BESSIE AND THE SQUIRRELS.

[BY]

[Madeline Leslie]

"It is more blessed to give than to receive."—JESUS CHRIST.

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY ANDREW F. GRAVES.

20 CORNHILL.

Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1869, by A. F. GRAVES, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

CORWIN'S NEST;

OR, STORIES OF BESSIE AND JAMIE.

6 vols. 16mo.

For Girls.

Vol. I. LITTLE TOT'S LESSONS. " II. THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. " III. BESSIE AND THE SQUIRRELS.

————— For Boys.

" IV. THE CHILDREN AT PLAY. " V. WHISTLING HORACE. " VI. JAMIE AND HIS PONY

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

MISS PRIM'S RIDE

CHAPTER II.

THE SQUIRRELS

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE HUT

CHAPTER IV.

THE STARVING CHILDREN

CHAPTER V.

THE GRATEFUL FAMILY

CHAPTER VI.

MAMMA'S STORY

CHAPTER VII.

THE VISITORS

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VISIT

CHAPTER IX.

THE DEPARTURE

CHAPTER X.

THE RIDE

CHAPTER XI.

LITTLE FLOSSY'S TRICK

CHAPTER XII.

THE THIEVING SQUIRRELS

BESSIE AND THE SQUIRRELS.

CHAPTER I.

MISS PRIM'S RIDE.

ABOUT three miles from one of our chief cities there once lived a family by the name of Corwin. There was a large farm with an old-fashioned house upon it, long known by the name of Corwin's Nest. Here lived father, mother, and two children, Bessie and James, or Jamie as he was called. There were also a woman, Nurse Blake, a cook, and chamber-maid.

It was a lovely morning in May. Near the house, there was a pleasant fragrance from the pear and apple blossoms. The robins had returned from their winter quarters to their old homes in the great trees, and were now busily engaged in making nests for their young.

The great tulip tree was in full bloom, and looked very gorgeous. The lower branches were so high from the ground that it would take a very long ladder to reach them; but the boughs almost touched the nursery windows, so that the flowers could be reached from them.

On the piazza in front of the house, childish voices could be heard mingling with the songs of the birds, and the cackling of the hens who had been laying eggs, and could not keep the secret.

Presently there was a bark of a dog, and Flossy ran down the granite steps, looking back for Bessie and Jamie—or Junior, as papa called him, to follow.

"I'll ask mamma if the ground is dry enough now," said the little girl.

She darted into the house, up the stairs, and quickly returned with a beaming face, bringing with her a great doll, almost as large as a live baby.

"She says 'yes,' Jamie; come, let's carry Miss Prim and all her family to ride. O Flossy!" she added, laughing merrily. "How lazy you are growing! You always like to ride too."

"Carry Miss Prim to see chickies," lisped Jamie, picking his way carefully down the steps.

The great doll sat up very straight, holding two or three smaller dolls; but she didn't pay much attention to them—she stared straight before her with her dull black eyes.

There were ever so many chickens in the hennery, and little turkeys running in the barn-yard; but the children were too much afraid of the great gobbler, who strutted about with his red comb, to go very near them.

"Me isn't afraid," said Jamie, bravely; but when the old fellow turned toward them screaming, "Gobble, gobble, gobble!" his little feet carried him away pretty quick.

"I wish Nellie's school didn't keep all the time," said Bessie. "I want her to play with us."

"Ganma in there; ganma giving bossies dinner," exclaimed Jamie, pointing his fat finger toward the barn.

THE FARMER'S WIFE FEEDING THE CHICKENS.

So they trotted on, dragging the wagon full of dolls.

When they reached the barn-yard, the farmer's wife was scattering corn to some of the chickens. They stopped to watch her a few minutes when grandma saw them, and beckoned them to come to her.

"Hi! Little folks," said the old lady. "How's Miss Bessie to-day and Master Jamie?"

"Pretty well, ganma," lisped the boy. "I'm going with you to see the bossies."

She laughed as she said, "That's right. I have some milk, I'm going to make the new bossy drink."

But the old lady found this was a very difficult matter. She poured the milk into a pan, and put the calf's nose into it; but he only snuffed and shook his head, and cried for the mooley his ma.

Bessie and her brother stood by, looking very sober, and pitying the little creature very much.

Grandma tried every way to teach bossy to lap up the milk; but he didn't know how. At last she put her finger in the milk, and let him taste of that. He caught her finger, and began to suck it with all his might; so she laid her hand in the pan, and in a few minutes he had sucked all the milk up. Then he was quiet, and went to lie down on the straw the man had piled up for his bed.

