Book: The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories

V >> Various >> The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories




Very often, during the day, the robins bring worms to fill the gaping
mouths. It is surprising how much they eat. No wonder they have grown
plump and large, for they eat and sleep as much as they please. We
expect soon to see them flying about from tree to tree, and hopping
along the ground. We hope that great cat, which steps about so softly,
will never find them. She is welcome to all the rats and mice she can
put her paws on, but we never like to see her climb a tree, for we
fear she will destroy some of our cheerful friends, who build near the
house in full confidence that they shall not be disturbed.

The young robins are not lonely in their rural home. The
plainly-dressed sparrows and the brilliant yellow-birds look in upon
them, and, now and then, their cousin, the oriole, comes, clad in the
richest golden plumage, and sings them a song. If he had dipped his
feathers in the gorgeous sunset he could not be more beautiful. The
delicate little humming-birds sip nectar from the deep horns of the
honeysuckle; and the red-winged starling, in his glossy black coat,
and his dashing scarlet epaulette, occasionally comes from his home in
the meadow, to make them a call. He does not like Honeysuckleville
quite as well as his dwelling in the grass, just above the water. If
he was not so confirmed in his habits, I think he would be strongly
tempted to become a neighbour of the robins. A few weeks ago, when his
favourite resort was five or six feet under water, he and his friends
seemed to be in great uncertainty what course to pursue. They had
several mass meetings on the quince-bushes, in full sight of
Honeysuckleville, and a great many speeches were made. It sounded to
me like incessant chattering, and as if all were talking at the same
time. I could not understand a word they said, and I cannot tell you
the result of their deliberations. Whatever it may have been, when the
water subsided, they returned to their old haunts by the river-side.

These I have mentioned are not the only visitors whose society our
friends enjoy. The swallows gracefully skim through the air, and greet
them with their merry voices. The wren often favours them with one of
his sweetest melodies, and the blue-bird flies around the corner to
sing a song on the walnut-tree. He has a curious little nest of his
own, hidden away under the eaves. The cat-birds, of course, are always
near, as they live in the lilacs. The oriole has suspended his nest,
like a basket, from a limb of the great pear-tree; and when the robins
know how to fly, they can return some of his visits.

The old robins, now and then, play peep with the young birds. They fly
almost up to the nest, and poise themselves for an instant on the
wing, just long enough to say, "Bo-peep!" and then away! almost before
they can be seen. Pretty soon they return again, generally bringing
some nice morsel with them. They often first alight on a small branch
of the vine, below the nest, and then hop up to it.

What a chirping the birdlings keep up with their mother! They like to
talk as well as Eddie Dudley and some other children, whom I have
heard pleasantly called little chatter-boxes. Children have much to
learn, and must ask many questions. The world is new and strange to
them, and is a constant source of surprise and wonder. I do not
suppose people ever learn faster than before they are six years old,
or ever learn more in the same length of time. They are constantly
observing, and in this way the stock of their ideas is continually
increasing. I once heard a gentleman say he did not like to go
through the world with his head in a bag. He wished to see what was
taking place around him, and it was this seeing, and thinking upon
what he saw, that, among other things, made him a distinguished man.

The young birds are now seeing and thinking, as well as birds can.
Their time for action has not come. Like dear children in their happy
homes, they are preparing for the responsibilities of life; and, if
they honour and obey their parents, as far as birds are expected to
do, and as all children should, I doubt not they will faithfully
perform the duties which will hereafter devolve upon them.

From observations I have made, I conclude the robins neither send
their children to school nor employ a governess for them. They have so
made their arrangements that either one or the other has time to
attend to their education. Sometimes the father, and at other times
the mother, assumes the labour of teaching, and their dearly-loved
pupils are quite as attentive to their instructions as any children I
have ever seen.




CHAPTER VI.

GOING ABROAD.


It was on a bright, warm, breezy morning in early June, that our
friends at Honeysuckleville decided that the home education of their
children had been attended with such success as to encourage the hope
that they would "come out" creditably to themselves, and their
parents. Arrangements were accordingly made, and I assure you there
was much talking and no little excitement and bustle upon the
occasion. It was proposed to spend some weeks in travelling, that the
young people might enjoy themselves, and acquire much useful
information, which could be obtained no other way.

