day one of his mounds was found under the piazza and dug up. Should you like to know what a crow would con- sider worth hiding away so carefully? These were a few of the things: A six-bladed knife, a rosary blessed by the bishop (belonging 72 OGLER PLES AT WLAKE VS: to a servant), some copper cents, a glass eye from the stufted owl, a small china dog from the mantel, bits of glass from a kaleidoscope, a few silver spoons, a fine-tooth comb, and a gold ring. A fine variety, surely. The object most offensive to Cudjo was a negro, and his hatred was fully returned. They would go barefooted about their work, and their black feet aroused him to fury; he would peck them unmercifully. One little colored boy, who had to come into the yard for water, and whose heels were a never-failing temptation to the bird, thought he would be revenged. So he and his brother stole Cudjo, and carried him home. He was not missed, for he did now and then go off for a day or two; but one evening an old negro woman was seen coming toward the house, with a big bundle of what looked like old clothes. When she reached the steps she began to unroll the package, and from the middle of it hopped out the lost bird. He was all ruffled up and very indignant, as was also Ralph when he heard the story of his being stolen. The boys had found him too much for them. He would only sit on the fence and cry “ Get out, Jim Crow,” which he could say quite plainly, and bite any one who came near him, till they were glad to send him home to get rid of him. He was generally cunning enough to keep himself from hurt, but once he made a dreadful mistake. He saw some beautiful red things in the kitchen, that the cook seemed to prize, and he determined to have one. He watched his chance, and suddenly pounced on one, swallowing it in an instant. It was a red pep- per, and it was not long before the poor fellow saw his error. It began to burn inside, and he became uneasy, and then flew TIDING: THE, CHRISTMAS PRESENTS, 73 around as though he was crazy, squawking and gasping, and at last fell quivering into a corner as if dead. He received no sympathy from Patty, who remembered the many bites he had given her. “Tt’s good fur yo! good fur yo!” she said between her laugh- ing, “yo done fool yoself.” He got well after awhile, but he was now five years old, and his career drew near its close. His last piece of mischief was one of the most provoking, and was against his warmest friends—the children. It was Christmas morning, and the roguish fellow found his way into the room where the children’s stockings hung full of presents. Here was something out of order, which Cudjo felt himself called upon to straighten. He deliberately emptied the stockings, and hid everything in them, some here, some there, but fortunately, since the doors were closed, all inside the house. } Great was the disappointment when the naughty trick was discovered, and most thoroughly the house was searched, but it was two weeks before the last missing article was found. Not long after this, Cudjo fell a victim to his own curiosity. He found a lot of soft cement, which he ate up. Of course it hardened inside him, and put an end to his mischievous life; but his bones were carefully wired up, and added to Uncle Karl’s museum in the den. an sais nee il “yf , vil G My, TWO GREY BABIES, BABIES HAL WOULDN’T EAT; 75 ChE eR SDCUEL. TWO GRAY BABIES. ONE day Ralph ran into the house from school, in great ex- citement, holding in his arms two little gray-coated creatures about as big as kittens, and with their eyes tight shut. He had bought them with a new knife that his uncle had given him, but knowing how soft was Uncle Karl’s heart toward all animals, he did not hesitate to make the purchase. He triumphantly announced that they were baby foxes, and he was going to bring them up tame. That was very well, but the thing was to make them eat. He tried them with every- thing, the most tempting bits of meat, the softest bread, the sweetest milk. They would move about as if seeking something, but not a bit would they eat, and Ralph went in distress to his mother, who laughed at his tale of woe, and advised him to see if Abby wouldn’t adopt them. Now that very morning one of the usual calamities had be- fallen the promising young family belonging to that wise cat. She had gone to breakfast, leaving six of the loveliest kittens in her basket, and on her return had found but one. After seeking them awhile she calmly made up her mind that it was just as it had always been, and so resigned herself as soon as she 76 QUEER. PETS* AT MARGY'S. could, though she moped some, and came up to her mistress with a long story of her griefs, told in cat language of course. Ralph now hastened to her basket, and beside the one forlorn kitten laid the two little foxes, and waited for the cat to return. In a few minutes she came to see after her baby, and was evi- dently surprised to see the strangers. She looked, and smelled, and after a moment’s hesitation settled down beside them, and began to lick them as if they were kittens. The children were delighted, and so Madam Puss brought up the gray babies with her own, treating them exactly as she did the kittens. When they were big enough to eat them, she would bring in a bird or a mouse for dinner, and ‘the little foxes always had their share. They were named Faust and Marguerite, out of a book Marcy and Ralph found in the library, and became great pets in the family. When they grew bigger they began to hunt for themselves, and now they showed, for the first time, the wild fox blood. They passed by birds and mice, and began on chickens, Faust brmging into the house one of Doctor Dot's precious babies. This was too much, and Marcy, their best friend, begged that they might be shut up. They were put into an old dry-goods box which had no top, and stood under a tree in the yard, and there they stayed awhile. Puss would jump in and feed them, but one night the naughty babies dug a hole under the box, got out, and ate up two more chickens. | Now, indeed, something must be done. So a house was made like a dog-house, and the two mischievous foxes were chained to it. Chains were unknown in the cat family, and now Abby =~ y Ay yi S NG LIKE KITTEN PLAYI 78 QUEER PETS AT MARCY'’'S. began to suspect that she had been imposed upon, and that her foster-babies were rather queer. She still carried mice to them, but if they were impertinent at all, she would box their ears smartly. They didn’t mind the slaps though; they would dance around her as if she had invited them to play. Still they hadm fer gotten how nice chickens were to eat, and they soon learned to twist the chain around till the snap gave way, and off they would go to the woods, or to a neighbor’s poultry-yard. Marcy’s chicks were safely shut up at night. They were fond of their home though, and would always be there at daylight, asleep in their house, and ready for the break- fast Ralph would bring. He thought he would end their night pranks, so he fastened the chains to their house with stout Staples. But the next time the wild fit seized themmmemcn gnawed the wood around the staple till they could pull it out, and away they went, the chains at their heels. Ralph always knew, the moment he saw them, whether they had been out. If they had, they would lie quietly in the door- _ way, looking very sheepish indeed, with paws crossed and heads resting on them, whereas if they had not been out, they would come out to meet him, wagging their tails in welcome. They had fine times with the dog, whose house was near theirs. They would play together, and bark, and have regular frolics, never quarreling at all, but always in the friendliest way. The poultry they were fond of, naturally; but the wise mother-hens never responded to their advances toward friendship. In vain would the foxes scatter corn in front of their door and lie down, looking as innocent as two lambs. The knowing fowls would daintily pick around the edge, but carefully keep the length of BEE FOX ELA VS JOKES. 79 the chain between them, and every chick was taught to do the same. Faust was full of fun, and delighted in playing jokes on Cudjo. He would lie quietly on the ground and gently wag his tail. Cudjo always regarded this as an insult, and furiously he would pounce upon the offending tail. Then Faust would wheel and seize the Crow by a wing, while he squalled and screamed with terror. It was only a joke, however, and in a moment Faust would let him go, when he would fly up into a tree, tage and smoothing his ruffled feathers. He could hardly be blamed for playing a joke now and then, for, after all, life was very dull compared to the life of their wild relatives. No wild animal makes a more comfortable home, or takes better care of her babies than the mother-fox. She has a cosy, warm house in the ground, out of the reach of dogs and other animals. | The door of this house is carefully hidden under the roots of a tree, or among rocks, so it will not be easily seen. Next to the door the watchful mother has her vestibule, or reception-room you might call it, where she lies and looks out to see if any one comes near. Beyond this is a passage, eight or ten feet long, opening into a store-room where food may be kept. 7 At the very last end of the house is the nursery, where the pretty little snub-nosed babies stay, till big enough to come out and play around the door. Every fine evening they may be seen—if one is careful enough to draw near without alarming the extremely wide-awake mamma—playing like so many kit- tens, and even inducing their dignified mother to join in the fun. It is a pretty sight, and worth the trouble it costs. But by 80 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. and by it comes time for baby foxes to go to bed, and for mother to go to market. Night is of course the best time for marketing, for then her enemies—men, boys, and dogs—are sound asleep in their houses. COMING HOME FROM MARKET. Towards morning the mother almost always brings home a rabbit, a chicken, a goose, or sometimes only a field-mouse. THE CROWS DECEIVED. SI Whatever she brings, the family have to eat for breakfast, and then all go to sleep for the morning. As time goes on, and the babies grow, the loving mother begins their education, for she wants them to be the wisest and most cunning of their race, and nothing can be more cunning than a fox, unless it may be a crow. She teaches them how to get food, to crawl on the ground quietly, so as not to alarm a flock of geese or chickens, till near enough to catch one. If it is rabbit they want, she shows them how to save the trouble of digging out one of their long bur- rows, by following the scent above-ground with their keen noses, till they find out where the nest is, and then digging directly down on the family. Then, if food is scarce, and they must fish, she teaches them to plash in the water, and when the curious little fish come to the surface to see what’s the matter, they may be snapped up. But the hardest thing they have to learn in getting food, is to catch that wily fellow, the crow, for even crow is better than no meat. This Mother Fox does by making bait of herself. She lies down in plain sight, stretched out as if dead, eyes shut, tongue hanging out, and looking dismal enough. Then she lies perfectly still, till a flock of crows come by and see her. Clever as they are, they are completely deceived by this; they cannot believe that so knowing a creature as a fox would lie down in an open field, in sight of enemies, unless it was dead. So they fly around a few times, for dead fox is good meat to crows, and at last they alight all about and over her, when up she will spring, and seize one or two before they can get away. But there are other things for little foxes to learn, since for 82 QUEER PETS AL MARCY S. hundreds of years people have delighted to hunt their race. ‘ They must know how to avoid traps, to get the meat and not be caught, and to get away from their worst enemies, men and dogs. The mother teaches them to be wary of any strange object, especially if there is a string or a wire about it, or the scent of a human being. She shows them how to dig under the bait, and pull the meat off the wrong way, when the trap or the gun may go off, but catch nobody. To cheat the dogs she shows several tricks, for dogs are as keen of smell as a fox itself. One way is to run on amenceron rock, and then take a tremendous leap to one side, so as to keep the enemy hunting for the scent till she has time to get away. Another is to make them run in a circle, as over and under a jutting rock, where she will run several times till the scent is. very strong, and then leap one side, leaving the dogs to follow their noses round and round for half a day. One of the most cunning tricks she teaches them, is to get away from a man if they do fall into his hands. She deceives him as she does the crows, by playing dead till he gets careless and throws the supposed dead body on the ground, when she hastily comes to life, and runs as she never ran before. Learning all these things, the days pass quickly, and life is merry and happy to the little gray babies in the green woods. But our two friends at Marcy’s, though they lost the training needed