Chatterbox, 1906 Part 19

THE PRAIRIE DOG.

The little animal which is commonly called the prairie dog is not a dog at all, but one of the Marmot family, which is to be found in Europe and Asia, as well as in America. The only reason for calling it a dog is that, when excited, it utters a cry which is very like the barking of a puppy.

This little marmot is rather larger than a good-sized rat, and rather like that animal in general appearance. Its colour is a red-brown, speckled with grey and black hairs above, but whitish-grey below. The tip of its tail is tufted with black hair, which is rather long and bushy.

The prairie dog lives out on the vast, treeless prairies of North America, where immense numbers of them congregate together, and make what are called dog-villages, or towns. The marmots burrow in the ground like rabbits, and sometimes the country is undermined with their burrows for a s.p.a.ce of several miles. Each marmot, as it builds its burrow, throws out the loosened earth into a little hillock by the mouth of its burrow, and when it has nothing better to do it sits upon the top of its mound, and watches what is going on. At the sight of a stranger, or an enemy, the marmots, sitting on their mounds, begin to bark and chatter, jerking up their little tails with every effort until they feel that they are hardly safe any longer; then they drop into their holes, and, turning round, pop out their heads to watch a little longer. If the intruder comes too near, however, they withdraw altogether, and seek safety in the depths of the burrows. But they are very inquisitive, and if they are not harmed they soon put out their heads again to see what is taking place. Hunters who have walked through a dog-village, hoping to get a shot at one of the little householders, have been amused to see them scamper indoors as they approached, and come out again as soon as they had pa.s.sed. All around, within the range of a gun, there was not a marmot to be seen, but at a safe distance there were hundreds, or even thousands, on the watch.

The opening of a marmot's burrow is four or five inches in width, and the pa.s.sage runs downwards in a sloping direction for several feet. It then makes a sharp turn, and continues horizontally for some distance further, till it turns slightly upwards. The marmot's nest is made at the extreme end of the burrow, and there can be little doubt that the last upward turn of the burrow is meant to keep the nest dry, when, after a heavy storm, rain-water flows into the mouth of the pa.s.sage. The burrows are generally within a few feet of each other, and as the ground above them gives way under pressure, they are often a source of great danger to travellers upon horseback. The horses' feet slip, and there is great risk of their spraining or breaking a limb. For this reason parties of travellers often have to go several miles out of their way, in order to get round a prairie dogs' village.

Prairie dogs live upon gra.s.s, and near their burrows the gra.s.s is cropped quite short by their flat, chisel-shaped teeth. In one respect they are very strong, for it takes a very serious injury to kill them, and they quickly recover from small ones. They have one or two enemies, the worst of which is probably the rattlesnake, which often takes up its residence in their holes. But, notwithstanding their enemies, the marmots increase in numbers very quickly, and soon over-run a favourable district. In winter they hibernate like our squirrels, pa.s.sing several months underground in a kind of slow and nearly motionless existence.

The sleep enables the animal to live on, after its gra.s.s-food is exhausted in autumn, until the crop grows again in spring.

THE WAY TO COMMAND.

In the year 1852, Gordon got his commission in the Royal Engineers. Two years later, he volunteered to go out to the Crimea, and came in for his full share of the terrible sufferings and privations of the ensuing winter.

One day, it is said, he came upon a corporal and a sapper, engaged in a hot dispute. The corporal wanted the sapper to stand up exposed on the ramparts, while he handed him up some baskets from below. Gordon at once sprang up to the parapet, told the corporal to follow, and planted the baskets, under the fire of the Russian gunners. Then, turning to the corporal, he said, 'Never order a man to do anything that you are afraid to do yourself.'

H. B. S.

LITTLE THINGS.

The seed set in the garden Becomes a lovely flower, It opens in the sunlight Or twines about the bower; It beareth tender blossoms, In beauty it is drest, And though at last its grace is past, How many it hath blest!

The tiny little acorn Becomes an oak at last, And children swing upon its boughs When many years are past.

Though now it looks so mighty, And branches hath so tall, Ah, yet we know, ere it did grow, It was an acorn small.

As flowers grow up from tiny seeds, As oaks from acorns spring, E'en so from kindly words and deeds Grows many a lovely thing.

They still the angry pa.s.sions, They break the stubborn will, And earth so sweet, where these do meet, Becomes yet sweeter still.