The weather was delightful. A few light, fleecy clouds were floating
in the blue sky, continually changing from one form of beauty to
another. The sun shone forth in his splendour, cheering the tender
grass and the up-springing seeds, and drawing them nearer and nearer
to his bosom. They stretched toward him their feeble blades and
diminutive leaves, as if they would gladly be clasped in his arms; but
their growing roots were striking deeper and deeper into mother earth,
and binding them closer and closer to her.

The gentle, cooling zephyrs were playing among the leaves, and
winning sweet music from the tiny voices, which responded in glee to
their salutations. Often they lifted the soft hair from the brows of
the children, and frolicked amid their curls, and fanned their
sun-burnt cheeks. It was a morning which all nature enjoyed. There
could not have been a finer day to start upon a journey. As birds do
not need a change of dress, there was no trunk to pack, and no
travelling-bag to be laden with comforts. All the preparation
necessary was the usual attention to the toilet, and the instruction
and advice which the exigency required.

The hearts of the young adventurers fluttered with excitement. There
was a mingling of curiosity to visit the great world of which they had
heard such glowing descriptions, and of fears to trust themselves to
the power of their wings to bear them from their pleasant, happy home,
and keep them out of harm's way. They had seen Pussy, as she walked
about in her white and black robe, and though she seemed so gentle,
they had been warned against her as one of their most deadly enemies.
They knew she was often prowling about, with stealthy tread, to prey
upon the unwary. They feared that, instead of flying to the
walnut-tree, as was the plan, they should fall upon the grass, where
she could pounce upon them and destroy them, notwithstanding the
screams and agonizing entreaties of their parents. Puss is a full
believer in the doctrine that "might makes right;" and she is as
unmoved by the cries and appeals of her victims as if they had no
hearts to suffer, and were made merely for her own use.

Many words of encouragement were addressed to them by their parents.
They told them how they themselves had suffered from similar fears;
how difficult it was for them to trust implicitly in the wisdom of
their own father and mother; and how they stood, tremulous and
fearful, on the top of the nest, wishing they had sufficient
resolution to obey, and yet fearing to venture; but how easy and
pleasant they found it to spread their wings in the air, and be borne
up by it, when they fully determined to make the attempt.

Our little birdlings still hesitated, just as I have seen children
hesitate and quiver with terror when for the first time they go into
the water to learn to swim. They know their father tells them the
truth, for he has never deceived them. He has bound a life-preserver
beneath their arms, and has promised to remain near, to catch them, if
they begin to sink; yet they are afraid, and draw back. They lack
faith. When at last they timidly push from the shore, and find
themselves buoyed up on the water, their delight is almost unbounded,
and they are as unwilling to leave as they were reluctant to enter it.

The old robins stood on one of the branches of the walnut-tree, and
endeavoured to persuade their timid brood to come to them. They were
not stern and severe, for they had not forgotten their own youth, and
they sympathized deeply with these children; but the father found he
must be decided, so he told them, (as it seemed,) authoritatively,
that they must hesitate no longer. He would count one--two--three; and
when he said three, they must spread their wings and do as well as
they could. The mother smiled lovingly upon them, and they determined
to obey, whatever effort it might cost. "One--two--three," counted the
robin, in his full, musical tones. The birdlings fluttered their
wings, and strained every nerve to alight by the side of their
parents. With what joy they felt their feet clinging round the branch!
How elated they were with their success! They chirped continually, and
merry and brisk was the conversation. "What is this?" one asked, and
"What is that?" said another, till it seemed as if the old birds would
be weary of their questions; but they never lost their patience; they
thought the little folks remarkably intelligent.

When they were rested, away flew the birds to the elm, and called to
their young. Grown courageous by success, they quickly followed, and,
through the whole day, they were flying about from tree to tree,
enjoying themselves highly.

At sunset, I saw them on the locust-tree, near the cottage, inhaling
its delicious perfume, with their faces toward the west, wondering,
perhaps, what occasioned all that glorious beauty, as the sun escaped
from their view.