by wild foxes, never missed it, for being fed every day they had no need to hunt, and in fact only did so for fun, as people do also; and not being afraid of men and dogs, they had no need to learn how to avoid them. To be sure they lost the wild free life of the woods, and spent many weary hours chained THE NEIGHBOR WAS AT HOME. 83. up; but then they never knew the terror of a pack of fierce dogs, and a dozen or more men, with horses, in full chase, all after their one, solitary, poor, little, bushy tail! But what became of Faust and Marguerite? Well, they came to a sad end, as those who are fond of mis- chief are apt todo. Once too often they visited a neighbor's poultry-yard, and that time he was there himself to welcome them. They never came back. ON THE HUNT. 84 OUBER, PETS AT MARCY. CEA EIR SV ESN aE: Liv TOMS. NOTHING made the children so unhappy as to see, in their visits to the city, that unfortunate class of dogs known as ladies’ pets. Dogs brought up in drawing-rooms, fed with a fork upon the daintiest food, washed, combed, and curled as often as a baby. Dogs that sleep on satin and lace cushions, in half-covered “dog baskets,” and take the air in their mistress’ or her maid’s arms, dressed in blanket and shoes, and sometimes wearing col- lars set with diamonds. Dogs that travel in a “dog’s satchel,” and have in every way their natural life distorted to please the taste of people. Some of the smaller of these creatures are called—very prop- erly — “toy dogs,” and you may find it hard to believe that there have been real living dogs that were only three inches tall, when they were two years old, and of course full grown. It is not uncommon to see in the Park, or on a fashionable street, an elegant private carriage, with fine horses and liveried servants, slowly passing along, and in the carriage, sitting up on the seat alone, a dog—often an ugly-faced bull-dog, or a snub- nosed pug—out for his morning’s airing. One day Marcy saw a carriage of this sort, but the dog, ele- gantly dressed in overcoat buttoned at the neck, with “gold ——— Ss. NATE PET UNFORTU. 86 COOLER PETS (ATG IWVLATaG Yas: collar and bell,” was apparently not yet toned down—or up—to the perfection of ‘“deportment” expected of drawing-room dogs. He did not sit up properly, but resting his forepaws on the edge of the window, was looking out, with envy in his eyes, at the happy vagabond dogs in the street, who ran about at pleasure, stepped in the mud if they liked, gnawed a bone and enjoyed it, and never slept on a velvet cushion. He was just as doggish in feeling as they, but he was a prisoner, in chains of silk. Tip is a happier dog than those city pets, for although he is petted he still has his own doggish ways, or he would not be interesting enough to have his story told. His name .is Tip Tatters, and he is called: Tip; of Miaraon Tatters. He is a wise fellow, and understands talk as well as anybody, as he shows by his intelligent looks, and doing the thing that is suggested quietly, and not in the loud, ordering tone usually considered appropriate to dogs. Sometimes he is told to go and see if Marcy is in the yard. He will start off on a furious run, scamper to the corner of the house where he can see the yard, give one glance, and then run back, wagging his tail and almost speaking. He is fond of barking at strangers, and one day he heard the gate shut and started off at the top of his speed, barking like mad. The visitor, though a stranger to him, had heard of Tip, so, as he came tearing at her she said warmly, as though de- lighted to see him, “Why, Tip Tatters! how are you? Aren’t you ashamed to batkratha itiend? « Comejandisce meq tip, | Tip understood. He evidently thought he ought to know one who knew him so well, and the look of shame and perplexity that came over him was funny to see. His tail dropped, his ee TIP AND THE FLANNEL DOG. 87 mouth closed, and very meekly he trotted into the house be- hind her, crawled under a chair, and refused to be coaxed | out for some time. Tatters has made himself special policeman of the yard, and plainly considers it his business to keep the peace; so whenever he sees two cocks fighting, as those quarrelsome fel- lows delight to do, he at once pounces on them, and separates _ them, dragging them away, and forcing them to behave them- selves. Never was a child more fond of play than he. He has his toys like anybody, and when Marcy goes out she generally brings him something, a ball, a rubber ring, or animal. He has a regular place for his toys, and will bring them out or put them back when told to do so. The one he likes best is a flannel dog, made by a friend, and given to him. At first he seemed to think it was alive, and a rival, for he growled and barked furiously at it. But finding that it was a meek little creature, and never talked back, he grew fond of it, and began to lick it, as he would have done to a young dog, jumping about it also, and from that moment regarding it as his choicest plaything, though he never seems to be quite sure that it isn’t, after all, more alive than it pre- tends. When the flannel dog is put on the table, Tatters will jump at it and bark, coaxing it to come down and play, and at last, get- ting impatient, he will leap up and pull it off, lie down with it and cuddle it in his paws, or challenge it to a frolic. One day Tip was naughty. He had notions about his dinner, preferring cake, or something rich, to the food that was given him. After coaxing in vain, Marcy took the flannel dog, and 88 CULBERVPERS Ada iiik eves pened saying that if Tip didn’t want “his 1 = : = : - Vite ie dinner, Dog.) x aSotaS a Ais gie should have ae placed it be- a ice’ fore the dish > aa | pee with its head | to the food. Tip looked on a moment in surprise, then began to fear he should lose his meal, hesi- tated, BL f= Pyle MM Ua Wy Yo inv iH | | | . j e TIP AND THE FLANNEL DOG, THREE DOCTORS TO ONE DOG. 89 then sprang to the dish, and fairly gobbled it down to the last crumb. 2 | Though Tip cannot talk, he can make himself understood as well as if he could. He specially hates to be left alone, and one of the family always has to stay at home with him, for if he is in the least lonely, he will howl and cry till they are glad to come back and devote themselves to his amusement. He has been taught to cry in polite society, on occasions when he naturally desires to howl, for instance when he is hurt. It is the drollest sound, between a whine and a growl, showing his teeth, and uttering a sort of “ E-e-e-e” quite unspellable. Once Marcy stepped on his foot by accident, and he at once ran to another of the family, holding up his foot and crying bitterly. He was of course pitied, and he went around the house till every one in it had sympathized with him. Even the next ieewicmuene Said to him, “Tatters, did you get hurt?” he burst out into a wailing “E-e-e-e,” holding up the injured foot. 7 Once Tatters was ill, and the excitement in the house could hardly have been greater if half the family were so. He had maree doctors! Phe truth is, he had been a little greedy, and his food disagreed with him. He began by moaning and crying lime any child: - Uncle Karl had a “dog beok;.”’ so .he’ got. it out, studied up the case, went to a drug store to have some pills made up, and gave him two before he went to his studio. In those pills was morphine, though the: family did not know it, and soon the Dog began to act very strangely. He lay with his eyes half open, trying to go to sleep. Suddenly he would start up and bark furiously, then sleep coming over him, he would drop his head again. QO QUEER (LETS “ALMA CVS, He did not appear to know the family, who stood around him in distress. He was evidently “out of his head,” and he looked so queer they were afraid of him. Marcy went into the den to see if she could find out what medicine he had taken. There was the box of pills, marked POISON, and two were gone! Horror! Tatters was poisoned! A few shrieks rent the air, and the nearest doctor was sent for in haste. Fortunately he was fond of dogs, and he very good-naturedly came to see what he could do. He gave the Dog some more pills, and went away. Before long, Uncle Karl, getting anxious about his little pa- tient, came home to see how his pills had worked, and heard the dreadful story of Tip’s conduct. He was struck with horror. If he had killed Tatters he should feel like a murderer. He hurried out after another doctor, a friend. The two did what they could for some time, and then the physicians, disliking to have the responsibility of such a pet, advised them to send for a regular animal doctor. He came, and the three worked over poor Tip all the afternoon. At night he was out of danger, but as limp as a dog could be, and it was weeks before he was well and strong as before. I can’t tell you the end of Tatters’ story, because it hasn’t ended yet. He is now in full strength and health, as fond of fun as ever, and likely to live many years. BABIES THAT NEVER CRY. QI CHAPTER: EIGHTH. THE QUEER FAMILY THAT LIVED NEXT DOOR. ONE day in the summer, there came a queer family to live next door to Marcy’s. The children felt the deepest interest from the first, and kept close watch to see how they lived and what they did, and even searched in books for their history. That seems somewhat rude, I must admit, but this is so very queer a family that they don’t care a bit, and in fact never take the least notice of anybody, so it cannot be considered gossiping if I tell you what the children found out. In the first place, there is no father to the family, that any one could discover, and the mother herself doesn’t live at home, though she worked hard to make it, in the neatest and most comfortable manner. The truth is—and that’s one of the most curious things about it—nobody lives there, except a large family of babies, each one locked into a room alone, with food enough to eat till it is able to take care of itself. They are nice, quiet babies, and they never cry, but simply eat and grow as fast as they can, till the food is gone, and they are full grown. Then they wrap themselves up in a silk quilt, each one by himself, and go to sleep for awhile. But I must tell you about the strange mother, and how she built her own house beside the country road. She is a grace- 6 92 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. ful, pretty creature, dressed in violet blue, with yellow trimming. But, nice as she looks, and careful as she is of her children, she is rather a savage little person, and always carries a sharp dag- ger, which she is apt to thrust into any one who disturbs her. Perhaps you have seen her, or one of her family, for she has cousins all over the world. She has, of course, a high-sounding name in the books, but her common name is all the children cared for; it is Mrs. Sandwasp, and she is not much more than an inch long. When she was ready to build her house, she looked about till she found a sunny bank of soft sandy earth, and then she went to work with all her strength. Perhaps I shouldn't say dud her house, since she does not exactly build, she digs. A quiet, dark nursery underground is what she wants for her babies, and that she quickly made with her own sharp jaws, which you may think are curious tools to work with. When she had finished a cozy, little, oval-shaped room, ready for a wasp baby, she shut the door very carefully by piling bits of sand and stone before it, and went off to get food for the ~ baby to eat when it came out of its egg-shell. She closed the door, because, you must know, the Sandwasp family have an enemy, called Madam Ruby Tail, who is too lazy to make her- self a house, yet wants her babies to have a comfortable home. She admires the house the Sandwasp makes, and so she is always looking about for one, and if she finds a door open, she will be sure to go in and lay one of her own eggs snugly away in the house. When the little mother-wasp comes back, she does not notice the strange egg, but puts the food and her own egg in, and when the baby Ruby Tail begins to eat, it first of all devours the baby Sandwasp beside it, and then the food its HOW SHE KEEPS OUT LTTHIEVAE S: 93 mother provided. It is to keep this naughty thief baby out that the Sandwasp so carefully shuts the door. Madam Ruby Tail herself is a great beauty. Her dress is of the most brilliant blue or green, and fiery ruby color. But there is an old saying that “ Handsome is that handsome does,” and looking at her in that light, she is far from being beautiful, for she and her whole family are parasites: that is, they do not feed their own young, but put them where they may steal, as I have told you. Now what sort of food does the wasp baby have? The mother herself eats honey and tree-sap, but she knows very well that such delicate food will not do for a growing youngster. So she provides meat, and the way she manages to have it keep fresh, and yet not be able to run away, or to hurt the little one, is a wonderful thing. First, she goes out to hunt it, and she prefers a certain sort of a caterpillar. When she finds one that suits her, she first stings it in some strange way, so that it will not die, yet will be helpless and stupid as long as it lives. You needn’t feel sorry for the caterpillar; it