The Nursery, November 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 5

THE AUNT AND THE NIECE

AUNT RUTH was only nine years old, while her niece Mary was nineteen. But Ruth, being an aunt, felt she must keep up the dignity of one; and so she used to treat Mary as if Mary were a little girl.

They had not seen each other for nearly a year; and, when they met, Mary, who was fond of mischief, acted as if she were really younger than Ruth, though she well knew she was nine years older.

"Aunt Ruth," said Mary, "have you any objection to my going out in the grove to swing?"

"None at all, my dear," said Ruth; "but I will go with you, lest you should get hurt."

"Thank you, aunty," replied Mary. "Now let us see who can run the faster."

Mary started off at a run towards the swing; but Ruth called her back, and said, "Stop, my dear, you will wet those nice new shoes in the damp grass; and then your mother will blame me for not taking better care of you. We will go by the gravel road to the grove."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Mary, turning her head to hide her smiles; and then, seeing a flower, Mary cried, "Oh! what a beautiful flower! Tell me what it is, aunty. I think I never saw one like it before. What a heavenly blue! And how nicely the edges are fringed!"

"Yes, my dear: that is a fringed gentian," said Ruth. "It is one of the latest of our wild autumn flowers; and I am not surprised that you admire it."

"It is indeed lovely," exclaimed Mary. "You must teach me all about these wild flowers, aunty; for we city girls have few opportunities of seeing them."

"Yes, my dear niece, I will teach you," returned Ruth. "I want you to learn a lesson of some kind every day you are with us."

Mary burst out into a laugh that she could not control.

"Why, what are you laughing at, my dear?" asked Aunt Ruth.

But Mary, to escape replying to the question, ran and took hold of the swing. "Now for it, aunty!" said she.

Mary sat down in the swing, and Ruth pushed her from behind; and, after she had swung enough, Ruth took her to the barn. But here, I regret to say, the sight of a pile of hay on the barn-floor was too much for Niece Mary. She seemed to lose all her reverence at once.

Seizing Aunt Ruth, she threw her on the hay, and covered her up with it, crying out, "You precious little aunty, I must have a frolic, or I shall die. So forget that you are an aunt, and try to remember that you are nothing, after all, but a darling little girl."

Ruth, though at first surprised, was too sensible a girl to be offended. Papa came in; and, seeing aunt and niece on the hay, he covered them both up with it, till they begged to be let out, and promised to be good.

He was just from the garden, and had thrown down his hoe, rake, and watering-pot, and taken off his straw-hat. But the hat suddenly disappeared, and papa wondered where it was. Niece Mary had slipped it under the hay.

DREADFULLY CHEATED

"Uncle," said George, "what makes you call that great clumsy dog 'Watch'? A watch goes 'tick, tick,' as busy as can be all the time; and this dog is a lazy old fellow."

"I know that," said Uncle Henry; "but he is called Watch, because he acts the part of a watchman, or guard, to keep off thieves and stragglers.

"Don't you know how he barks when any one comes here whom he does not know? He will not let a stranger come near the house after dark, without giving notice. I do not suppose it would be possible for any of us to come into the house without his knowing it."

"I mean to try," said George, "and see if I cannot cheat you, old fellow." And Watch looked up in his face with a very knowing wink, which seemed to say, "Don't try to be too smart, or you may get into trouble."

Now, for all George called Watch "clumsy" and "lazy," he was very fond of him; and many a nice frolic they had together.

That very afternoon, while they were enjoying a grand tumble on the grass, George's mother called him into the house to do an errand for her.

George had quite a long walk to take; and, when he got back, it was quite dark. Just as he reached the garden-gate, he remembered what his uncle had said that morning about Watch.

"Now," said he to himself, "I'll just see if I cannot get into the house without your knowing it, Master Watch; and, if I cannot, you are smarter than I think."

So George took off his shoes, and went stealing along on the soft grass, looking like a little thief, until he came to the broad gravel-walk, which he must cross to get round to the back of the house.

He stopped for a minute, while he looked about for Watch, and soon spied him lying at the front-door, with his black nose resting upon his great white paws; and he seemed to be fast asleep.

Then George very cautiously stepped upon the gravel-walk, first with one foot, and then with the other. As he did so, Watch pricked up both ears; but it was so dark, that George did not see them.

So, thinking that the old dog had not moved, he went on very quickly, and, as he thought, very quietly, when all at once, just as he was beginning to chuckle at the success of his trick, he heard a gruff "Bow-wow," and found himself flat upon the ground, with the dog upon his back, and two rows of sharp white teeth very near his throat.