Presently they flew to a great cherry-tree, and, from the chirping and
calling, we concluded they spent the night in its shelter. How strange
it must have been to them, this first night of their perching! The sky
was clear, the stars twinkled, and the half-moon shed her silvery
light on the earth, and gleamed through the cherry-leaves, as it had
done through the honeysuckles; but it was not home, that cherry-tree,
and they sighed as they thought of their birthplace. They sat close to
their mother's side, and felt that, after all, where she was, was the
best place for them. They curled up one foot into the soft down, and
turned back their heads till their bills were beneath their wings. The
lids slowly closed over their eyes, and they slept quietly and
sweetly, till wakened in the morning by the warbling of songsters who
welcomed the rosy dawn.

A new sense of responsibility filled their hearts. They were no longer
mere children, their every want supplied by others; but they were
youth, and must begin to provide for themselves, and depend upon their
own energies. We frequently hear the young robins among the trees, but
we seldom see them. We really miss them, and think of them as
pleasant visitors who have been spending a few days with us.

We hope that Honeysuckleville will not be forsaken; but that every
year the birds will return, and rear their young beneath its fragrant
shade, making hearts of the little Dudleys glad, and teaching them to
love.

"All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
Hath made and loveth all."

[Illustration]




"MAY I POP SOME CORN?"


"May I pop some corn?" asked Eddie.

"Yes," answered his mother; and laying down her work, she went to the
closet and got for him several small ears--some red and some
white--the kernels of which where not half so large as those of common
corn.

Eddie took a white bowl and sat down on the carpet by his mother with
the tiny ears in his apron. He worked away for some time, shelling
first one ear and then another, till every little kernel was in the
bowl, and nothing but cobs left. These he thought would help to build
a "log-house," so he put them in his play-box, with those he had
treasured before, and took his bowl to the kitchen.

Kate, the cook, was a coloured woman, and she loved children. When he
said to her, "Mother told me I might pop some corn," she cheerfully
placed the iron pan on the stove, and when it was hot enough, told him
he might put in the corn. Pretty soon it went Pop! pop! pop! till the
pan was filled with snow-white kernels. Eddie always wondered how they
could turn inside out and suddenly grow so large. He did not
understand that it was because of the expansion or swelling of the air
within the hard case, which then burst open to find more room.

[Illustration: Eddie popping corn.]

Eddie was very busy for some time in the kitchen attending to his
corn. When it was all done, he separated that which was popped from
that which was only parched, and put it in different dishes. He gave
his dog Philo some of the brown kernels, and he seemed to like them as
well as Eddie himself. Eddie enjoyed hearing him crack them with his
sharp teeth, and would stroke his great head, and say kindly, "Poor
Philo! you are a good Philo;" and the dog would wag his tail as much
as to say, "Dear Eddie! you are a good Eddie."

After giving Philo his share, and Kate hers, Eddie carried up a large
dishful to his mother and the children. He did not wish to eat it all
himself for he was a generous boy and always liked to have others
partake of his pleasures, whatever they might be. He reserved some of
the nicest of it in a tumbler, which he placed on his mother's
work-table. Mrs. Dudley took a little, saying to him,

"If you miss your corn, Eddie, you will know what has become of it."

He looked up from his play quite soberly, and said slowly, "Mother, if
_you_ wish to eat more you may, but _I_ am not going to."

"Why not, my child?"

"I am going to save it for father."

Mrs. Dudley was pleased to see Eddie willing to deny himself to give
to others, so she said to him, "That is right." When his father came
home from his business, Eddie placed the tumbler beside his plate on
the tea-table. After the blessing was asked, Mr. Dudley, looking at
the children, inquired, "Where did this come from?" "I popped it,"
answered Eddie. And his father thanked him with a kind and loving
smile.

Eddie was much happier than if he had eaten all the corn himself, for
he had made others happy by his generosity. "It is more blessed to
give than to receive," the Bible tells us; and Eddie had been learning
this truth in the great pleasure he felt in dividing his popped corn
with others. I hope you who read this story know how to sympathize
with him. If you do not, will you try the experiment, and see if you
are not far happier to share your corn, or your candy, or whatever
else you may have, with your brothers and sisters, and those around
you, than you are to devour it yourself? I have seen little chickens
seize their favourite morsel and run away and hide where they could
eat it all alone; but I should be sorry to think that any child would
do so.




