CONTENTS.

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NAUGHTY NASNA.

Nasna was a coati-mondi, a cousin of the raccoon family. She was about the size of a cat, with thick, coarse fur, brown on the back and sides, and shading from yellow to orange underneath. She had a head and four legs, and a fat body; but the two most important parts of her, in her own opinion at least, were her nose and her tail. The tail was certainly very handsome, long, and bushy, with black and yellow rings round it. The nose was long, too,—long and sharp, and always poking, poking itself everywhere. There never was such an inquisitive nose. Now it was lifting the lid of a pot on the kitchen fire (for Nasna was tame, and a great pet of her master's), and scalding itself with the steam; now it was sniffing at a bottle of strong ammonia, without seeming to be troubled in the least by the smell; now it was in her master's pocket, trying to find out what it was that went "Tick! tick!"

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But what do you think the nose did one day? oh! what do you think it did? You never could guess, and so I must tell you.

The old cat had been asleep beside the kitchen fire. She had had a long, long nap,—the sleepy old cat,—and when she woke up she felt that she needed a long, long stretch before she was quite herself again. Now, the way in which the old cat stretched herself was this: she put her four feet close together, and humped her back just as high as she[262] could possibly hump it; then she stretched herself, and opened her mouth to its fullest extent, and said, "Mu-aw-yu-aouw!"

This was a singular performance. Nasna had never seen it before, and when she saw the red mouth open, wide, wider, widest, she immediately said to herself, "Dear me! how very odd! I wonder what there is inside that red cavern? I'm going to look!" and the next moment the long, velvety nose was poked right into the old cat's mouth, and almost down her throat.

Did the old cat shut her mouth? She did, indeed, my child; and who can blame her for doing so? But there was a sound of woe in the air, and a squealing as of a coati in despair, and the next moment Nasna was crouching in the farthest corner of the room, holding her wounded nose in both hands, and sneezing violently.

But do not think that this was a lesson to Nasna; nothing of the kind! The very next morning she managed to find her way into the dining-room when the master and mistress were at breakfast. She climbed up at once into the mistress' lap, and poked her nose at the shining coffee-pot. Ah! it was hot. Pop went the nose into the cup of coffee that was steaming beside the mistress' plate. Oh! that was hotter.

"I won't stay here any longer, to be treated so!" cried Nasna; and down she jumped to the floor.

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Buzz! buzz! what is that by the window? Something small, flying about, with a black and yellow jacket on. See, now it is crawling on the floor, and Nasna can catch it. Nasna does catch it, putting her soft paw on it. Mr. Wasp extends his sting, as the utmost he has to offer. Nasna squeaks wofully, but does not understand yet, so puts her nose down instead of her paw. This time there is no doubt about the matter, and she retires in great anguish to the kitchen.

One day as she was playing about, tettered by a string to a chair, her master took an egg and placed it on the floor, at a very provoking distance. Nasna could just touch it with one paw, but could not get hold of it. She tried with fore paws, she tried with hind paws; but all in vain: she only succeeded in rolling the egg a little further off. What was to be done? She sat down and looked at the egg long and thoughtfully. At last she put her head on one side and winked: she had an idea. She turned her back on the coveted treasure, and backed towards it as far as she could. Then she grasped her tail with one paw, stiffened it and curved the tip almost into a hook, and, touching the egg with this hook, slowly and cautiously rolled it round in front of her, till she could reach it with her fore paw. Then, in triumph and much pride, she sat up on her haunches, cracked the egg, and sucked it, without spilling a drop. Clever Nasna! I think she deserved a good breakfast, don't you?

"CHOW-CHOW."

"Chow-Chow" was not a pickle, but a chicken, and a real funny one, too.

I made friends with him when he was no bigger than a robin. He was an only child; of course his mother had enough to do to pet and fuss over him. But he would leave her any time when we[264] called "Chow-Chow." We gave him this funny name because he was a great talker. All he said was "C-h-o-w-C-h-o-w," and then "Chow-Chow-Chow-Chow" as fast as he could talk.

His mother was a beautiful buff Shanghai, but he was a long-legged Brahma, dressed in a speckled black and gray suit. As the days got chilly, in the fall, it seemed as if he suffered dreadfully from cold feet. He was always cuddling down in the warm feathers on his mother's back, even when he was a pretty big fellow.