Although George was hurt by the fall, and was a good deal frightened, he had his wits about him, and said, "Watch, Watch, don't you know me, old fellow?"

I wish you could have seen Watch then, when he found that he had mistaken his little friend for a thief. He jumped up and down, and cried and whined as if he had been whipped, and was so mortified, and ashamed of his mistake, that it was a long time before George could persuade him to go into the house.

At last they both went in, and George told his story; and when the laughing was over, and old Watch had been patted and comforted by every one, Uncle Henry said, "Well, George, we shall have to say that you were both dreadfully cheated."

SUMMER'S OVER

A BAD BLOW

Little David came running home from school one winter afternoon. As he passed through the yard, he saw the door of the cellar-kitchen standing open, and heard some one down in the cellar, pounding, thump, thump, thump.

Little David ran down the steps to see who it was.

He saw a great blazing fire in the wide fireplace, and three big pots hanging on the crane over it; and his mamma, Leah, Jane, and Aunt Jinny, making sausages; and John Bigbee, the colored boy, with a wooden mortar between his knees, and an iron-pestle in his hand, pounding, thump, thump, thump, in the mortar.

Little David ran to John, and asked, "What's in there?" but did not wait for an answer. He drew in his breath as hard as he could, and blew into the mortar with all his might.

A cloud of fine black pepper flew up into his mouth, nose, and eyes. How he did sneeze and strangle and cry!

Leah ran for a basin of cold water. His mamma got a soft linen cloth, and washed away all the pepper and most of the pain.

When he stopped crying, she said, "Little David, don't meddle."

THE ANVIL CHORUS

PAUL

"Four years is very old: I am almost a man," said wee Paul. "Now I can wear papa's coat and hat, and use his gold-topped cane."

He put on the coat. It took some time.

"If the end was cut off, and the thickening taken out, it would be a nice fit. The hat is too tall for a man of my size; but it keeps all my head dry. I shall save an umbrella."

He would also save his eyes; for they were not needed in the top of the hat, and he could feel his way with his feet. He pitied the horses who wore blinders, and wondered how they could go so fast. He tried to step off boldly, but fell over the cane, and smashed the hat. Jane had to come and hunt for him under the coat.

"Don't cry, child," said Jane, shaking the dust from him. "Come now, and have a ride on the rocking-horse."

"He's too slow for me," cried Paul loudly; "and a man of my age won't be shooken, Jane!"

Paul went out and sat beside Fido, on the basement-steps. He made his mouth into a funny round O, and grew purple in the face, trying to whistle Yankee Doodle.

"Don't go off the bricks, child," said Jane, opening a window.

"I'll take care of myself," said Paul. Then he told Fido that Jane had put it into his head to go off the bricks, and that it would be her fault if he did.

Fido began to bark and jump to coax his young master away. He had such fine times when Jane took them out to walk, that he wanted to go again. Paul knew his mamma had forbidden his leaving the brick walk in front of their home; but he longed to go. He put one foot off the bricks, then the other, and away he ran, Fido barking beside him.

Paul ran across two streets, and reached the Public Garden quite out of breath. He said it was fine fun; but he really was not so happy as he was when sitting on his mother's steps. He walked slowly to the pond. He thought he would catch some fish, and give them to Jane, and perhaps she would not tell his mother.

"Here, Fido, go catch fish!" he cried, pointing to the water.

Fido jumped in, and chased a chip with all his might. Paul scolded him well for not catching a fish. The little boy was cross, because he knew he was doing wrong; and when Fido got the chip at last, and laid it at Paul's feet, the child drove him into the water again.

Fido was a small dog, and grew tired very soon. His paws moved slowly, and he had hard work to keep his tiny nose out of the water. He cried for help.

"Poor dog, he will drown!" said a lady upon the bridge.

Paul had been so cross that he forgot dear little Fido could be in danger. He began to cry aloud, and rushed to the edge of the pond to save his pet.

"Dear Fido, don't die!" sobbed Paul, stretching out his hands; but he lost his balance, and fell into the water.

Paul and Fido might both have been drowned if the people on the bridge had not run to save them. The street and number of Paul's house were printed on Fido's collar: so they carried the two there. Paul's mother cried when she saw the sad plight her little boy was in; and he was quite sick for a few days.

"We'd better mind mother, and let Jane go with us always, if she is an old fuss!" said Paul to Fido, the first time they were alone together. And Fido gave a deep sigh that meant yes.

THE CAT AND THE BOOK

LITTLE PIGGY

One day my brother Richard brought a little pig in-doors from the farm-yard. "Squeak, squeak!" cried the little thing as it nestled in Dick's arms.