"WHICH WOULD YOU RATHER I SHOULD DO?"


"Which would you rather I should do?" asked Eddie of his mother, his
large blue eyes filling with tears.

"I should rather you would stay with me," was the answer.

"Then I will, mother!" and the tears remained where they were, and did
not chase each other down his plump cheeks. A trembling smile played
around his mouth; for he had conquered himself, and had readily
yielded to his mother's wishes. There had been a struggle, severe, but
short, in his mind, and when he said, "Then I will, mother," he meant
he could be happy to stay at home, and would not ask again for
permission to go with the other children. Mrs. Dudley could not resist
the impulse to clasp him to her heart, and tell him he was a good boy;
and this made him still happier. He saw he had pleased her, and her
approving smile was worth more to him than any enjoyment could be
without it.

Eddie, you know, is a little boy, five years old. He has brothers and
sisters older than himself, and they have fine sport in sliding and
skating. Their teacher takes them every day to enjoy it, and they come
home in high spirits, swinging their skates by their sides, and
talking loud and fast about it.

Eddie has watched them many days from the nursery window, and has
longed to be with them; but his careful mother has feared he would get
hurt among so many skaters, or perhaps be lost in one of those
"air-holes" which are often found in the most solid ice; so when Eddie
asked her if he might go to the river, she hesitated, for she did not
like to deny him. "Which would you _rather_ I would do?" then inquired
the dear boy; and when his mother told him, he did not tease her, but
resumed his place at the window.

Mrs. Dudley resolved to go herself with her little son to the river,
when the children went again. She did not tell him so, however; but
the next day, when the merry skaters were in the midst of their
enjoyment, she put on her hood, and her warm blanket-shawl, and thick
gloves, and calling Eddie to her, wrapped him in his wadded coat and
woollen tippet, and placing on his head his "liberty-cap,"--knit of
red and black worsted, with a tassel dangling from the point--and
pulling it well down over his ears, and covering his fat hands with
warm mittens, they started out on the white snow. The snow was frozen
sufficiently to bear them, and they had a pleasant walk above the
hidden grass and stones.

Eddie was in great glee. His mother enjoyed it almost as much as he
did, for it was an exhilarating sight. Some of the boys were sliding,
some skating, and others pushing sleds before them, on which a mother
or sister were sitting. It reminded one of the pictures we often see
of skating in Holland; and, to make the resemblance more perfect, a
Dutchman was there with his pipe, defiling the pure, fresh air with
its foul odour.

Mrs. Dudley was invited to take a ride, and, leaving Eddie in the care
of another, she was soon seated on one of the sleds, and speeding away
before a rapid skater. She found it far more swift and agreeable than
riding in the usual way. Eddie, too, had a ride, and his little heart
was brimfull of happiness. He walked about on the ice quite carefully
and fearlessly.

The river, on which these children were, rises and falls with the
tide. Eddie saw other boys sliding off towards an icy meadow bordering
on it, and he thought he would go too. The ice formed an inclined
plane; his feet slipped on its smooth surface, and down he went; he
jumped up, but the blood from his nose, flowing over his face and
coat, and staining the snow, frightened him, and he uttered a loud
cry. The skaters were with him before his mother, though she was but a
few steps away, for she could not move as quickly as they. It was
pleasant to see their sympathy, and hear their kind inquiries. His
mother soon comforted him; for he had not been cut by the ice as they
feared. The blood from his nose testified to a pretty hard bump. He
soon forgot the pain, and was as happy as ever. He will long remember
his first sled ride on the river.

Why do you think, dear children, I have told you this story about a
child whom you have never seen? I wanted to ask you, or rather have
you ask yourselves, if you are willing, as Eddie was, to do as your
mother thinks best? Much as he wanted to go on the river, he felt
satisfied to do as his mother wished. I hope, when you know what your
mother prefers, you will make up your minds to give up your own plans,
and be happy in doing so.

I am not one of those who imagine children have no trials. I know
their lives are not all bright and sunny. I have not forgotten being a
child myself. Many a hard battle has to be fought with wrong feelings
and wrong wishes; but never fear; resolve to conquer yourselves, and
subdue every thing that is sinful. Every victory will make you
stronger, and render it easier for you to do right. Will you try?