does not suffer—at least so say those who have watched them closely. After finding the meat, the busy little mother has to drag or carry it home, and that is often a long and hard operation. However, she never gives up, and at last she reaches home, find- ing the door without trouble, though it is so small, puts the caterpillar into the nursery, and again shuts the door, or rather walls it up, for she knows the baby will not want to come out for awhile, and will need only to have its enemies kept out. A lady—Mrs. Swisshelm—has already told how one that she saw did this: 94 OULERIPELS AT GlAiG yes. “First she got a little stone and fitted it nicely over the hole; then brought smaller stones, and built them all neatly around the edge, like a mason making a wall. When any stone did not fit into its place to suit her, she would lay it as well as she could, then walk backward, rush up and strike it with her head to drive it into place. Sometimes she rushed at one stone and struck it several times before she got it firm enough to suit her ideas. The first time she would, may be, not go backward more than an inch; but if that did not do, she went farther, so as to get more force, using her head as a man would a mallet to drive a wedge. When the wall was finished, she wheeled around and began scratching like a dog, throwing fine dust backward on her new wall to fill up the cracks.” In this way the hard-working mother goes on, till she has pro- vided homes and food for her whole family, and then she goes away. I suppose she returns to eating honey till she dies, or perhaps drinks the sap from some tree till she loses her senses and falls to the ground, as her family are said to do. But what happens to the babies in their funny little nurseries? Well, when they come out of their shells they are not neat little sandwasps like their mamma, but fat grubs, or larve, as they are called, and they care for nothing but eating. No matter that outside their little dark rooms are sunshine, and sweet fresh air, and flowers; eat, eat, eat is all the greedy creatures care to do. , After stuffing themselves till they are full grown, and nearly as big as their mother, though so different in shape, they at last have enough, and each baby wraps itself up tightly in a silk cover, which it spins for itself, and goes to sleep—or any way keeps very still, while its pretty wings and its six legs grow, and RE SIDER I TRUNS FOR HIS LIFE, 95 it changes from an ugly fat grub to a lively Wasp like its mamma. Some bright sunny day in the spring, out of every one of these snug nurseries will come a pretty creature, and fly away to eat honey and build houses like its mother. Some of the little wasp mammas lay up other food than cater- pillars for their babies. One that lives in France prefers spiders, the bravest and most dangerous creature she can find. I’m afraid this little mother rather likes to fight ; at any rate she has to fight, for the spider has no notion of being made food for wasp babies. In fact she likes wasp for dinner herself, and if she can manage to throw a few threads over Mrs. Wasp, it is all over with the poor little creature. However, the wasp is wary and quick, and usually succeeds in stinging Madam Spider in her own house, and then, of course, she has only to drag her home. I once read a story of a Sandwasp which a gentleman saw on a hunting expedition. First he saw a spider run quickly across the window-sill, crouching down as though dreadfully frightened. He hid under the edge of the sill inside, and in a moment a large Wasp flew in and sailed about the room as if looking for something. After awhile she settled on the sill, and ran around on it, exactly as a dog will try to find the track—or trail—of an animal. Soon she seemed to catch the trail of the spider, for she went at once after him, and probably stung him. He seemed not much hurt, and ran away, going one side and then the other till at last he went under a bed and hid himself on the frame, below the mattress. But the Wasp did not give him up. She ran around the floor in circles, as hunting dogs do, and soon struck the trail again, when she instantly started upon it, turning exact- ly as the spider had turned, and in a moment found him again. Site whey 96 OUTER VMIAIETS FAT NAR OS, The spider was not an easy victim; he ran again, out of the room, across a hall, into another, but every time, though the Wasp did not seem to see him, she followed his track and came up to him. At last he gave up, and rolled himself into a ball, when Madam Wasp took him up in her arms (or legs), and pre- pared to fly away with him to the comfortable home she had no doubt already made. There are many kinds of wasps which live alone like the sand- wasp, and are called solitary, besides those which live in large companies. There is the mason-wasp, who builds her baby houses in keyholes, and cracks, and any snug tube she can find, making them of nicely worked clay ; and another one, who selects the stems of a wild rose-bush, which she hollows out and partitions into tiny nurseries, and fills with flies; and a third, who makes a funny row of clay bottles in a line on a twig; and a fourth, who hangs her babies up in a clay purse. Now isn’t this one of the queerest families you ever heard of ? and are you surprised that Marcy and Ralph spent many an hour watching the little house next door, and asking dozens of questions about them? A COUSIN OF THE QUEER FAMILY. WHAT MARCY BOUGAT OF THE CAT. Q7 CHAPIER: NINTH, ‘THE NEW PET THAT ABBY CAUGHT. ABBY was accustomed to go to a grove near the house, where there were many birds, to get fresh meat for herself, and she often brought home her prey to amuse herself with for a little time before eating it, after the fashion of cats. One morning Marcy saw her come over the fence with some- thing in her mouth, and she hurried out to see what it was, and if it was still alive. She could not quite blame Abby for eating birds, so long as we eat them ourselves, but she could see that the cat did not torture them. This time when she reached Puss she found something quite different from a bird, though she could not tell what it was. It seemed to be alive, and Abby gave it up at once. Marcy car- ried it into the house, having first brought a piece of fresh meat to pay for it. _He was a curious-looking creature, about as big as a mouse, and of a reddish color. His tail was a long, bare object, like | the tail of a rat, with a row of thin hairs standing out on each side, as though Nature proposed to make a feather for this little fellow to carry. When Uncle Karl came home, she carried the strange object to him, and he told her at once that it was a baby squirrel. A squirrel is a very amusing pet, and the children were of course 98 QULER PEDS ATZMAKCYAS. delighted to have one. But the first trouble was to keep him from starving to death. He would not drink, and Abby had no kittens to share their dinner with him, as in the case of the fox babies, besides being perhaps not quite a safe foster-mother, since she had caught him for her own use. At last, after much talk, mamma laughingly suggested that it might be brought up on a bottle, and Marcy at once thought of something. ; Marcy, you must know, was fond of dolls. Though she did not play with them now, being rather too tall, she still cherished all her old dolls, and one drawer of her bureau was full of them, of all sizes and kinds, carefully dressed and laid away with their own belongings. Now Uncle Karl was fond of a joke, and on her last birth- day, stepping into a shop to buy something to carry home to her, he saw a funny new toy among the dolls’ treasures. It b) was a small “ feeding-bottle,” exactly like those used for babies to drink from, and of doll size. The bottle was abeuttiree inches long, the rubber tube as many more, and the mouthpiece at the end perhaps as big as a baby’s little finger. This was too good a joke on a doll lover to be lost, so after buying a pretty writing-desk, he added the bottle to the pack- age and took it home to her. It was so cunning that Marcy didn’t mind being well laughed at, but laid it away in the drawer beside the big Japanese baby doll, which was so natural and baby-like that people seeing it in one’s arms thought it was a live baby. It was this bottle she thought of now, for the Squirrel baby, and she at once ran upstairs and got it, filled it with warm milk, and put the mouthpiece into the orphan’s mouth. Ah! this ae OLE SP EOE ED POUT: LO OSE, 99 was a success! In two minutes he had made a good supper, and was fast asleep in a small basket of cotton, which had been arranged for him. There was no more trouble now about feeding Nip—as he was named. He had his bottle as regularly as any baby, and very funny he looked, hugging it up to him with his little paws, and drinking away for dear life. He was not a lively pet at first. Squirrels are sober and dull in the cradle, and frisky in old age, which is different from most creatures. To roll himself into a tight ball, with his ridicu- lous bare tail wrapped around himself, was his great delight, next to hugging his bottle. But he grew fast, and it was not long before his fur was thick and long, and his tail bushy and fine, and he frisked about like any wild squirrel. So lively and sudden were his movements, as he skipped from one thing to another, that it seemed as if he must fall and break his neck. But if he did make a misstep, he would spread out his legs and broad tail, come down in a sort of flying position, as though he did it on purpose, and alight quite safely on the floor. He was a wary little fellow, and though perfectly tame so that he would run all over people, he did not like to be caught. If any one tried it, he would run with a sort of a gallop, quick as a flash, across the room, and behind a book-case or bureau, or, by way of the sofa and a picture-frame, to the top of the book- shelves, or window-frame near the wall, where he would turn and look at the clumsy attempts of his pursuers, and “laugh in his sleeve” no doubt that one should dream of putting a hand on him. The nest of a wild squirrel is made in the fork of a tree, where 100 QUEER PETS, Ad MARCY S. it is almost impossible to be found. It is of leaves, moss, grass, and other things, woven into a ball, and in this cozy home three or four little squirrels may be found every summer. By the time they are big enough to work, nuts and acorns are ripe, and the whole family is busy laying up food for winter. Every day, from morning to night, the pretty little creatures may be seen gathering nuts from the trees, letting them fall as they cut them off with their sharp teeth, and then running down and carrying them off, one or two at a time, to hide in some safe place where they may be found when needed. Though so shy and quick to scamper away, squirrels would not be much afraid of us, if they were not hunted and frightened. Uncle Karl told the children an interesting story of one of the cunning little fellows whose home was in the Adirondacks. It happened the summer before when he was up there to fish and rest. One day he was crossing a little lake in a boat with a guide. They noticed in the smooth water a slight ripple which went out each way from one point, where stuck up a small brown nose. “T wonder what that is,” said Uncle Karl. “That’s a squirrel,” answered the guide. “I’ve seen lots of them crossing lately.” The little fellow was laboring hard, with nothing to be seen but his nose, and he seemed to be getting tired. Uncle Karl suggested to the guide that he should hold out an oar to him, and see if he wouldn't like a rest. Jack—the guide—held out a dripping oar, and said hospitably, “Come aboard, old fellow. You may have a ride, and rest as long as you choose. We’re friends, and you shall not be hurt.” A’ CONFIDING SQUIRREL. IOI Whether he understood English, or trusted Jack’s honest face, or was too tired to go further, he did not tell, but he did accept the offer. He seized the oar, mounted upon it, and dragged his wet bushy tail after him to the boat. He rested a minute on the edge, then ran up the guide’s arm, over his shoulder and down the other arm, and finally settled himself on the farther edge of the boat. He was a pretty fellow, with sleek red coat and bright black eyes, and he at once began to dry himself, warm his toes, dress his fur, and refresh himself generally. Meanwhile Jack had re- sumed his rowing, and the boat and the talk went on, without disturbing the little wild passenger in the least. After sitting awhile, he ran about a little more, and at last plunged off and went on with his voyage. Squirrels are easily tamed, and are amusing pets, and very happy ones too, unless they are shut up in a cage. ‘They are ardent lovers of liberty, and they must have exercise. So true is this, that they will even gallop for hours in those hideous turn- ing cages for the sake of it, though, if allowed to spend their energy running about, they would be a thousand times more entertaining. Marcy’s pet, Nip, soon grew too old for baby food, and tried his sharp little teeth on acorns and nuts. He never missed a meal, but always took his place oz the table, where he would help himself to anything he liked, then sit up, curl his long tail against his