As soon as we all had looked at it, my mother wished Dick to take it back to the sow. "No," said Dick: "she has too many piggies to bring up. I think we must kill this one." We all begged him not to kill it; and after some talk it was settled that I should have it, and try to bring it up.

So I took piggy under my charge. I named him "Dob." I fed him on skim-milk with a wooden spoon; and he soon looked for his meal as regularly as I looked for my breakfast. I made him a bed in a basket with some hay and a bit of flannel; but he soon outgrew the basket, and we then made him a bed under the kitchen-stairs.

When he grew big enough, he was sent into the farm-yard to get his living among the other pigs; but he would always run after me, and follow me into the house like a dog. I had only to call out, "Dob, Dob!" at the gate, and Dob would be sure to come.

One day he followed me in-doors with a bit of hay in his mouth. He ran down stairs, and left this bit of hay where he used to sleep, under the kitchen-stairs. He then ran off, and soon returned with some more hay in his mouth, and put it in the same place. "Well, I declare!" said cook, "this pig has as much sense as a Christian. Now he has made his bed, I wonder whether he'll come and sleep in it?"

In the evening, when we were at tea, Dob came to the kitchen-door, crying, "Ugh, ugh!" and, when they let him in, he trotted off to his bed. We all thought this very clever on the part of Dob; and cook said, "He was the knowingest little piggy she ever seed!"

CAMPING OUT

Albert lives in the Far West. He is only seven years old. He has no brothers or sisters to play with him, so he has to amuse himself. He makes railroads and bridges and houses with bits of rock. He has a toy shovel and a pickaxe and a little axe that will cut. He is very happy playing with them for hours.

Sometimes he gets tired of his playthings, and says, "Mamma, what shall I do now?" Then his mamma tells him that he may read his lesson. If he has been a good boy, she reads some of the stories in "The Nursery" to him, which pleases him very much.

One day last autumn, his papa and mamma went over on the Neosho River, in the Indian Territory (you must look on the map and see where that is), to gather some hickory-nuts and walnuts. Of course they took Albert with them.

It was a bright sunny morning when they started off across the prairie. They saw a great many prairie-chickens, and two big gray wolves, as they went along. Albert was in great glee; but it was a long ride, and the little boy was very glad when they came in sight of the sparkling waters of the Neosho, just as the sun was setting.

Papa had just time to pitch a tent and build a big fire before it was quite dark. Then they all sat down by the fire, and ate their supper. Then mamma made up a nice bed with blankets and shawls, and put Albert into it. They were all glad to go to bed early.

The wolves barked at them several times during the night, but were too much afraid of the fire to venture very near. Albert slept as sweetly as if he had been in his own little bed at home, instead of being out under the starry sky, far away from a house. When he opened his eyes next morning, it was yet quite dusk; but papa was getting ready to go to a pond to shoot some ducks for breakfast. Albert wished to go too; and papa kindly consented. When they came to the pond, papa told Albert to sit down on a log a little way off, so that he would not scare the ducks, and wait until he called him.

Albert promised to do so, and waited for a while; but it seemed to him a very long time, and he began to grow tired and hungry. He called several times; but no one answered, as papa did not wish to scare the ducks. Then he thought he would go back to mamma at the camp.

He walked on bravely at first; but by and by, as he saw no sign of the camp, and the trees seemed to look all alike, he began to be afraid. He feared lest he might see a wolf or other wild animal; and then he began to cry, and to call loudly. Some Indians across the river called to him, and asked him what was the matter.

Albert was not afraid of them; but he did not stop crying. At last mamma heard him, and was just going to look for him, when papa overtook him, and brought him to the camp. He had scared the ducks so that they had none for breakfast, after all.

But mamma had the coffee-pot boiling by the fire; and the bread and butter, cakes, cold meat, and other things from the luncheon-basket, tasted very good in the cool autumn air.

Albert was much ashamed of having been such a coward, and promised never to be so foolish again. If he had done as his papa told him, he would not have got into such trouble.

After breakfast they all went to work in earnest, and soon had a fine lot of nuts. Albert also picked up some pretty shells by the river-brink. Then papa and mamma packed up the blankets, luncheon-basket, and other things, and, giving a parting look at the bright river, they turned the horses' heads towards home.

A FIELD-DAY WITH THE GEESE

Joseph wants to be a soldier; but, not having any boys to drill, he has to content himself with drilling his uncle's geese. See them on parade! He has opened the gate: he has cried out, "Forward, march!" and in come the geese, black and white, single file.

