Child Life in Prose Part 17

HOW MARGERY WONDERED.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

One bright morning, late in March, little Margery put on her hood and her Highland plaid shawl, and went trudging across the beach. It was the first time she had been trusted out alone, for Margery was a little girl; nothing about her was large, except her round gray eyes, which had yet scarcely opened upon half a dozen springs and summers.

There was a pale mist on the far-off sea and sky, and up around the sun were white clouds edged with the hues of pinks and violets. The sunshine and the mild air made Margery's very heart feel warm, and she let the soft wind blow aside her Highland shawl, as she looked across the waters at the sun, and wondered!

For, somehow, the sun had never looked before as it did to-day;--it seemed like a great golden flower bursting out of its pearl-lined calyx,--a flower without a stem! Or was there a strong stem away behind it in the sky, that reached down below the sea, to a root, n.o.body could guess where?

Margery did not stop to puzzle herself about the answer to her question, for now the tide was coming in, and the waves, little at first, but growing larger every moment, were crowding up, along the sand and pebbles, laughing, winking, and whispering, as they tumbled over each other, like thousands of children hurrying home from somewhere, each with its own precious little secret to tell. Where did the waves come from? Who was down there under the blue wall of the horizon, with the hoa.r.s.e, hollow voice, urging and pushing them across the beach to her feet? And what secret was it they were lisping to each other with their pleasant voices? O, what was there beneath the sea, and beyond the sea, so deep, so broad, and so dim too, away off where the white ships, that looked smaller than sea-birds, were gliding out and in?

But while Margery stood still for a moment on a dry rock and wondered, there came a low, rippling warble to her ear from a cedar-tree on the cliff above her. It had been a long winter, and Margery had forgotten that there were birds, and that birds could sing. So she wondered again what the music was. And when she saw the bird perched on a yellow-brown bough, she wondered yet more. It was only a bluebird, but then it was the first bluebird Margery had ever seen. He fluttered among the p.r.i.c.kly twigs, and looked as if he had grown out of them, as the cedar-berries had, which were dusty-blue, the color of his coat.

But how did the music get into his throat? And after it was in his throat, how could it untangle itself, and wind itself off so evenly?

And where had the bluebird flown from, across the snow-banks, down to the sh.o.r.e of the blue sea? The waves sang a welcome to him, and he sang a welcome to the waves; they seemed to know each other well; and the ripple and the warble sounded so much alike, the bird and the wave must both have learned their music of the same teacher. And Margery kept on wondering as she stepped between the song of the bluebird and the echo of the sea, and climbed a sloping bank, just turning faintly green in the spring sunshine.

The gra.s.s was surely beginning to grow! There were fresh, juicy shoots running up among the withered blades of last year, as if in hopes of bringing them back to life; and closer down she saw the sharp points of new spears peeping from their sheaths. And scattered here and there were small dark green leaves folded around buds shut up so tight that only those who had watched them many seasons could tell what flowers were to be let out of their safe prisons by and by. So no one could blame Margery for not knowing that they were only common things,--mouse-ear, dandelions, and cinquefoil; nor for stooping over the tiny buds, and wondering.

What made the gra.s.s come up so green out of the black earth? And how did the buds know when it was time to take off their little green hoods, and see what there was in the world around them? And how came they to be buds at all? Did they bloom in another world before they sprung up here?--and did they know, themselves, what kind of flowers they should blossom into? Had flowers souls, like little girls, that would live in another world when their forms had faded away from this?

Margery thought she should like to sit down on the bank and wait beside the buds until they opened; perhaps they would tell her their secret if the very first thing they saw was her eyes watching them.

One bud was beginning to unfold; it was streaked with yellow in little stripes that she could imagine became wider every minute. But she would not touch it, for it seemed almost as much alive as herself. She only wondered, and wondered!

But the dash of the waves grew louder, and the bluebird had not stopped singing yet, and the sweet sounds drew Margery's feet down to the beach again, where she played with the shining pebbles, and sifted the sand through her plump fingers, stopping now and then to wonder a little about everything, until she heard her mother's voice calling her, from the cottage on the cliff.