back, take the lump of sugar, or whatever it was, in both little paws and nibble away. He was very tame, and accepted pockets as his special nap- ping places. Whether in a garment hanging on the wall, or traveling about on some one’s back, made no difference to him, 102 DOERR HED S ATs NIATSOV AS. he would curl himself into a round ball and go to sleep at once. | From the top of his light little head to the tip of his toes, he was full of fun. When he got into a real frolic—which he was always ready to do at a moment’s notice—one needed to look out for frail things. He would go over and behind everything— on the mantel, over the picture-frames, on top of a door or win- dow, behind the bookcase, under the sofa, or up in the folds of the curtains. Hunt him out of one place and there would be a flash of red fur, a scramble of little claws, and Master Nip would look out at one saucily, from another safe place. If the frolic began in the kitchen or the green-house, great was the fun. He could hide all day on the pantry shelves, and clatter the pans and the dishes enough to drive cook crazy, and in the green-house would be a rustle of leaves, a shower of blossoms, and a general up- setting of small pots. One day when on a mad frolic in the green-house, the little fellow slipped into a pipe for carrying off water when the plants were watered. To his surprise and joy he found it an open door to the outside world. One flash and he was out, and scampering for the grove where Abby had found him. There Nip spent the rest of his life, and there the children often saw him. He would come down from a tree when called, and cautiously take a nut or a lump of sugar, but on the slight- est movement to catch him, he would be off in a twinkling. He never ate on the ground, but would carry the gift away up in the top of a tall tree, where no doubt he had a nest of his own. I have read of a Squirrel which was taken from its nest in England and made a household pet. When he was brought in, eo — AO GWG fe Mi Yj, GLa NG eily 1. May Llp fat I ie ts . pz NAN \ NIRS Lz AS WS VoL AGA WHALEYG, ze, sti: CNY hy SSA LUT EN Estas ¢) aN : AS Ny LO, > HERS * rn 7 } Merbichiwer asl NIP AT HOME IN THE GhROV 104 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. a sorry little bundle of reddish fur, he did not know how to eat, and his mistress had the same trouble that Marcy did, till she provided a curious feeding arrangement. It was the stem of a clay pipe. z The pipe was drawn full of warm milk, with the mouth, one end put into the Squirrel’s lips, and the milk blown down his throat. He began to be brighter, and soon grew very fond of his pipe. He ate so much that they tried to wean him from it; but no, the pipe he must have, or he would starve. After many attempts he was coaxed to drink milk held in the hollow of a hand, and from that cup only would he take his meals. He was full of frolic as other squirrels as he grew up, and did so much mischief that at last it was decided that he must havea house of his own, where he could be shut up. A mansion was built—of wire, and very large, larger than a big dog’s house— and in this Master Tiny was shut up. The house was comfort- able, but it was a prison, and the little fellow did not like it. When he found that he really could not get out, he came to the front of the cage, and standing on his hind feet, began to swing his body and fore-paws back and forth in such evident misery that some tender heart would open the door for him. One day, when thus let out, he crawled under the edge of his big new house, perhaps to hide away for a nap, and there he was found—dead. There was mourning in the family, and poor little Tiny was buried with honor in the garden. Though squirrels are among the prettiest creatures in the woods, and they would seem deserted enough without them, much complaint is made of the mischief they do. It is said that they drink sap from the sugar-maple trees, cutting the twigs with their teeth, and catching the sap as it runs out. For EO ee ee EA ee eee ee a a ee ' A CURIOUS FIGHT. 105 my part, I think there’s sap enough for squirrels as well as for us; and if there is not, perhaps their claim to it is as good as ours. Then they are said to eat the eggs of birds, and even the young ones. Even that seems rather absurd to complain of, while every man that owns a gun, and every boy that can throw a stone, is at liberty to kill any number of birds they choose, without even the excuse of wanting to eat them; excepting, of course, the few which are called “game,” and protected part of the year. Cunning as the squirrel is, he doesn’t always get away with the eggs he desires. Many birds are able to protect their own homes against him that cannot prevent human robbers from emptying their nests. A curious fight was once seen between a Squirrel, who wanted thrush eggs for breakfast, and the mother thrush, who did not approve of the plan. He drew near the nest in the most cautious way, running along uuder the branches so as to be hidden, and stealing qui- etly up, intending to spring into the nest, snatch an egg, and get back again before he could be touched. But the missel-thrush is a particularly fierce bird, and not at all averse to a bit of a fight herself, and the first thing that outraged mother did, was to knock the egg-lover off the branch, so that he fell to the ground. Very much surprised looked the Squirrel, as though that was the first time he ever had a tumble. But that was not enough for the enraged Thrush. Before he recovered his spirits she was upon him. She pounced on his back and beat him with her wings, and pecked with her bill, screaming all the time, no doubt calling him all sorts of names. 100 VOOBER PETS Ali MARC VAS: much for him—wings are a great advantage. She did not meet his fists, but pounced on his head, and again he had to run. Three times be- fore he reached his tree did she attack him so furiously that he had to sit up and de- The amazed Squirrel SSS replied by a furious scolding, and there was a vio- lent scuffle among the dead leaves for a moment. Then he got away, and ran up an- other tree, but she was after him, and drove him down again. He ran a few feet, and then planted himself in a good place fora fight. It was an angle made by the roots of a Rs Picea mw Memes sen, em. | ig could have his ~ back protected. iiere he took his stand, sitting up like a kangaroo, and pawing and boxing with his two hands. But Madam Thrush was even then too PUNISHING A THIEF. SOCIRRELS I INALTHE PARK. 107 fend himself. When he did reach it, he ran up like a flash, and in a moment got to the top branches, but everywhere the furious mother followed him. She would swoop down on him and try to knock him off the branch ; he would dodge and spring to another branch, and she would pounce again. So she followed him a long time, the gentleman who tells the story keeping near them all the time, though they did not notice him. At last the bird left him, and went back to her nest, and there she sat muttering to herself, and arranging her ruffled feathers for a long time. The half tame squirrels of the Boston Park are accused of being too fond of fruit seeds. It is said that one squirrel will pick and break open seventy-five pears in a morning, to get the seeds. If this is true, perhaps it is because they are not well fed, for in a Memphis Park, where they have lived for twenty years, there is no such complaint. They are fed every day, and they know their breakfast bell as well as you do yours. They are so tame they run all over people, take nuts from the hand, and sit on shoulder or knee to eat them. These squirrels live in boxes in the trees, and the babies can come to the ground when they’re two months old. (eS Ny St at ! | | cou ae Vance | mini | LR i mi a FOOD FOR THE SANDWASP BABIES. (See Page gs.) 108 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. CHARTER aE iING Ht: A GENERAL WHO LIVED IN A BOOT. A BOOT is a curious home, I must say, and it is not the usual residence of the little General’s family. A hollow tree, or some similar snug spot is preferred by those of the family who live in the woods, but this particular fellow was born in a pretty white cottage in the yard, and in every way his life was different from the lives of his wild relatives. His mother was a pretty little Opossum, dressed in a suit of shaggy gray fur, and being caught alive by some one who knew the love of pets at Marcy’s, was given to her, to add to the family menagerie. The wild creature soon felt the influence of kind treatment. She became very tame, and finding how nice it was to eat with- out the trouble and danger of prowling about for her food, easily gave up all idea of returning to her home in the woods. She was an amusing pet, but sometimes, when teased, she had an unpleasant odor, which made her not always welcome in the house. Marcy named her “ Mrs. Johnson,” and made her a nice home in an old beehive, among the branches of a tree in the yard. That is how my hero came to be born in a cottage, for he was the son of Mrs. Johnson, the only one who survived his baby- hood. EIGHT BABIES. 109 A few days after Mrs. Johnson went to live in the Beehive Cottage, Marcy discovered that she had a family of babies, all snugly packed away in the nursery. Perhaps you know that the nursery of baby opossums is a sort of fur bag on the under side of the mother’s body. Like other little folk, they spend the first weeks of their lives in that warm place, doing nothing but eat, and sleep, and grow. They have more growing to do than most infants, for they’re not an inch long at first, and they are unusually helpless for four-footed babies, being not only blind, like little kittens and puppies, but deaf also, both eyes and ears being closed for many days; and worse still, they have no signs of a warm fur coat like their mother’s. Well, Mrs. Johnson’s babies stayed in the nursery till they were four or five weeks old, and big enough to look about a little, when they began to come out now and then, and take the air at the cottage door. There were eight of them, and they were named after eight famous American generals. There were General Buel, General Fremont, and others, and, most important of all, General Grant, who, like his great namesake, survived when other generals went down. They were an interesting family, though their greatest delight at that early age was to hold on to something by the tail, which was scaly and bare of hair—even in the mother herself. Marcy often hung several of them by their tails to a lead pencil, and carried them all about the house in that position; droll enough they looked, too, as you may imagine. The mother’s way of carrying them about, after they were too big for their warm fur cradle, yet not quite old enough to go alone, was on her back, where they would cling with sharp claws all together, and make a curious-looking family party. iv iG ec Uf Ye 4 if yy ye) Uy 3 SHOT CAME JOYFULLY TO MEET THEM. —_— 2 ARMY STERAOOS: LRALNDS HIP. at But about this time in my story something very unusual hap- pened at Marcy’s; the whole family went away for a week, and the house was shut up. The pets, which must have food and care every day, were scattered among the kind-hearted neigh- bors; but all who could take care of themselves were left at the house. Among the latter were Mrs. Johnson and her family, who were left in the Beehive Cottage, with—for their only neighbor—the dog, Shot, with whom I regret to say, Mrs. _ Johnson had many a quarrel. When, after their short absence the family came back, and collected their scattered beasts and birds in the neighborhood, they found that there had been a catastrophe in the yard. A violent storm had swept through it, and the Beehive Cottage was a sad wreck. It had been thrown from the tree and to- tally demolished, with—as they supposed—the whole Opossum family. But while the children stood about, mourning for the lost babies, Shot came joyfully out of his house to welcome them, hungry, but very happy, and, to their amazement, they saw in the spot where he had been lying, the only survivor of the John- son family, General Grant, curled up in blissful content. What had passed between him and the hereditary enemy of his family can never be known. Whether, finding wars and storms about them, they had decided upon peace, or whether the sufferings and helplessness of the orphan had touched Shot's doggish heart, no one can tell. However it happened, there it was—they were friends. Shot had evidently cared for the little General, and their friendship never cooled from that day; the little fellow’s favorite napping-place was always upon the good-natured dog’s back. I12 OUBEPR PEELS AT iMaic€ NS; The General was now about the size of a rat, and having sur- vived the disasters of storm and hunger, became an important personage in the house. Like other people of his age, he was THE GENERAL IN HIS NEW HOUSE. fed on bread and milk, of which he was fond, was petted to his heart’s content, and became perfectly tame, much more so than his mother had been. His first cottage house having been destroyed by the storm, BET LOOMS Ok A SORL BED. LEZ he soon began to look about for another, and found one exactly to his taste. It was a cast-off cavalry boot, a relic of the war, that