"If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again."




THE BIRDS AND THE SNOW-STORM.


The weather is warm and sunny. The snow of winter has disappeared. The
grass is green, and growing finely. The early spring-flowers have
opened their blossoms, and we all think summer is so near, that the
cold weather must be over. The birds have thought so, too; for they
are flying from tree to tree, singing most beautiful melodies, and
peeping about, here and there, making arrangements for summer, and
selecting places where to build their pretty nests.

But the wind blows chill again. The sky is clouded, and people begin
to say, "I think we shall have another snow-storm." It is not long
before the feathery flakes begin to descend. The earth is so warm that
they scarce touch it before they are melted and absorbed. The snow
continues to fall, the earth grows colder and colder, and soon it
cannot melt the snow, but is itself chilled, and accepts it as a
mantle. For three days the storm rages. The ground is as white as in
mid-winter.

What is to become of the birds? They can find neither food nor
shelter. It is painful to see them flying distractedly through the
storm, not knowing where to go; but too cold and too hungry to remain
in the trees, and too fearful to seek comfort in the many warm houses,
that would have opened their windows, if they would have entered under
their protecting roof.

Mrs. Dudley's children are all watching them from the windows, and
throwing out hominy and bread-crumbs for them to eat. How cold the
little sparrows look, as they pick up their food! Children's hearts
are generally tender, and always so unless they have been hardened by
the practice of cruelty, and Mrs. Dudley's were full of sympathy for
the little sufferers. "Oh! mother!" said Eddie, the youngest, "if the
birds knew how we loved them, they would come into the house;" but the
birds did not know, and they stayed out in the snow, and many of them
perished.

The children were sadly grieved, when, after the storm, they found
many of their feathered friends dead. How much they regretted they
could not have saved their lives! If the birds had only known, as
Eddie said, how much the children loved them, they would have flown
into the house, and been warmed and fed.

There are many dear children who do not know how much Jesus loves
them; how much he wishes them to enter the "ark of safety," and escape
the dangers there are in the world. There are many who have not even
heard of him; and many of those who have, do not know he is their best
friend.

Do _you_ know how much he loves you, and have you sought his
protection amid all the dangers that surround you? If you have not
found refuge in that "high tower," of which David speaks in the
Psalms, you are no safer than were the birds flying through the cold
snow, and you surely will be lost if you do not fly to that kind
Saviour, who has prepared a way of escape for you.

[Illustration]




THE FIRST STRAWBERRY.


How bright and red it looked, half-concealed as it was by the green
leaves! It was the first strawberry of the season. Mary gathered it
with delight, and ran with it to her mother.

"Here is something for you, mother," she said, holding up the rosy
treasure.

"Thank you, my dear!" said Mrs. Dudley, smiling upon her daughter. She
ate it with a double relish. She was very fond of the fruit, and she
was gratified by this expression of the thoughtful, unselfish love of
her dear child.

How much more Mary enjoyed that look of love, and that approving
smile, than she would have enjoyed eating that luscious strawberry
herself!

Every day, Mary, Willie, and Eddie search for the fruit as it ripens,
and almost every evening their father and mother find a saucer of
berries, with sugar and cream, beside their plates at the tea-table.

How pleasant it is to see children think so much of their parents! I
hope they will continue obedient and attentive, for there is no more
beautiful sight than an affectionate, united family.

God will bless those who honour their parents.




"I PRAYED ALL DAY FOR HELP."


It was a beautiful evening early in June. The air was cool and
pleasant. The trees and shrubs were covered with luxuriant foliage,
and the roses were in their opening beauty. The frogs were croaking in
the pond, and the birds singing on the trees. The sun had just sunk
beneath the horizon. The clouds which lingered around his pathway
received his parting rays, and were most gorgeously decorated with the
richest of his colouring.

Willie walked about the lawn, his face lighted up with a smile, and
his dark gray eye bright with happiness. His heart was attuned to
harmony with all nature around him, and he would frequently look up to
his mother, who sat by the open window, enjoying the delightful
evening. Presently Willie came, and stood by her side.

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