Then Margery trudged home across the sh.e.l.ls and pebbles with a pleasant smile dimpling her cheeks, for she felt very much at home in this large, wonderful world, and was happy to be alive, although she neither could have told, nor cared to know, the reason why. But when her mother unpinned the little girl's Highland shawl, and took off her hood, she said, "O mother, do let me live on the door-step! I don't like houses to stay in. What makes everything so pretty and so glad? Don't you like to wonder?"

Margery's mother was a good woman. But then there was all the housework to do, and if she had thoughts, she did not often let them wander outside the kitchen door. And just now she was baking some gingerbread, which was in danger of getting burned in the oven. So she pinned the shawl around the child's neck again, and left her on the door-step, saying to herself, as she returned to her work, "Queer child! I wonder what kind of a woman she will be!"

But Margery sat on the door-step, and wondered, as the sea sounded louder, and the sunshine grew warmer around her. It was all so strange, and grand, and beautiful! Her heart danced with joy to the music that went echoing through the wide world from the roots of the sprouting gra.s.s to the great golden blossom of the sun.

And when the round, gray eyes closed that night, at the first peep of the stars, the angels looked down and wondered over Margery. For the wisdom of the wisest being G.o.d has made ends in wonder; and there is nothing on earth so wonderful as the budding soul of a little child.

_Lucy Larcom._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE NETTLE-GATHERER.

Very early in the spring, when the fresh gra.s.s was just appearing, before the trees had got their foliage, or the beds of white campanula and blue anemone were open, a poor little girl with a basket on her arm went out to search for nettles.

Near the stone wall of the churchyard was a bright green spot, where grew a large bunch of nettles. The largest stung little Karine's fingers. "Thank you for nothing!" said she; "but, whether you like it or not, you must all be put into my basket."

Little Karine blew on her smarting finger, and the wind followed suit.

The sun shone out warm, and the larks began to sing. As Karine was standing there listening to the song of the birds, and warming herself in the sun, she perceived a beautiful b.u.t.terfly.

"O, the first I have seen this year! What sort of summer shall I have?

Let me see your colors. Black and bright red. Sorrow and joy in turn.

It is very likely I may go supperless to bed, but then there is the pleasure of gathering flowers, making hay, and playing tricks."

Remembrance and expectation made her laugh.

The b.u.t.terfly stretched out its dazzling wings, and, after it had settled on a nettle, waved itself backwards and forwards in the sunshine. There was also something else upon the nettle, which looked like a shrivelled-up light brown leaf. The sun was just then shining down with great force upon the spot, and while she looked the brown object moved, and two little leaves rose gently up which by and by became two beautiful little wings; and behold, it was a b.u.t.terfly just come out of the chrysalis! Fresh life was infused into it by the warm rays of the sun, and how happy it was!

The two b.u.t.terflies must have been friends whom some unlucky chance had separated. They flew about, played at hide-and-seek, waltzed with each other, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves in the bright sunshine. One flew away three times into a neighboring orchard.

The other seated itself on a nettle to rest. Karine went gently towards it, put her hands quickly over it, and got possession both of the b.u.t.terfly and the nettle. She then put them into the basket, which she covered with a red cotton handkerchief, and went home happy.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The nettles were bought by an old countess, who lived in a grand apartment, and had a weakness for nettle soup. Karine received a silver piece for them. With this in her hand, the b.u.t.terfly in her basket, and also two large gingercakes which had been given to her by the kind countess, the happy girl went into the room where her mother and little brother awaited her. There were great rejoicings over the piece of silver, the gingercakes, and the b.u.t.terfly.

But the b.u.t.terfly did not appear as happy with the children as the children were with the b.u.t.terfly. It would not eat any of the gingerbread, or anything else which the children offered, but was always fluttering against the window-pane, and when it rested on the ledge it put out a long proboscis, drew it in again, and appeared to be sucking something; however, it found nothing to suit its taste, so it flew about again, and beat its wings with such force against the window-pane, that Karine began to fear it would come to grief. Two days pa.s.sed in this way. The b.u.t.terfly would not be happy.

"It wants to get out," thought Karine; "it wants to find a home and something to eat." So she opened the window.

Ah, how joyfully the b.u.t.terfly flew out into the open air! it seemed to be quite happy. Karine ran after it to see which way it took. It flew over the churchyard, which was near Karine's dwelling. There little yellow star-like flowers of every description were in bud; among them the spring campanula, otherwise called the morning-star.