hung upon the wall in a room not often used. It was reached by its new tenant, by means of an old musket left standing near, which made as easy a stairway as any opossum could desire. | Having settled himself in the boot, the next thing to com- plete his comfort, was a warm, soft bed. The General was used to helping himself, so he never thought of asking, but quietly looked about the house, till he found in the room of a young lady guest, an article that seemed to him just the thing, and carried it off at once. It was soft and warm, and could be easily fitted into the bed- room of his house. How was he to know that a grown-up lady wanted it for herself? It was a thing much worn in those far-off, benighted days—a switch of false hair. Its loss made a sad gap in the young lady’s toilet, until they discovered the thief and bought another, since—happily for him—he had ruined it for her use. | The General was happy in his new home, and perfectly good- natured in every other part of the house; but disturb him in his private quarters, and all the savage blood of his ancestors rose within him. It is said that no men fight so desperately as those who defend their homes, and the same is true of many gaimals, “Whe General, when he felt that his castle was at- tacked, fully justified his military name. He could not chatter and scold, as a squirrel would have done, but he would rush to his door and glare furiously upon the enemy, and if within reach, would give him a savage little bite, as a warning. Everywhere else he was tame asa cat. He went all over the eg QUBER PETS AT WAKRCYS, house as he pleased, and wore on his neck, for a collar, a Gen- eral’s military shoulder-strap, fastened to a ribbon. At meal. times, if hungry, he would climb by a convenient dress skirt up on the table, and coolly help himself to whatever pleased his taste ; and if he saw the cat eating he would quietly walk up to her, as if to see what she had for dinner. Now Abby was the pink of dainty sensitiveness; she had a great disgust for the odor of an opossum, and an equally great respect for his claws, so she would always retire when he came near, and he—seeing that she had left it—would finish her meal for her. This was a little mischievous, and he did some naughty things, too; he gnawed slippers and other articles, and once he nearly broke his mistress’ heart by tearing to pieces her favorite doll, and scattering the bran which formed her internal organs all over the floor. Sometimes, too, he would help himself to a dinner of young chickens from the poultry-yard. These little unpleasant habits of her pet Marcy tried to cure by always keeping him well fed. Besides young chickens, he was fond of rats, and would hunt and kill them more easily than Shot, whose regular business it was. One of his greatest delights was to climb a cherry-tree, hang by the tail to a branch, pull off ripe cherries with his paws, and eat them in that unnatural position, upside down. But the little General—like bigger ones—had his ups and downs; he had a fit of sickness, measles, the doctor said. Now, whether wild opossums ever suffer from measles, or whether this was an unpleasant result of civilization, the fact is the same. Poor General Grant was really ill, and the doctor was called. He prescribed little pills (which, by the way, he did also for people), and the General in due time got well, to the delight of Se ee a ae THE GENERAL GOES TO A NEW HOME. I15 the children, whatever the rest of the family, and Abby, may have felt. Marcy had a great deal of fun with him. She used to dress him up in a suit which she made for him, with a standing col- lar or a ruff, a ribbon on his neck,and a capon his head. In this dress he would sit up “like folks” while she fed him with his favorite dainties, or spend some time carrying about a small doll, also his property. He would take a turn around the toy with his useful tail—made to hold on by—and have all four legs for other uses. His paws were much like baby hands, and noth- ing could be more funny than to see him sitting up, holding the food in two little bare hands, and eating like a good child. But an end came to these happy times. Marcy went away for a long visit, and none of the family wished to take care of so mischievous a pet. When Cudjo died, Mamma had declared that though she was long-suffering, she could not endure another such troublesome creature. So that when Marcy made up her mind to go, she had to consent to the loss of the General. He was now quite old, for an opossum, and as large as a com- mon cat. He could not, of course, be turned into the woods to take care of himself, like his wild relatives, for he did not know how to do it, and besides, he would not stay. Marcy —with tears—gave him up to Uncle Karl one morning, and he carried him off to the city, to a pleasant new home he had found for him, where pets who get troublesome are always welcomed, and are made happy for life. It was a Zoological Garden, and there he was left, perfectly contented, for he had not an affectionate disposition, and never attached himself to anybody in the house; and for all I know he may be there to this day. 116 QOLER PELES AT MAKRCYS. You have heard, no doubt, of the opossum’s great trick, “playing *possum;” and perhaps you know that it is simply pretending to be dead. When the animal is caught he will lie perfectly limp, and not stir, though handled and thrown about, worried by dogs, and even very much hurt. Many wild crea- tures do the same, though perhaps none are so obstinate in holding out as the opossum. Poor little fellow! in the hands of men, and the teeth of dogs, he knows it is his only chance for life, and he will endure tor- ture and not flinch. But let his tormentors throw him carelessly one side, and when he finds himself free, he will suddenly come to life and take to flight. True opossums are found only in America. In their native woods they spend most of the day in sleep, and at night go out for food. Squirrels and frogs, young rabbits or mice, almost any bit of meat, is welcome; but if these are scarce an opossum always knows the way to the poultry-yards near ‘his home, and a young chicken or a nest of eggs makes him a nice supper. Meat is not all his food, and the farmer loses something be- sides chickens when the opossum goes out to eat. Growing corn he is fond of, and if he doesn’t want the trouble of climbing the stalk, he will gnaw it off near the ground, and when it falls over, feast on the sweet ears. All sorts of nuts he likes, too, and many fruits, especially persimmons. Now in Virginia and other places where the opossum lives is a large class of people who almost live on corn, and who also delight in persimmons—the negroes. To them, of course, he is the worst of thieves, and nothing pleases them better than a ‘possum hunt, with dogs. They go out on a moonlight night. The dogs chase the little fellow into a tree, and the / tt oo) he dtl f GE 7 Se hy, “WS, Wife WOES AN SINT iy Ly MAAN MARCO PAULO AND HIS MATE. 118 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. men shoot him or shake him down, and then take him home, and pay him for eating their corn by eating him. There is a little creature in Australia called an opossum, though it is not really one, but belongs rather to the vulpine or fox family. It is common there, and is often tamed, running about the house like a cat. One of the little creatures was sent to England, toa lady fond of pets, who named him Marco Paulo, after the great traveler. When first caught, there were two besides Marco, and they were put into a room to stay till the ship sailed. Like all youngsters they were fond of play, and their frolics were very funny to watch. But they were apt to get into trouble, because of a naughty trick of eating everything they could get hold of. One night they lunched on a box of matches, and the next morning were all violently ill. Marco Paulo got well, but the others died. When the time came to go to the ship, a wire cage was brought for Marco, but he did not like it, and refused to go in. In fact, he had to be knocked on the head, before he would give up his notions, and enter the new home. At the end of the long voyage he was full-grown and tame, and his new mistress was delighted with him. He was as big as a cat, with a face and ears like pussy’s, and of a gray and brown color. But his eyes were what won her heart. They were of a soft brown color, and gentle and wistful in expres- sion. When she lifted him out of his cage, he put his pretty little black hands on her arm, and gazed into her face as though he would speak. She gave him a new house, and often let him run about the room in the evening, for that is his natural playtime. He A CURIOUS BAG. 119 would run and scamper over the furniture, while his eyes shone like lamps. He ate bread, and also vegetables and fruit, but never meat, and he grew tamer and more affectionate all the. time. In the pleasant summer days his house stood under a tree in the yard, though he didn’t care much where he spent his days, for he always curled himself into a ball and slept, till even- ing roused him to his play. As winter came on, Marco Paulo was taken to town with the family, and now spent his time outside the dining-room win- dows, and at night had a piece of carpet fora blanket. But his mistress feared that he could not endure the cold and damp of winter, so she concluded to let him go to live with his wild cousins at the London Zoological Garden, though she felt almost as badly as though one of the family was going. One morning, after she had sent word to the men to come for him, there was brought to the house a curious traveling car- riage for Master Marco. It was a bag, though not one of the common sort. It was made of stout stuff, to resist little claws and teeth, and was set full of small eyelets to let in air. Into this Marco Paulo was coaxed; it was tied up and slung over the shoulder of the man, and he started on his second journey through London streets. Some time afterward his mistress went to pay her old pet a visit. She found him very happy, in a pleasant cage of his own, with a wife and young family around him. She patted him and talked to him, and he looked up in the same old way, but he was evidently well contented with his new home and friends. She did not go again, but wrote his story for a newspaper. SSS SS SS = i= WS ) " a TN Ny FRIENDS IN THE WOODS. A PHILOSOPHER IN FEATHERS, $21 Siar tbh ELEVENTH. BUB. WHEN Bub went to live at Marcy’s he was one of the oddest- looking objects in the world. Though he was very young, and had just come out of an owl’s nest, he didn’t look in the least like a baby, nor was he at all shy. He wasa small bundle of down, with no feathers where feathers are expected, and the wisest look in his face and big staring eyes. From the first moment he never seemed to be afraid of any- body, nor struggled to get away, as other birds will. Bub was, plainly, a philosopher; that is to say, one who takes whatever comes, and makes no fuss about it. The first thing he did when let out of the basket in which he was carried, was to walk gravely around the room and examine everything in it. His manner said as plainly as words, “T see this is to be my home, and it may be well to know something about it.” The children were much amused with his sober, dignified ways, not in the least like any other young creature, and they ran to the kitchen for some supper for him. They set bread before him, but he would not eat. They thought he did not like bread, perhaps, so they took counsel of their own tastes and offered him cake, and then bits of meat, and then corn, and then boiled egg, and at last Ralph went out 122 QUBERAPETS ALT MARCY’S. and dug up aworm. All to no purpose; Bub would not look et. dit. Now, of course, birds must eat, or die, and the children were in trouble at once. Uncle Karl, however, suggested that Mam- ma Owl had always fed her baby, and probably he didn’t know how to feed himself. They must do as she did—fill his mouth for him. They at once tried this, with perfect success, and by that means Master Bub hada plentiful meal. In spite of his wise looks, you see he was really rather stupid after all, while he was a baby, for they had to play mother owl, and stuff the queer baby for some time. They were not exactly sure of what baby owls have to eat, so they tried nearly everything in the house, on this one. He swallowed everything, and seemed to thrive on it, growing very fast, and soon being covered with beautiful soft feathers, — while his droll ways were more and more amusing. Bub’s home was in the Den, but since his master spent most of his days in the city, he did not stay there much. He roamed all over the house, upstairs and down; into the kitchen, when Patty would scream and drive him out; into the parlor, where he would perch on the end of a sofa, and sit there for hours, dress- ing his beautiful feathers, or shaking himself out into a soft feather ball while he took a short nap. He was a sociable fellow, and always liked to be with the family. He was fond of sitting on Uncle Karl’s shoulder, and rubbing his head against his face, as a cat will, and he often made quiet remarks, which, though doubtless full of wisdom, the hearers—unfortunately—could not always understand. Once his sociable ways, and his attempts to make himself agreeable, caused quite an uproar. A new servant came into A FRIGHT IN THE HOUSE. 