FRED'S NEW WORLD.

Fred Miller was feeling very dull and rather sorry for himself. He stood by the garden gate and wished he had a brother or sister to play with, as other boys and girls had. He even wished that the holidays would come to an end and that he might go to school again: for in the holidays the children from school went away into the country or to stay with friends--all, except Fred; somehow there was never a chance for him to go.

He was an only child, but his father and mother had many cares, and could not spare time to amuse their boy, or spend money in pleasing him.

'You must play in the garden and not run about the streets,' Mr. Miller would say when he went off to his day's work: perhaps he did not quite know how tired a boy might grow of being in the same little plot of ground all day and every day.

Fred was thankful when there were errands to be done; it was better to fetch flour or potatoes from the shop than to play by himself. But the errands were soon over, leaving him face to face with the old question, 'What shall I do?'

'Fred,' called Mrs. Marshall, one day--she lived in the next house to Mr. Miller's--'can your mother spare you to go to the library for me?'

Now it happened that Fred had never been to the library, for his own people did not care for reading, so he was eager to take Mrs. Marshall's book, and he listened carefully to the instructions that were given him, and repeated to himself all the way the t.i.tle of the book he was to try to get in exchange.

Books had hitherto meant nothing but lessons to Fred, and he was not more keen upon those than most other boys; but when he saw the rows of volumes on the library shelves, and was told by the clerk in charge to go and find the one he wanted, he woke up to the knowledge that they might mean something more.

He opened one, at random; it was full of pictures. He began to read; it was about strange places and people: about the dense forests and great rivers of some far-off land, and the wonderful creatures--birds, beasts and fishes--to be found there.

The clock struck twelve--it was a good thing for Fred that the sound was loud enough to startle him--he put back the volume of travels with a sigh of regret, found, with some trouble, the book Mrs. Marshall wanted, and ran all the way home to make up for lost time.

Though he would have been too shy to talk about them, his mind was full of the wonders of which he had been reading. 'I never knew there were such things; it's like--it's like having a new world to look at! I wish I could read some more; but perhaps Mrs. Marshall won't ever ask me to go again,' he thought.

Mrs. Marshall, however, did more than that. 'Why don't you get your mother to let you have a library ticket, Fred?' she asked, when Fred, flushed and breathless after his run, presented himself before her.

'Me! Why, I couldn't, Mrs. Marshall; I'm not grown up,' said the little boy, wistfully.

'Oh, that doesn't matter in the least,' Mrs. Marshall a.s.sured him.

'Come now, Fred,' she added, 'I owe you a good turn; I'll do my best to get you a ticket.'

Mrs. Marshall was as good as her word, and Fred, the proud possessor of a ticket of his own, was soon a regular visitor to the library. He had come to the end of his dull days, for, as the poet truly says:

'Books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good,'

and Fred had found it out.

C. J. B.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 51._)

The close bond which united the families of the Moat House and Begbie Hall, and the daily intercourse, had thrown the two governesses much together. Happily for both, their acquaintance had grown into friendship and affection. Not only did they meet during the walks taken with their pupils, but Estelle shared with her cousins in Miss Leigh's lessons in arithmetic and English subjects, while Marjorie and Georgie, and Miss Leigh herself, received instruction in French, Italian, music and drawing from Mademoiselle Vadevant.

When, therefore, Marjorie had proposed to spend the remainder of the rainy day with Estelle, Miss Leigh hailed the suggestion with pleasure.

She would have Mademoiselle's companionship, while the children amused themselves in their own way. She splashed through the mud and wet, laughing and happy, with Georgie dancing along by her side, and hardly noticed that Marjorie did not join in her mirth. Marjorie was uneasy; she thought Miss Leigh was unkind not to allow her to wait for Alan.

What was the sense of hurrying her off when Alan wanted her?

It was some time before Alan overcame his pride enough to follow, and then he plodded rather sulkily through the slush. Pa.s.sing by the ruined summer-house he paused to look at it, the vague mystery making it always an object of interest. He wished Peet had been a more genial man: it might then have been possible to get him to show the inside of that gloomy place. But he was very surly, and the secret must be found out in some other way.

As he stood gazing, a slight stir among the bushes attracted his attention. Slipping behind a corner of the b.u.t.tress, he waited, somewhat sheltered from the dripping rain by the overhanging ivy. He had not long to stand shivering there. A hurried whisper caught his ear.