Into the calyxes of these little flowers it thrust its proboscis, and sucked a sweet juice therefrom; for at the bottom of the calyx of almost every flower there is a drop of sweet juice which G.o.d has provided for the nourishment of insects,--bees, drones, b.u.t.terflies, and many other little creatures.

The b.u.t.terfly then flew to the bunch of nettles on the hill. The large nettle which had stung Karine's finger now bore three white bell-shaped flowers, which looked like a crown on the top of the stalk, and many others were nearly out. The b.u.t.terfly drew honey from the white nettle-blossoms and embraced the plant with its wings, as children do a tender mother.

"It has now returned to its home," thought Karine, and she felt very glad to have given the b.u.t.terfly its liberty.

Summer came. The child enjoyed herself under the lime-trees in the churchyard, and in the meadows where she got the beautiful yellow catkins, which were as soft as the down of the goslings, and which she was so fond of playing with, also the young twigs which she liked cutting into pipes or whistles. Fir-trees and pines blossomed and bore fir-cones; the sheep and calves were growing, and drank the dew, which is called the "Blessed Virgin's hand," out of the trumpet moss, which with its small white and purple cup grew on the steep shady banks.

Karine now gathered flowers to sell. The nettles had long ago become too old and rank, but the nettle b.u.t.terflies still flew merrily about among them.

One day Karine saw her old friend sit on a leaf, as if tired and worn out, and when it flew away the child found a little gray egg lying on the very spot where it had rested, whereupon she made a mark on the nettle and the leaf.

She forgot the nettles for a long time, and it seemed as if the b.u.t.terfly had also forgotten them, for it was there no more. Larger and more beautiful b.u.t.terflies were flying about there, higher up in the air. There was the magnificent Apollo-bird, with large white wings and scarlet eyes; also the Antiopa, with its beautiful blue and white velvet band on the edge of its dark velvet dress; and farther on the dear little blue glittering Zefprinner, and many others.

Karine gathered flowers, and then went into the hay-field to work; still, it often happened that she and her little brother went supperless to bed. But then their father played on the violin, and made them forget that they were hungry, and its tones lulled them to sleep.

One day, when Karine was pa.s.sing by the nettles, she stopped, rejoiced to see them again. She saw that the nettles were a little bent down, and, upon examination, found a number of small green caterpillars, resembling those which we call cabbage-grubs, and they seemed to enjoy eating the nettle leaves as much as the old countess did her nettle soup. She saw that they covered the exact spot where she had made a mark, and that the leaf was nearly eaten up by the caterpillars, and Karine immediately thought that they must be the b.u.t.terfly's children.

And so they were, for they had come from its eggs.

"Ah!" thought Karine, "if my little brother and I, who sometimes can eat more than our father and mother can give us, could become b.u.t.terflies, and find something to eat as easily as these do, would it not be pleasant?" She broke off the nettle on which the b.u.t.terfly had laid its eggs,--but this time she carefully wound her handkerchief round her hand,--and carried it home.

On her arrival there, she found all the little grubs had crawled away, with the exception of one, which was still eating and enjoying itself. Karine put the nettle into a gla.s.s of water, and every day a fresh leaf appeared. The caterpillar quickly increased in size, and seemed to thrive wonderfully well. The child took great pleasure in it, and wondered within herself how large it would be at last, and when its wings would come.

But one morning it appeared very quiet and sleepy, and would not eat, and became every moment more weary, and seemed ill. "O," said Karine, "it is certainly going to die, and there will be no b.u.t.terfly from it; what a pity!"

It was evening, and the next morning Karine found with astonishment that the caterpillar had spun round itself a sort of web, in which it lay, no longer a living green grub, but a stiff brown chrysalis. She took it out of the coc.o.o.n; it was as if enclosed in a sh.e.l.l. "It is dead," said the child, "and is now lying in its coffin! But I will still keep it, for it has been so long with us, and at any rate it will be something belonging to my old favorite." Karine then laid it on the earth in a little flower-pot which stood in the window, in which there was a balsam growing.

The long winter came, and much, very much snow. Karine and her little brother had to run barefooted through it all. The boy got a cough. He became paler and paler, would not eat anything, and lay tired and weary, just like the grub of the caterpillar shortly before it became a chrysalis.