122 the house one night after Bub was shut up, and went to bed without seeing him. Before quite light the next morning there arose a terrible scream, and the new girl burst into mamma’s room in a great fright. She was trembling and so alarmed that she couldn’t tell what had happened, except that something dreadful was in her room, and said something to her. Mamma hurried into the hall, and the moment she opened the door she knew who was the culprit. There, on the foot-board of the bedstead, sat Bub, looking as calm as the morning, and as innocent as a lamb. He croaked his good-morning, and the girl had to admit that his was the voice she had heard. When Bub was full grown, he was provided with a house of his own. It was two stories high, and he spent the daytime in the bedroom upstairs, after the fashion of owls, and at evening he came down ready for a frolic, or an excursion round the neighborhood, where he did a little hunting for himself. He was fond of his house, and he had a queer fashion of keep- ing it neat, by sweeping it out with his wings. But he did not live there many months. One night he went out hunting and never returned. Whether he found friends in the woods and decided to stay with them, or whether some one shot him, was never known. The children grieved sadly, and put away his house, hoping some time to have another of his family to pet. At one time they had so strong hopes of it that they got the old house all ready, for Uncle Karl had a present of one of the same species as Bub. The new-comer, however, was full grown, and rather wild, so he decided to keep him awhile at his office in the city, till he could be tamed. \\ i , i i aa hy Hee \ pn ATM NSN A, | AU AN WHE WONG: iN Wy SS FULL GROWN AND WILD. ae ee HE WOULD NOT BE TAMED. 125 But taming was not for this creature. He was savage as a tiger, and no amount of fond or kind treatment had any effect on him. Perhaps his temper had been soured by troubles, for he evidently thought everybody his enemy. If one came near his cage he would throw back his ears like an angry cat, and hiss, and his eyes would glare as though he would like to eat them. If they attempted to touch him, he would fling himself on his back and hold up his terrible talons ready to tear any one to pieces. He was kept for some time in the hope that kindness would at last conquer him, but one morning when Uncle Karl reached the office, he found that the wild creature had hurt himself badly in trying to tear away from his chain. So he de- cided to give him his liberty after all. His door was opened, and the window of the office also, the chain was removed, and the owl was free. Shaking himself to be sure that the good news was true, the savage bird tried his wings and then launched himself out into the morning air, taking his way _ up Broadway, as all the world were coming down at that hour. Owls are funny, because they are so grave, and scarcely ever afraid of people. An English lady, who had one for a long time, tells his story in a newspaper. | When he first came to her he seemed so sad and unhappy that it almost brought tears to her eyes to look at him. She made him a cradle of a basket with a cover, and he spent much time in it, except at night, the very time when other people want cradles. Then he would stamp around the house, with such a heavy step that she could not sleep. He was never young, and from the first looked so old and strange that she named him Pharaoh, and fed him on brandy and water from a teaspoon, to cure a cold he suffered from. eS bata PHARAOH. AFRAID OF A CALF. 127 He was fond of going all over the house, climbing the stairs, _perching on the foot of a bed in a chamber, or the back of a velvet chair in the parlor, or the top of a door in the library. He would sit for hours and plume his feathers, and make a sort of singing noise. He was a pretty fellow, with soft, dove-colored feathers brushed back from his face, and his large, wise-looking eyes, and she became much attached to him. He took long journeys with his mistress in the cars, and he made long visits at strange houses. Everywhere he was at home and friendly, either in a station-house, a conservatory, or wherever he was put. Only once or twice in his life did Pharaoh lose his calmness and get frightened, though he looked at everything with the greatest interest. Once a calf ran up to him, and he was so scared that he plunged into a tub of water. Sometimes, too, he would be afraid of a horse, and would run up his mistress’s arm to her shoulder, which he considered his stronghold, or nestle under her jacket, and hide a long time. He delighted in a bath, and best of all, a good shower. He would sit in the rain till he was soaked, and the most draggled- looking bird you can imagine. Then he would spend a long time in drying and arranging his feathers, and come out more beautiful than ever. At first Pharaoh lived in a stable loft, with a summer bower in a wisteria vine, for he was never caged. But after awhile he was moved to a small house, where lived some bantam chickens. This pleased him, and they were always very friendly, unless a chick took the liberty of perching on the spot he had picked out for his private use. Even then he only put it out, without hurting it. 128 OOBPR: TET SAT UVCATICY 7S. As the weather grew colder, a new family came live in the poultry-yard—a family of guinea-pigs. They had a warm house in a barrel, with a door to keep out wind. Pharaoh took notice of the cozy house, and concluded to move. SS ZE== —— Ze — FZ, Saeco SS rare WEEE fame LT TOIL The’ pigs ‘did not object, and after’ that. ame cuddled in the straw with them, Wi, V1/) CLETE. LY ERT RERPEET ELTYBIAE YRC cee, 7 WX for though owls don’t usually “cuddle,” he was A SLIGHT LUNCH. wise enough to know that it is best “ when in Rome to do as the Romans do.” This civilized bird lived on birds and mice, which other peo- ple caught for him. Birds he would take in one claw, pull off mouthfuls with the other, and feed himself like any baby, and TATE EONNIEST . OWL, 129 a beetle he would take in one hand and eat like a sweet cake; but mice he swallowed whole, with many jerks of his head. He would often sit with eyes half shut, in happy contentment, and the long tail of a mouse hanging out of his mouth. His hearing was very sharp, and he liked to sit in the window, watching things in the street. He would turn at every foot- step, and he had his opinions, too, for he made little remarks to himself at anything strange, and when.he broke anything he would talk a long time, in the most troubled manner. What finally became of Pharaoh his mistress does not tell, so we shall have to leave his fate in mystery. Perhaps the funniest owl in the world is the little fellow who lives in the western part of our country, and is called the Bur- rowing Owl, though it is well known that he never burrows if he can find an empty house to go into. Until lately this owl has been thought to be a regular mem- ber of a queer family that I shall tell you about soon—the prai- rie-dog family, and you have perhaps seen pictures of him, quite at home, with puppies and rattlesnakes all about him. But closer study of his ways has proved that the owl contents himself with a deserted house, though often the entrance may be by the same door. The truth is that the prairie-dog town is all out of sight, only the doors are outside. Underground there are many crooked passages, leading every way. Dr. Coues, who has written about it, says it is not unlike the plan of Boston streets. The streets, of course, are all public, and all the prairie-dogs help to make them, but here and there are cozy nooks which are private residences, and into one of these he is sure the owl never goes while a family is in it. Sometimes a whole village is 130 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. deserted by the dogs, and there will be found a great colony of owls. Whatever may be their family relations, the owls are droll little creatures. They delight to sit in the doorway, in the posi- tion of making a speech. They gaze about calmly, and seem to be in a brown study—like other owls. But suddenly, if any one comes near, they will make a low bow, then jerk back and begin to twitch the face and roll their eyes in a queer way. Dr. Coues says they “gesticulate wildly, now and then bend- ing forward till the breast almost touches the ground, as if to give more effect to the argument; then face about to address the rear, and drawing up to their fullest height, pause as if to ob- serve the effect on the audience, then suddenly turn tail and dive into the hole.” Sometimes they sit outside all day and think, at least they seem to be thinking, for they sit like statues, gazing with great staring eyes on nothing, and not moving for hours. When engaged in these deep studies, he happens to be in the doorway, and a prairie-dog wants to pass him to go in, he is much annoyed at being disturbed, and I regret to say he uses his sharp beak in a very unpleasant way, making her wait till he chooses to move. Nearly always, however, they have no quar- rel, but live very peaceably in the same town. At night the owl is quite another fellow. He then goes out after his food, flying about, with his soft feathery wings, so silently that it seems as if he was blown by the winds like a thistle-down. This soft flight, of course, does not frighten the sharp-eared mice, which the owl hunts for his dinner. The owl babies are tucked away in one of these cozy nests underground. They are odd little things, sometimes as many Filta. = OWL BABIES. 13u as six or seven in a house, and they chatter and squeal about the door when big enough to go out. One would think they must be glad enough to get out, too, for the mother owl isn’t a very neat housekeeper. She—like some people—delights in getting together all sorts of old rub- bish, and hoarding it up carefully in the house, and they do say she isn’t always careful to clear off the dinner table, and remove the scraps. This owl does not hoot. He has a cry like the American cuckoo, but when one is caught he will give a hoarse scream. They do not like to be caught, and if wounded they run for the door and dive in, so it is very rare to catch a Burrowing Owl alive. THE FUNNIEST OWL IN THE WORLD. 132 OGRERVAEUS AAD MARCY AS. CHARLE Ry PWHeil WE. A HOME ON THE PRAIRIES. I MUST tell you now, about the little creature who makes the house where the owl delights to live, and save himself the trouble of building—or digging—for himself. It is the Prairie-Dog, found only on our wide western prairies, where he makes a warm and cozy, though perhaps rather dark, home underground. The house itself has but one room, with a hall long enough for a prairie-dog palace, if the little fellow had need of such a thing. They are pretty, little, red-coated animals, about the size of acat. The Indians call them the Wish-ton-wish, but we discard that pretty name, and call them dogs because they bark, though they are really no more dogs than Puss herself. In fact, they're more nearly related to the squirrel family. They are sociable, and live in regular villages of their own, where hundreds of families are near, and they can enjoy visiting and chatting together as much as they like. Curious-looking villages they are, like the mud huts built by savages, and very small. The odd thing about it is, that the little huts are not the houses, but the earth taken out in build- ing, and it seems to be left in that shape to make an observa- tory for each family. On the top of the mounds they perch themselves, sitting THE INDIANS CALL THEM WISH-TON-WISH. 134 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. up to see what’s going on in town, learn the news, and watch for enemies. They have many enemies, for they carry good ““meat”’ on their bones; and a prairiedog makes a welcome dinner dish in many a four-footed family of the prairies. Perhaps the most troublesome enemy is one small enough to get into the house, yet large enough to insist on staying there, if he chooses, and even to help himself to one of the babies for supper—a genuine vagabond he Is, too. This is the rattlesnake, who carries on the end of his tail a cu- rious rattle, which he delights to shake. Not for fun—don’t fancy it!