One day I said, "Come, 'Chow-Chow,' don't trouble your mother. I'll give you a good warming by the kitchen fire." I carried him into the kitchen, opened the oven door, and gave his cold feet a good toasting. Oh, how he enjoyed it! He opened and shut his claws as he lay on my lap, and chow-chowed, and pecked at the buttons of my dress.

The next day it was pretty cold, and the first thing I heard when I went into the kitchen was a tapping at the window-pane. There was "Chow-Chow" on the window-sill, pecking at the glass, and holding up one foot, and then the other. He was talking, or rather scolding, at the top of his voice.

[265]

I let him in. He went straight to the stove, and waited for me to take him in my arms and warm his feet. He seemed to think it was ever so much nicer than his mother's feathers.

One cold morning I was busy when he came in. The stove was very hot, and "Chow-Chow"—silly bird!—couldn't wait for me to attend to him. He flew up on the top of the stove. Then he gave a scream, and landed on the table. That was the first and last time he tried to warm his feet without my help.

My sister always said that "Chow-Chow" was a hen. I felt sure he was a rooster. She said, "The first we know 'Chow-Chow' will lay an egg." I said, "The first we know 'Chow-Chow' will crow."

After a while I saw some bright red whiskers under his chin. Then such a pretty coral comb. Still he only talked "Chow-Chow-Chow."

But one morning he came into the kitchen in a great hurry. He jumped upon the table, flapped his wings, and stretched his long neck, opened his mouth, and, oh! such a queer noise! It was a squeak and a roar. I ran upstairs to my sister. "It is a rooster. Didn't you hear 'Chow-Chow' crow?"—"Do you call that a crow? Why, I heard an awful noise, and wondered what it was."

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But our chicken grew up one of the handsomest birds I ever saw. And in a few weeks not a rooster in the neighborhood had such a musical, splendid crow as our "Chow-Chow."

POLLY'S BABY.

[268]

HICKORY, DICKORY, DOCK!

Weezy was so eager to help that she made it hard for herself and for the family. She burned her fingers in stirring hot apple-sauce for Bridget. She woke the baby in trying to curl the few hairs on his little bald head. She meddled with mamma's knitting-work till she had lost every needle. Papa Haynes laughed at these things; but when Weezy learned to open his writing-desk he looked grave.

"This'll never do," said he to mamma. "The child will be tearing my papers next."

So he locked the desk, and hung the key above the tall clock beside it.

"There, my young squirrel, you won't reach that in a hurry," he said to himself, kissing his little daughter good-by.

After he was gone mamma stepped into the kitchen to tell Bridget about dinner. Weezy stayed in the sitting-room to sing Sambo to sleep. Every time she rocked back in her small chair she could see the key shining over the clock. It looked very much out of place. She wondered why her papa had put it there. She wanted to whistle[269] with it. Oh hum! if she was a little speck of a bird she would fly against it and brush it down with her wings. Or if Sambo was only an angel! She danced across the floor, and threw him up as high as she could. Instead of knocking down the key she knocked poor Sambo's stocking-yarn head against the wall, and he fell flat upon the top of the desk.

"Lie still, Sambo," cried Weezy, mounting a chair. From the chair she easily climbed to the broad shelf of the desk. There she rested a moment, leaning her chin on the top of the desk and patting Sambo. But she did not take him in her arms, for not far above him hung the key. She had set her little heart on getting it.

What do you think the little sprite did next? All by herself she scrambled to the very top of that big desk. Standing on tiptoe, she tried to reach over the clock! Even then she was not quite tall enough to grasp the key with her chubby little fingers; but by perching upon Sambo she got it at last.

By the time mamma came back Weezy had opened the desk, and cut one of papa's deeds into paper dolls.

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Papa was vexed enough, at noon, when he saw them.

"The loss of that deed will give me a great deal of trouble," said he to mamma. "How did Weezy come by the key of my desk?"

"Why, why, is it possible!" said papa, turning pale. "I'm thankful she didn't break her neck,—our little mouse of a Weezy."

A MEADOW SONG.

[273]

A mocking-bird made his home in a honeysuckle in front of our cosey house. In Arkansas, where we live, this sweet shrub is evergreen. Last year the honeysuckle died, and the bird lost his home; but he liked the place, and he went with his family to the lattice-room, in the rear of the house.