Joseph stands proudly aside, as a commander ought to, while reviewing his troops. He has a flag in his hand. His cousin Richard is the trumpeter. Mary looks on with admiration, and does not remark that Fido, the sly dog, is trying to find out what she has good to eat in her basket.

Now let me tell you a few facts about geese. They have the reputation of being stupid; but Richard has not found them so. That leading goose goes by the name of Capt. Waddle. He does not hold up his head as a captain should; but he minds a good deal that Richard says to him, for he is very fond of Richard, and tries to do all that he is told to do.

I have heard of a goose who became very fond of a bull-dog. Grim, for that was the dog's name, had saved her from the clutch of a fox; and after that it seemed as if the poor goose could not do enough to show her gratitude. Every day she would keep as near to Grim as she could; and, when he was chained to his kennel, she would stay by, and show her affection in many ways.

At last the bull-dog was sent off to a neighboring town; and then the poor goose lost her appetite, and seemed to pine so, that her owner, Mrs. Gilbert, who was a humane woman, and took a great interest in dumb animals, sent for Grim to come back.

It would have pleased you to see the meeting. The instant the goose heard Grim's familiar bark, she started up, and ran with outstretched wings to greet him. She came as near to embracing him as a goose could. Grim seemed well pleased with her delight, and barked his acknowledgments in a tone that could not be mistaken.

The goose soon regained her appetite, and was not again parted from her dear Grim. The best of this story is, that it is true. So you see that even geese are not so stupid but that they show gratitude to those who befriend them.

Indeed, geese seem to be constant in their affections. They know, also, how to show anger. I remember once seeing a boy tease some geese in order to make them angry. They ran after him in a rage, seized hold of his clothes, and nipped him smartly to punish him for the insult.

Once, in Scotland, a young goose became so fond of its master, that it followed him everywhere, no matter how great the distance, and even through the crowd and tumult of a city.

WHAT WILLY DID

LEARN TO THINK

Walter Dane was in a hurry to go off to play at ball with some of his schoolfellows; and so he did not give much thought to the lesson which he had to learn.

It was a lesson in grammar. Walter's mother took the book, and said, "I fear my little boy finds it hard to put his thoughts on his lesson to-day."

"Try me, mother," said Walter. "I will do my best."

"Then, I will put you a question which is not in the book," said mamma. "Which is the heavier,—a pound of feathers, or a pound of lead?"

"A pound of lead, to be sure!" cried Walter confidently.

"There! you spoke then without thinking," said Mrs. Dane. "A little thought would have made it clear to you that a pound is a pound, and that a pound of feathers must weigh just as much as a pound of lead."

"When I spoke, I was thinking that Tom Burton was out in the yard waiting for me," said Walter.

"Well, take your thoughts off from Tom Burton, and put them on the question I am now about to ask you. What is a noun?"

"A noun is a word used as the name of any object."

"Very well. A noun, then, is a name-word."

"But why is not every word a name-word just the same?" asked Walter.

"Different sorts of words have different uses," said Mrs. Dane. "If I say, 'Walter, come here,' by the word Walter, I name an object or person; and it is therefore a name-word, or noun. Noun means name. By the word come, I tell Walter what to do; and therefore come is a different sort of word from a name-word. Come is a verb. By the word here, I tell Walter where he must come; and so here is a different sort of word from both Walter and come. Here is an adverb."

"But, if I say 'Come,' do I not name something?" asked Walter.

"You certainly do not. What thing do you name? Come is not an object or thing; come is not a person. You cannot say, 'Give me a come,' or 'Let me see a come.'"

"But dog is a name-word, and tree is a name-word," cried Walter. "I can say, 'Give me a dog,' 'Let me see a tree;' can I not?"

"You certainly can, my son," said Mrs. Dane.

"And sister, father, mother, sky, cloud, sun, moon, bread, butter, horse, cow, book, picture, water, land, doll, cart, ball, bat, are all name-words, or nouns; are they not, mother?"

"Yes: I think you begin to see now what a noun is. And let me say one thing more, and then you may run to see Tom Burton."

"What is it, mother?" inquired Walter.

"When your uncle gave you a box of mixed shells last winter, what did you do with them?"

"I sorted them carefully, putting those of the same kind together, so that I might learn their names, the places where they are found, and the habits of the little animals that live in them."

"And just so we ought to treat words. We must first sort them, so as to learn what their use is in speech, and how and where they ought to be used. Grammar teaches us to sort words. Now run and play."

THE BROTHERS THAT DID NOT QUARREL