—but for a warning, to get out of his way or he will bite. Whoever hears that polite notice to leave, is usually very quick to do so, whether he has two feet or four. This handsome rascal is a nice person to have in the house, isn’t he? Like it or not, the poor little prairie-dog has to submit, and happily, he doesn’t seem to care much about it. Prairie-dogs are found all over the West, even where it is so cold that nothing grows but grass and the sage bush, a shrub so strongly flavored with sage that few animals will eat it; and where it is so bleak that for six months they are obliged to stay in their warm houses or freeze to death. Even here the hard-working little fellows manage to live, by turning hay-makers, and putting away a stock of food for win- ter. While the grass is plenty and the sun warm, the careful prairie-dogs cut great quantities, and spread it out to dry. When it is cured they carry it into their houses, both for warm bedding, and to eat, and people have seen them doing it. Some writers say that prairie-dogs never drink water. Let- ters have been written to the newspapers, and much talk been raised about it. Other people insist, that although they drink AMUSING AS PETS. 135 when tame, when wild they do not, and still others declare that prairie-dogs always drink, and moreover, that they even dig wells for themselves. Digging a well is not more wonderful than many things done by these little creatures, and there’s no reason why it should not be done; but it is certain that no case of well-digging has been proved, so that will, perhaps, be one of the things that grown-ups will leave for you youngsters to find out some day. Prairie-dog babies are easily tamed, and are amusing pets. A story is told of one who went to live in a house when he was two months old. He was a wise little fellow, and learned very easily, especially where the cake-box was kept. Like most two-footed young people, he was fond of cake, and also, like some of you, he soon found out how to teaze. He would go to the door behind which was the dainty he wanted, and there he would sit up and beg in his native language— which sounds to us like a bark—and refuse to go away, or to be disturbed, till the door was opened and he got the cake. If he had been a child, so that he could be talked to, he would, of course, have been told how very, very naughty this conduct was. Though he spent much time in the house, he had his own notions of a home to really live in, so he dug for himself a nice prairie-dog residence under the big house. But he was always within call, and his master had only to knock on the floor and call his name, when he would answer by a bark, and at once come up to the room, jump on his friend, and run up to his shoulder, showing his pleasure as plainly as a dog will. He was fond of the dogs, would play and romp as they did, and when tired, jump onto the lounge, and stretch out for a nap. 136 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. He was generally amiable, but when teazed too long he would snap at his best friends, and he came at last to a sad end, by means of a strange dog. Another story of a family of pet prairie-dogs, was told by a AT BREAKFAST, lady in a newspaper some time ago. She started her village with six or eight of the little creatures. They were turned loose in the front yard of the house to build for themselves. They made their homes and brought up their funny little DROLI PRAIRIE BABIES. 137 ones, and when she told the story there were about twenty of the droll prairie-babies, which played and gamboled like kittens, and were as amusing to see. The whole family were tame; they knew their mistress well, and would run all over her, nibbling the buttons of her dress, and snuffing about for crackers or cake. But they did not fancy strangers, and always kept a watchman out to see that no enemy came near. The watchman was always one of the wise old dogs, and he would sit up like a statue, watching with his sharp black eyes. If any one came near, he would give a jerk with his tail and a short, sharp bark, which meant “look out,” and every frolicking little prairie-dog would take to its heels, and scamper to its home like a flash, diving into the dark hall with a funny flourish of feet, and whisk of a short tail, and instantly whirl and stick out its head to see what it was all about, any- Way. They were extremely fond of crackers and cake, but a ginger- snap they abhorred. At first they tasted it, as their mistress gave it, but in a moment the ginger began to burn, and they were furious. They scolded and chattered, no doubt using very hard words. They slapped their own faces and went away very much offended, refusing to eat at all. One naughty thing they did, they quarreled at the table. Nothing looked quite so tempting to them as the morsel some other dog had taken, and so on that unfortunate fellow they would pounce, five or six of them scrambling over him, and all tumbled up in a snarl, though there was plenty of food for all of them. Sometimes when the youngsters were too greedy, or forgot 138 OQUPER PETS AT MARCY’S. the respect due to their elders, they had their ears boxed by their mamma, and were sent away in disgrace. There was one good thing about them; they were not easily discouraged. No prairie-dog was ever known to whine and say, “T can't.” I don’t believe that cowardly word was in their language. When they made up their minds, they did not easily change them. Sometimes this was troublesome, and led to a sort of war with the people who fancied they owned the whole family. At one time they made a new house, in a place which their big neighbors wanted for their own use, so it was decided to fill it up, and let the prairie-dogs build elsewhere. The war began, and no doubt the small family laughed behind their fur coats at the notion that they could be forced to move. The contest seemed rather unequal. A big human family, with arms and tools in plenty, on one side, and a little prairie- dog family, not a quarter their size, with nothing but teeth and claws, on the other. So it was unequal, but the advantage was not on the side you would suppose. Not always the biggest wins. War was opened by flooding the offensive house, a steady stream of water being forced into it for a whole day, and then fill- ing it up with gravel and sand, pounded down and made very hard. The family went to bed, thinking they had settled that matter. So did not think the small people outside. No sooner had the enemy left, than they went to work, tooth and nail. By morning the house was open as usual, with a big pile of wet sand and gravel beside the door. ‘Ah, ha!” said the enemy, “we'll see about this! Nextitmc you'll not find it so easy, Messrs. Prairie-Dogs!”’ aad ? THE TITILE- ONES BEAT, 139 So the cunning people prepared a quantity of heavy wire, bent into odd shapes and coils, and altogether of most unman- ageable form. This they packed tightly into the passage-way, filled up with gravel as before, and went to bed in triumph. ‘“‘ Now we shall see!”’ said they. And they did. The next morning, to their disgust, they saw the house open as before, and the babies having a fine frolic with the wires. The third time is sure to succeed, thought the enemy, who scorned to be beaten by such little creatures, so they laid their plans deeply, and brought materials that they were sure no soft little noses could endure to touch, jagged and rough-edged pieces of tin, and ugly-shaped blocks of wood. These they packed and wedged in, till it seemed that nothing less than an earthquake could dislodge them. However they did it, the persevering little fellows came out victors, and the war ended. The house continued a favorite residence, from which the dogs cleared away the snow in win- ter as carefully as they had the earth in summer, and the con- quered people had to make the best of it. It seems to me that a bit of a moral has smuggled itself into this story somewhere, but I haven’t time to hunt it out. —s . a s ‘ DAIS \ rey ty ame a a ¥ a Fredy. Soe tai, AM ng ae uO" Aapene ay Sj arr NS Ce THE MOST TROUBLESOME ENEMY. 140 QUEER PETS AT MARCY’ S. CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. A JUMPING MOUSE. THE cat, as I told you, was a hunter, and always took care to supply her kittens with fresh meat. When Marcy saw her come in from the yard she always looked to see what Abby had brought, and, you remember, one of her dearest pets, Nip, was taken from her mouth. You know cats have a fashion of playing with their prey for a while, before they eat it, and one day, when Abby was thus playing with a mouse she had caught, Marcy was surprised to see the half-dead creature give a jump to get away. Now mice do not jump, they run, and Marcy at once went over to see what it was. Puss was astonished, too, at the queer conduct of the mouse. She sat in a dazed sort of way, looking as you might look if a piece of beef should jump off the platter and hide. But Marcy saw where it went, and in a moment she had it, for it was too much hurt to get far away. It was a curious little animal, much like a mouse, yet of a prettier brown color, with white on the under side of the body, and white stock- ings. It had short little forelegs, but very long hind legs, which explained the jump, and a tail twice as long as its body. Pert NURSERY UNDER GROUND. I4I little ears, and black eyes and whiskers, gave its little face a most knowing look. What it could be she did not know, but she put it in an old bird-cage, and went to the big books in the Den to see if she could find out what it was. Uncle Karl had showed her how to use the books, and she was beginning to find them very interesting. Now she spent an hour or two with them, and decided, partly from the pictures, that the new capture was a Jumping Mouse. When her uncle came home and saw it, he said at once that she was right, which pleased her greatly. She made great efforts to keep it alive, prepared the softest of beds, and the choicest food, but the poor little thing was so frightened, besides being hurt, that it did not live, and Marcy found it dead in the cage the next morning, to her great re- gret. s Uncle Karl tried to console by telling her about the jump- ing mouse, showing a picture of it from his Blue Sketch-Book, and finally telling a story about one, which I’m sure you'll be as pleased to hear as were Marcy and Ralph. | In the first place, he is one of the country cousins of the brown mouse that lives in our walls, though he prefers the woods and fields for a home, in which it must be admitted he shows good taste. The nursery made by the little mother is a cosy place under the ground, perhaps under aclod that has been turned over by a plow, or by a fence, or a brush heap; but wherever it may be placed, it is not more than six inches below the sur- faee, andwthere she places three or four babies, funny little atoms of things, so small that a postage stamp would make a good blanket for one. About these mouse babies there is only one thing specially se ee THE JERBOA. THE JUMPING MOUSE’S NEAR RELATIVE. THE $UMPING-MOUSE BABIES. 143 interesting, and that is the way their mother carries them off, if she is frightened and wants to hide with them. Let one dis- turb them when all together, and away goes Mamma Mouse in great leaps with all four babies hanging fast to her, two on a side. No matter how long her jumps, or how far she goes, every little mouse holds on for dear life till a safe hiding-place is found, and she can rest. It is a curious sight, you may be sure. I spoke of leaps, and the leaps this little creature can take, are something wonderful. She gets her many names from that fact. Ten or twelve feet at a jump is nothing unusual for her to do, and when you remember her size, you will see how tre- mendous that is. Think of a common mouse jumping the width of a good-sized room at one spring! She does not always go leaping about. When not startled, or in a hurry, she runs on all four feet like any mouse, and all. through the country, where a good many of the family live, may be seen funny little paths under the grass and weeds, where they run about for food, and perhaps to make visits to each other. But there are more interesting things about the house. In summer, when she wants it for a nursery, she makes the room near the surface, and lines it carefully with fine grass; and if she happens to find anything softer, like feathers, wool, or hair, she gladly adds it to make a softer bed for the little ones. It is different when cold weather comes on, and the babies are all grown up, able to keep house for themselves. Then each pretty mouse makes a winter home for itself. Away down in the warm earth they dig a long passage till safe from the 144 DOE RETEST NATH Se hard frosts that will freeze the ground, and there, in a comforta- ble nook, they make another nest, warmer than ever. With the first cold breath of winter, each one retires to his own home, crawls into the soft bed, rolls himself into a ball, wraps his long tail around himself and—goes to sleep for the winter. Pleasant way to pass the cold months, isn’t it? I think some people would like to do so. Sometimes the little sleepy heads are found in their winter quarters, and then they are easily caught, in spite of their long hind legs. Professor Tenney tells an interesting story of one that he found. . He was digging into an Indian mound in Indiana, when he tore open the home of a jumping mouse. The little owner was at home, and he seemed to be déad. His eyes were closed, and his two funny little hands—or paws—tight shut, and close together. The professor took it in his hands, and there was no sign of life, except that it was not stiff,as a dead mouse should be. He thought he would carry it home, so he tied the mouse and its nest up in his handkerchief, and took it to* the house of a friend. Ina warm room he again held the little creature in his hand, and after a long time began to see life. One little foot moved, and then it began to breathe. It was several hours waking up, but by night it was lively as any mouse. The Professor was on a journey, but he was so much inter- ested in his little captive that he carried it with him. He got a tin box, for wood is of no use to keep a sharp-toothed little gnawer like a mouse safe. He put in some paper for a nest, and some corn to eat. The little fellow seemed to be contented. He nibbled the ay IN A GLASS HOUSE. 