In this apartment he found an old travelling-bag, or gripsack, hanging on a nail. Inside of it[274] was an old soft hat. This seemed to be what the bird wanted, and he made his nest in it. This was his home all winter, and he was happy there. When the cold weather, which we sometimes have in Arkansas, came, he went to the water bucket to drink, and we fed him with crumbs from the porch.

We started the honeysuckle anew, and when it had climbed to the top of the cedar pole it spread out its foliage like an umbrella. The mocking-bird liked his old home, and he moved back to its branches in the spring. He has a nice family in his nest, and they give us music at all times, night and day.

The father bird was as brave as a soldier. His special aversion is a large Newfoundland dog, who is one of our pets. The bird will dart down upon the dog's back, and make war upon him with a peculiar noise, until he drives him away. He does this because he thinks the dog will hurt the young in the nest. When there are no little ones he takes no notice of the dog.

We think this is a great deal better than keeping the birds in a cage. They are tame, and stay with us all the time; but they will not allow themselves to be caught.

TROTTIE'S DOINGS.

Trottie is a cunning little boy, not quite three years old. His cradle is a little netted hammock. It is fastened at one end to his[275] mamma's sewing-machine, and at the other to a hook in the wall. When Trottie grows tired he does not trouble his mamma, but gets into the little hammock and rocks himself to sleep.

One day the door-bell rang. The little fellow picked up his mother's best bonnet, which she had placed upon the bed. Crushing it down over his little golden curly head he hastened to the door.

He found the minister there, a tall, stately gentleman, wearing a stove-pipe hat. Trottie's strange appearance made the gentleman laugh, and he asked, "Where are you going, my little man?"

Trottie made no answer, but, after a prolonged stare at the stove-pipe hat, asked, "Are you Mr. Yankee Doodle?" Mamma came down just then. Laughing, she invited the visitor in.

Not long afterwards Trottie thought he would like to churn. When his mother's back was turned he put his two dear little kittens, "Starry Eyes" and "Bluebell," into the churn, and poured a cup of water over them. He was just lifting the dasher when his mother heard the kittens mewing and took them out.

He loves the kittens dearly, and would not hurt them for anything.

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[277]

[278]

THE PIGS' CHOWDER-PARTY.

Down at Cape Cod there lived two merry little twin brothers. Very full of fun and mischief were they, and seldom quiet except when they were asleep.

One day their mamma bought some clams. She was going to have a chowder for supper. For safe, cool keeping she put her basket of clams on the grass, under a great tree.

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Johnnie and Willie stood by, and heard all that their mamma said about it to auntie. They just looked and heard it all. Their baby faces—for they were only a little over three years old—were as solemn as good old Deacon Pitts', who said he "didn't see why people laughed when there was no occasion."

These two baby-rogues put their bits of plump little hands into the pockets of their pretty white aprons. When mamma and auntie went into the house Nurse Jane sat down on the piazza, knitting in hand, to keep an eye on them. They began to play bo-peep behind the lilac-bushes. When Nurse Jane dropped off to sleep, as she should not have done, then it was that these two small men turned their thoughts to other matters. First, there was a wild chase after butterflies. Pretty soon they trotted down the walk to see Mistress Piggy and her three lazy, grunting children. When the pigs heard voices they, too, piped up, squealing out, as Johnnie afterwards told his mamma, "Give us some! give us some!"

So at that call the laddies pelted Mistress Piggy and her children with tufts of grass. Straying down the walk for more, they spied the basket of clams. In a minute they were dragging the damp basket over the grass, tugging away at the heavy load until their cheeks[280] were scarlet. Then such a pelting as Mistress Piggy and her family had. But they were wild with the supper. They crunched and ate until all the clams were gone. A pile of shells lay by the trough where their food was usually put. "They had the chowder," Willie said.

Mamma and auntie had no chowder that night!

I do not know what mamma said to her small boys, but I do know that they went very early to bed.

PUSSY'S ADOPTED CHILDREN.

When I was a little girl I had a dear old pussy. She was black and white, handsome and dignified, yet a grand playfellow when she chose to put off her dignity.

Great was my delight, one lovely spring morning, to find that pussy had two beautiful little babies in an old basket under the shed steps. She was so glad to have me see them, and so proud of the little soft, plump things, that she purred her loudest.

For three weeks mamma, kitty, and I nursed those babies with increasing pleasure. Whenever she wanted to take the air, or call on a friend, I was always ready to sit by the basket till she came back.

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