"I like bossies," said Bessie; "but I should think their own mothers would take care of them and feed them. Why don't they?"

"Mrs. Mooley would be glad enough to do so," answered grandma; "but your father means to raise this calf; and he can't spare all the new milk. While it is young, it can drink skim milk, and soon it will begin to eat meal and hay. But there comes nurse to look for you."

When they went out from the barn door, they found Miss Prim had kept her family very quiet; and Flossy was sound asleep at the bottom of the carriage. She roused up at the sound of their voices, and began to whine for attention.

CHAPTER II.

THE SQUIRRELS.

IN front of Mr. Corwin's house there was a grove of trees, some of them almost two hundred years old.

There were a tulip tree, and two catalpas, and one English walnut, and three gnarled oaks, and a dozen elms, besides a hedge at the side of the house of three thorned acacia.

The branches of all these trees rose up higher than the house, and the leaves rustled so in the wind that it often sounded like rain.

There were some little animals in the trees about which I have not told you. Can you guess what they were? Little, nimble, striped red squirrels.

The trees were so old that they were full of holes, and these were the squirrels' home, where the fathers and mothers and little ones lived in summer and in winter.

When Bessie's mamma first moved to Corwin's Nest, she was awaked one morning by a funny chirping, which sounded almost like talking, it grew so loud and earnest.

"Hark!" she said to her husband. "What is that?"

Mr. Corwin sat up in bed, and listened too. Then he said, laughing:

"Why, it is the squirrels in the old trees. They are trying to sing."

"No," mamma said, "I should think they were quarrelling. I never knew there were any squirrels on the place."

"Oh, there are hundreds!" he answered, turning over for another nap. "They live on the pods of the acacia trees."

Mamma went to the window and peeped out, and presently she saw a little squirrel dart up the tree, carrying a nut in his mouth. Then a larger squirrel ran after the small one, making the same chirping sound which had awaked her.

"Oh, how funny!" she said, laughing to herself. "The little one has run off with his breakfast,—and his mother is going to punish him. She is scolding him already."

She pulled open the shutter, and looked away up in the top of the trees; but the nimble creatures had jumped from one bough to another, and she could only see an occasional whisk of their tails.

She was just commencing to dress when she saw, on one of the boughs close to the glass, a cunning little squirrel, sitting very quietly; his small, bright eyes peeping into the room.

"Oh! I wish Bessie were awake," she said.

You know Bessie was a baby then; and mamma put out her hand to make acquaintance with the pretty creature.

Since that time mamma and papa, too, had often been sorry that the squirrels had such a colony in the trees, because they ate some of the little birds. Still they looked very prettily chasing each other over the branches, running out to the end of one bough, and then jumping to the end of another.

In the fall they gathered a great many nuts, and acorns, and pods, with large acacia beans in them, and stowed them away in their homes. Then, when the ground was covered with snow, they could keep quiet in their deep holes without starving.

Sometimes in the morning, or toward night, they chattered away at a great rate. The lady used often to wonder what they were saying to each other.

As Bessie grew older, she loved dearly to stand at the window, and watch the squirrels with their long, bushy tails. She loved to hear her mamma tell stories about their funny neighbors in the trees. By and by I must tell you a story mamma told Bessie and Jamie, when the little girl was seven years old.

It was now the next day after the children went to the barn to see grandma feed the calf. There had been rain in the night; and mamma thought the ground too damp for them to venture out. Nurse was busy putting down a new carpet in one of the chambers; and the lady wanted to write a letter to her sister in England. She carried her portfolio into the opposite chamber, leaving Bessie to amuse her brother until it was time for his nap.

About an hour later, she went back to the nursery to get a stamped envelope. Bessie sat in her low rocking-chair, holding one of Miss Prim's children. It was very sick; and Jamie was the doctor who had come to give it medicine.

Just in front of them the shutter was folded back; and there on a bough close to the glass a bright-eyed squirrel was sitting, peeping anxiously into the room, and watching every movement.

Mamma stood a moment, watching the brisk little fellow. She saw that his eye was fixed on Bessie, and she wondered what he thought of her.

When she moved a little nearer the window, the squirrel whisked his bushy tail over his head and darted away.

"Are you having a good time?" mamma asked.

"Baby sick," cried Jamie, eagerly. "Doctor give medicine."

"I wish you'd let us take a bottle, mamma," urged Bessie. "We'll be sure not to break it."

The lady smilingly gave them an empty vial from the closet.

"May we put water in it, mamma?"