145 corn, and cut the paper to bits, to make a nest. The journey was to the North, and the weather was much colder. When they reached a place to stay, the Professor put the THE FIRST TOILET IN THE NEW HOUSE. mouse into quite a big house. It was a glass shade of large size, and for a floor a newspaper and some cotton. He seemed to be pleased, and at once went to work to perform his toilet, and make himself fit for such fine quarters, and so much com- 146 OCRER MASTS HAD MAK GYGS: pany. He carefully washed himself all over, doing it just as Pussy does, only drawing his long, slim tail through his mouth. When it came bedtime, he went to work to make his home comfortable. All the paper of his floor he gnawed to bits, and with the cotton, made himself a snug nest five or six inches in diameter. Into the middle of this bed he crept towards morn- ing, and went to sleep. The next day he had a new paper floor, and the next night he nibbled that all up. But he probably stayed at work too long, for in the morning the Professor found him outside of the nest, and apparently dead. He took him up, and remembering how he found him first, did not throw him away, but kept him warm. Again he was all day waking up, getting very lively at night, and when let out for exercise, jumping about in such hops that it took two people to catch him. But the Professor now had to go home, and again the Mouse had a journey, reaching the end of it as well as possible. Every time, however, that there came a cold night he would go to sleep in that dreadfully sound way that seemed so much like death, and if not warmed, no doubt he would have slept till spring. What became of him the Professor does not tell; per- haps he is still alive and frisky. Another one, that was caught in a trap in the summer, lived in a cage till winter. This little Mouse had two young ones, and . they had a house underground, with two doors, for their owner gave them a foot deep of earth on the floor of the cage. He found one could dig a hole and bury itself, in a very few minutes. They were quiet pets, but once they were terribly frightened. He put into the cage one of their city cousins, a com- iE IMOUSE LAS” A PRIG HT, 147 mon mouse. Then there was a panic! The poor little Jump- ing Mouse ran about, and tried to get out, squeaked and chat- tered, and cried like a bird in distress. In his world, no doubt a brown mouse is a ferocious monster. These pets were fed on wheat, and buckwheat, and corn. Whatever was put in by day, was all carefully stored away at night, in the underground house. I haven't told you the many names that have been given to this little animal. To begin, the Mohican Indians called him the Wah-peh-sons; the men that first saw him near Hudson’s Bay named him Hudsonian Jumping Mouse, or in Latin, Jaculus; in New York State he is called Deer Mouse, and Wood Mouse, and Jumping Mouse, and Kangaroo Mouse. Enough names for one poor mite of a creature less than three inches long, I should think. ; Pretty and interesting as is the Jumping Mouse, he has plenty of enemies, for he is very good to eat, and can’t do much to defend himself, except hide. First, there are the owls, who go out to do their marketing at the same time the mouse does, in the evening, and who are so sharp to see and hear, that let but a blade of grass rustle or move, and down they will pounce, and carry off the mouse to feed their babies up in an old tree. Then there are the weasels, still, sly fellows, so long and slim that they can creep into the very houses and snatch the mouse from its own nest. And the foxes, with sharp claws that tear up the ground, throw open the house, and devour the whole family. And the cat, who will sit still and patient before the door, tili one sticks out its little head. But perhaps worst of all is the butcher-bird, who pounces on is) QUEER PETS AT MARCY’S. 148 and sticks their dead body up on a ir, them from out of the a ing what he wants. after eat ? thorn of a tree forever on the lookout for ite of all these creatures, in sp ’ ill St ge Mouse doesn’t in the Jumpi »] ittle mouse for dinner a poor | trouble h s a gay fellow, and has a very 2 it is head about in the world ime good t WORST OF ALL IS THE BUTCHER BIRD. A NEW HOUSE BUILT. 149 THE HOUSE THEY SHOULD HAVE BUILT. Clint ib POURTEENTH. THE HOUSE OF MUD. ONE spring there was great ado made, over the building of a small mud house in the backyard. In was in the strangest place you can think of, inside an old hat, which had been left hanging on a wall, and the builders were a pair of robins. They were not the true English robin that you read about in 150 OEE VEILS VAT MMATEONGS: “The Babes in the Wood,” but an American namesake of his, whose charming song I’m sure you have heard, in the early mornings of spring. The new home was made of mud and grass, lined with soft bedding, and when finished, the one room was about four inches wide, and two inches deep. In this pleasant nursery were placed four or five lovely bluish- green eggs, and the pretty Mother Robin seated herself, to keep them warm till the little ones came out. Everybody was glad to have this delightful family settle so near, not only because of their joyful songs, but for their use- fulness, for what they like best to eat, is just what makes terrible mischief in the gardens—worms and various grubs. | It is funny to see a robin on the lawn looking for something to eat. He hops along on the ground in the most easy and careless way, looking this way and that, up at you, over at the street, anywhere, as if the last thing in his thoughts was a worm. But soon his bright eyes spy one, hurrying to hide itself in the ground. Too late, Mr. Worm! In an instant the bird seizes him. The worm resists, Robin gives a good pull, which makes him stagger. The worm doesn't yield; then comes a bracing of the strong little legs, and a stout jerk; out pops the worm, and away flies Robin to the mud house with the choice morsel, for the hungry mouths awaiting it. I needn’t tell any of you, little people, how the robin looks, for I’m sure you know his ash-colored coat and reddish-orange vest, but he has been known in rare cases to dress in black. Why—nobody knows. And it is not uncommon to find them partly, and even wholly, white. THAT DREADFUL WHITE FEATHER. 151 Mr. Lockwood—an American animal lover—tells the story of a tame Robin who was made very unhappy by the appearance of white feathers in his tail. He resolved that he would not endure it, and, like a brave fellow, went at once to work to pull them out. One long hour the plucky bird dragged, and jerked, and pulled at those hated feathers, and at last got them out, tired, and suffering. Again they came in white, and again he pulled them out, till, after some weeks, he made up his mind that it was of no use. From that time he gradually grew more and more white, till he was eight years old, when he was nearly all of that color, and a queer-looking Robin indeed. The whole story of the bird is very interesting, and as Mr. Lockwood has told it himself for the grown-ups, in the American Naturalist, 1 will repeat a little for you. The bird was about a year old when he got him—a pert, saucy fellow, afraid of nobody, who ate nothing but meal and. milk. He was fond of his cage, and for awhile would not go out when the door was left open for him. But one day he went too far, far enough to meet a hungry cat, who thought she would have him for breakfast. She did catch him, but she did not eat him. He got away somehow, probably by beating her face and eyes with his wings. He had, however, a severe hurt, which he did not get over for a long time, though he had the most careful nursing by the family. He was fond of play. As children “make believe” keep house, he would play “build a mud house.” He would bustle around with a straw or a feather in his mouth, twittering and chattering to himself as though this was serious business. Some of the family were fond of jokes, and Rob was more 152 OOERER PETS VAT MAR ECVAS: than once made a victim. A favorite thing was to tie a bit of rubber cord to a wire of the cage. The bird was fond of playing with a string, and he would at once pounce on this. Seizing the end in his bill, he would pull on it, bracing him- self and drawing it out farther and farther, till suddenly it would snap back, and away would go Master Rob, heels over | head backwards on the floor.» Never touched it again, you think? On the contrary, he would instantly snatch it again, more determined than before, and again he would turn a complete somersault. In the spring, when the wild robins were all in agautter preparing to move and to set up housekeeping for themselves, poor Rob would catch the excitement too, and for a few days would be very cross and wild. But before April this was all over, and he was happy as ever in his house of wire. The robin is own cousin to the mocking-bird, and is able him- self to doa little mocking. This one learned the whistle that called the dog, and would set poor Dick half wild till he found out that it was not his master but Rob who whistled. Then he would slink off, much ashamed that he had been so deceived. But Rob learned other things. He mocked the peep of a distressed chicken so as to deceive his mistress, and even to dis- turb the sedate hen-mothers themselves. And when he mas- tered the cry of the hen who sees a hawk, the whole poultry- yard was aroused, and every chick ran for dear life to its mother’s wings. This wise bird was fond of meat, of course, and since he lived in a wire house, and could not hunt for himself, he was supplied by the butcher, like other people. THE MORNING SONG, 154 QUEER PETS AT MARCY'S. If a piece of his food happened to be soiled by dropping on the floor, he would actually wash it in his tub before eating it. Rob lived to be nine years old, and died at last from eating a string. Another pet Robin, who preferred fresh beef to worms, was kept by Mrs. Holmes. He had curious tastes for a bird, and knew well how to make his wishes known. Not only beefsteak, but cake, he fancied, and after awhile he lived upon just what the rest of the family did, going to the table as regularly as any one. Nothing pleased this erratic bird better than a hot dough-nut, and he would teaze for one the moment he smelled them cook- ing. Like Rob, his scent was wonderful. He could tell the moment a paper of raisins or fruit was brought into the room, and would begin to teaze at once. He was fond of meat in any way, cooked or raw, and he would eat flies and spiders, though he didn’t care for them par- ticularly. When his cake got dry, he would dip it into his water dish to soften. He was a sociable fellow, and always greeted any of the family who passed his cage, day or night, with a pleasant chirp, though he never did it to strangers. He had his own fancies about people, strong as any person’s, and could never be coaxed by one he disliked. In winter our wild robins go to the South, and a story comes from there, that the pretty little fellows—like some bigger and wiser—are unable to resist temptation. They will eat certain berries of the China Tree, though every time they do so they become senseless for awhile, so that they fall to the ground. THEY KILL THE BABY. Iss The little colored boys, who delight in robin pie, take no moeuble to cateh) them, except to hide near the trees till the foolish birds fall, when they can pick up as many as they choose. There’s another story told of this bird, and many people pro- fess to have seenit. It is said that when a baby robin is con- fined in a cage, the parents will feed it for awhile, till they apparently make up their minds that the little one is a prisoner for life, and then they give it to eat a leaf which kills it. It cannot be from cruelty, for robins are noted for their kind attentions to caged or deserted young birds, even when not of their own kind. They will bring grubs and worms, and feed the suffering creatures with as much care as though they were their own. : All this, and all these, are American robins, remember, and not the familiar Robin-Redbreast of England. His name—his book name I mean, is—but wait, I'll put it over in the index at the end of the book, with all the other hard names, and you may turn to that place and find it for yourself, if you like. Interested as the children were in the family in the old hat, they never forgot their daily visitors, the sparrows. All the spring they kept the busy little mothers supplied with feathers, for there’s nothing so welcome to the sparrow family as a soft feather-bed in the nest. From the time that snow fell in the fall, Marcy always spread a breakfast of bread crumbs on the roof of a balcony under her window, and there the pert, saucy little fellows came, all the cold, long winter through. Sometimes the snow was deep, and she had to sweep a place for the crumbs, and sometimes the hardy little creatures would go up to their very necks in the VOR ‘: GZ \ LLL LS >> eS) eS \\ = e—— ~.) =