"Yes, dear, and give the babies as much as you please, but don't drink any yourselves."

"Are you going to write more letters, mamma?"

"Not much, Bessie; and, to reward you for being so good, I shall tell you a story, some time."

The children clapped their hands, exclaiming:—

"Please, mamma, come quick."

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE HUT.

JUST as Mrs. Corwin was ready to begin her story, a carriage drove to the door; and mamma had to go down to see the visitor. She was gone so long that when she returned, nurse had put Jamie into his crib.

Mamma found her little girl sitting on the upper stair with Flossy in her lap. She looked sober though not vexed, because the visitor stayed so long.

Mamma looked sober too. She kissed Bessie, and called her a good, patient girl; but then she walked to the bureau, and stood as if she were thinking, thinking of something that was not pleasant. At last she stepped into the entry and called nurse.

"I have an errand to the Four Corners," she said; "and I want you to find out whether John is at home, so that he can drive me there. If he can, you may put up a basket of food for a poor family: bread and meat, with some small parcels of tea, sugar, and rice. You know what is suitable."

"Oh, yes, ma'am! I've packed too many baskets since I lived in Corwin's Nest not to know that."

"I want to go as soon as I can," urged the lady, "and I have to find some articles of clothing. The family is very destitute."

"They'll have reason to thank God, ma'am, that they've fallen into such good hands."

All this time, Bessie stood by, her cheeks growing every moment more flushed.

"Mamma," she exclaimed, "please let me go with you. I've got five cents and two pennies, I can give the poor children."

Mamma stopped a moment, looked thoughtfully into Bessie's eyes and then said:—

"Yes, darling, you may go; and we will put off the story I promised you until another day."

By the time Mrs. Corwin had gathered a bundle of clothing, John drove the carriage to the door, nurse carried out the well-filled basket, pushed the bundle under the seat, and wished them a good ride.

In about ten minutes, they had reached Four Corners. There was quite a village here. Turning off one of the streets, there was a cluster of small cottages, inhabited mostly by foreigners.

Mrs. Corwin, after looking around, directed John to drive to one of these huts, and ask whether a family by the name of Bell lived there.

"No, they did not, they lived farther on in an old tumble-down place, not fit to harbor pigs," the woman said.

It was indeed a poor, desolate home. Mrs. Corwin's heart sank as she looked about her, and reflected that six persons lived here in daily risk of being killed by the falling of the roof upon them.

Her low knock was answered by a feeble "Come in."

What a sight met her eye!

Half-reclining on a bundle of coarse straw lay a woman holding to her breast a poor, starving babe; and by her side were three other children from two to six years old.

Bessie clung to her mamma's dress, trying to lead her away. She was frightened at those pale, hungry faces, and those protruding, eager eyes.

"I heard this morning that you were sick and in need," said the lady, in a sympathizing voice.

"Thank you, ma'am," answered the poor woman.

"Where is your husband, Mrs. Bell?"

"He crawled off this morning, trying to get work to keep his family from starving."

"Have you had any breakfast?"

"No, ma'am; nor supper yester-night."

The lady untied the cloth over the basket, and took out a loaf of bread.

Before she took it, the woman clasped her hands and thanked God.

Her chin quivered so much that she could scarcely articulate; but when she saw one of the children eagerly clutching a piece, she burst out—

"It's from the Lord, Aggy. Don't forget to praise him."

CHAPTER IV.

THE STARVING CHILDREN.

IN the basket Mrs. Corwin found a bottle of milk.

When it was given into the hands of the poor woman, for the first time the tears began to pour down her cheeks.

"O ma'am!" she sobbed, raising her hands to heaven. "It's this that will give life back to my baby. Oh, how good He is! Not a minute in the whole night did I shut my eyes, praying and pleading for help. His storehouse is full; and now see, see my children what he has sent us!

"Lady, I'm not slighting your kindness; but I'm sure He heard my poor prayers, and put it into your heart to come and help us."

When the woman became more composed, and the children, no longer hungry, were sitting on the floor, gazing at Bessie, Mrs. Corwin inquired what had brought them into this sad condition.

"We're not beggars, ma'am. At least we were not at home. We rented a few acres in Yorkshire across the water; but the taxes were awful. My man heard of this fine country; and we saved every penny till we had enough to buy tickets for all to come. Peter, poor man, was that hopeful, he thought when we once landed, all our troubles would be over."

"But, ma'am," she added, with a heavy sigh, "the ship-fever broke out on board our vessel, and my man was among the first who had it. When we landed, he was carried to the hospital on a litter, and I didn't see him again for five weeks.

"By that time every farthing had gone; but Peter was left, and la heart was too full of joy for one complaining word.

"An acquaintance told us of this place, and if my man could get light jobs till he's stronger, we'd do well enough. We're used to work and hardship, and not afraid of anything God sends, now that he's left us the father."

"What can your husband do, Mrs. Bell?"

"Sure he can till the ground, and raise some peas and potatoes; and he has a pretty taste for flowers. And, ma'am, now that the strength is put into me, I can wash and scrub, and weed onions and strawberry beds."

"Can you leave the baby?"

A proud smile came over the woman's face as she answered:

"Aggy can mind the children. She's a motherly little creature."

They were so busy talking, they did not see a poor man bent with illness walking unsteadily toward the hut.

He came in holding out a small roll, saying:—

"Here, wife, divide it with the children; you need it more than I do."

"O Peter!" screamed his wife. "The Lord has sent his angels. He heard my feeble prayers. Eat, husband. It will give back your strength."

At first Mrs. Corwin thought she should not like Peter as well as his wife. She thought he seemed surly; but when she looked again, she saw that his features were working with emotion; and that, weary with his long walk, he was wholly unable to express his thanks.

Before she left, Mrs. Corwin told John to bring in the bundle of clothing; and she was really affected to see with what joy it was received.

"Look up, Peter, man," the woman said, holding up a second-hand coat. "We'll be decent again. I take this for a token that the Lord has not forgotten us. Never as long as I live shall I forget this day."

"I shall speak to my husband," Mrs. Corwin said, "and by the time you are strong enough to work, I think we can find some for you."

She was turning to go, when Bessie eagerly pulled her dress, holding out her hand containing the pennies.

"Oh, yes!" said mamma. "You shall have the pleasure of giving your own money. Shall Aggy, the little girl mother, have it?"

"Yes, mamma." And she held it out to the child.

"Make your manners, Aggy," exclaimed her mother. "We none of us, ma'am, shall ever forget that little angel's pitying eyes. May she be the comfort to you, ma'am, in long years to come."

CHAPTER V.

THE GRATEFUL FAMILY.

ON their way home, Bessie's tongue ran very fast, asking questions about the poor family.

"Aren't you sorry for them, mamma? They are so very poor. I guess they were glad of something to eat. Where do they sleep, mamma? I didn't see any beds. Where do they make a fire, mamma? There wasn't any range in the room."

"That is true, Bessie, darling. I carried them tea and rice; and I meant to send John there to-night with potatoes, and meal, and pork; but where can they cook their food?"

"Aren't you glad, mamma, that you let me go with you? Perhaps you wouldn't have remembered about the fire."

"Yes, dear."

Mrs. Corwin answered as if she were thinking of something else; and so she was, for suddenly she spoke to John:—

"I must go to the tinman's," she said. "I saw the other day that he had a number of old stoves there; and I want to get one for my poor family."

She found a very good second-hand cooking-stove, with a teakettle, spider, and iron pot, which, when the tinman knew the circumstances, he said he would sell for seven dollars.

"John will tell you to-night," the lady answered, "whether I conclude to take it."

And then she drove on to the house of a friend.

"You may stay in the carriage, Bessie," mamma said. "I shall only be gone a few minutes."

"Thank you for letting me know," said her friend, following her to the door, after a short call. "I'll be sure and send round some cooked food."

"And I shall see about that cottage you think is empty, as soon as Mr. Corwin comes home," answered mamma. "See, Bessie," she said, holding up five dollars, "Mrs. Alcott gave me this; and she's going to speak to some of her neighbors about Mrs. Bell this very afternoon."

Mr. Corwin entered into the work of helping the poor family with all the zeal his wife could wish. He agreed that the old hut was very unsafe quarters, and that the sooner the family could be moved the better.

They rode two or three miles before they found any place within the means of a laboring man, for Mr. Corwin did not mean to support the family, but only to put them in a way of supporting themselves.

The cottage they engaged at last, was the one next to Grandma Blake's.

"We will send the stove here," papa said, "and I think some of that old furniture in our attic might be acceptable."

"Yes, there is an oak table, and some chairs. I can buy a couple of cheap bedsteads with the money Mrs. Alcott gave me. O James!" she added, her face beaming with smiles. "What a pleasure it is to do good!"

Mr. Corwin gave his wife a glance full of affection and then went on:—

"It is a good time of the year for the man to get work. Of course he must have help till he recovers his strength. Did he look as if he had been very sick?"