Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 20

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEDDY AND HIS LAMB.]

NEDDY'S HALF HOLIDAY.

"We've had a good time, Tony, old fellow, haven't we?" said Neddy Harris, who was beginning to feel tired with his half day's ramble in the fields. As he said this he sat down on some boards in the barn.

Tony replied to his young master by rubbing his nose against his face, and by a soft "baa," which was as near as he could come to saying, "A first-rate time, Master Neddy."

"A grand good time," added the boy, putting his arms around the lamb's neck and laying his face on its soft wool.

"And now," he continued, "as father says we should always do, I'll just go back and think over what I've done this holiday afternoon; and if I forgot myself in anything and went wrong, it will be best for me to know it, so that I can do better next time.

"I'm sorry about that poor squirrel," said Neddy; "he never did me any harm. What a beautiful little creature he was, with his bright black eyes and shiny skin!"

And the boy's face grew sad, as well it might, for he had pelted this squirrel with stones from tree to tree, and at last knocked him to the ground.

"But it was so cruel in me! Now, if I live a hundred years, I'll never harm another squirrel. G.o.d made these frisky little fellows, and they've just as much right to live as I have."

Neddy felt better about the squirrel after this good resolution, which he meant to keep.

"That was curious about the spider," he went on, trying to push all thoughts of the dead squirrel from his mind. Let me tell you about this spider. In the corner of a fence Neddy saw a large circular spider's web, shaped like a funnel, down in the centre of which was a hole. As he stood looking at the delicate thing, finer than any woven silk, a fly struck against it and got his feet tangled, so that he could not escape. Instantly a great black spider ran out of the hole at the bottom of the web, and seizing the poor fly dragged him out of sight and made his dinner off of him.

Neddy dropped a piece of dry bark about the size of his thumb nail into the web, and it slipped down and covered the hole through which the spider had to come for his prey. Instantly the piece of bark was pushed up by the spider, who came out of his den and ran around on the slender cords of his web in a troubled kind of way. Then he tried to get back into his hidden chamber, but the piece of bark covered the entrance like a shut door. And now Mr. Spider was in a terrible flurry. He ran wildly up one side of his web and down another; then he tugged at the piece of bark, trying to drag it out, but its rough edges took hold of the fine silken threads and tore them.

"You'll catch no more flies in that web, old chap," said Neddy as he stood watching the spider.

But Neddy was mistaken. Spider did not belong to the give-up cla.s.s. If the thing could not be done in one way, it might in another. He did not reason about things like human beings, but then he had instinct, as it is called, and that teaches animals how to get their food, how to build their houses or make their nests, and how to meet the dangers and difficulties that overtake them in life. After sitting still for a little while, spider went to work again, and this time in a surprising way. He cut a circle close around the piece of bark as neatly as you could have done with a pair of sharp scissors, and lo! it dropped to the ground, leaving a hole in the web about the size of a ten-cent piece.

"Rather hard on the web, Mr. Landpirate," said Neddy, laughing. "Flies can go through there as well as chips."

When he called the spider a land-pirate, Neddy was wrong. He was no more a pirate--that is, one who robs and murders--than is the woodp.e.c.k.e.r or swallow, for they feed on worms and insects. The spider was just as blameless in his work of catching and eating flies as was Neddy's white bantam when she went off into the fields after gra.s.shoppers.

But Neddy's laugh at the spider was soon cut short. The most difficult part of his work was done when he got rid of the piece of bark. As soon as that was out of his way he began moving backward and forward over the hole he had cut in the web, just as if he were a weaver's shuttle, and in about ten minutes it was all covered with gauzy lacework finer than ever was worn by a queen.

"I'll give it up, old fellow," exclaimed Neddy, taking a long breath as he saw the work completed. "This just beats me out." Spider crept down into his den again to wait for another fly, and Neddy, leading Tony, went on his way pleased and wondering.

THE SPARROW.

Thou humblest bird that wings the air, the Master cares for thee; And if he cares for one so small, will he not care for me?

His eye looks on thee from above, he notices thy fall; And if he cares for such as thee, does he not care for all?

He feeds thee in the sweet spring-time, when skies are bright and blue; He feeds thee in the autumn-time, and in the winter too.

He leads thee through the pathless air, he guides thee in thy flight; He sees thee in the brightest day, and in the darkest night.

Oh, if his loving care attends a bird so mean and small, Will he not listen to my voice when unto him I call?

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Mrs. Pike talks to Sarah and Jane}]

MRS. PIKE'S PRISONERS.

A TRUE STORY.

Early on a cloudy April afternoon, many years ago, several little girls were playing in a village door-yard, not far from the fence which separated it from a neighbor's. They were building a play-house of boards, and were so busily occupied, that none of them had noticed a lady standing at a little four-paned window in the house the other side of the fence, who had been intently regarding them for some time.

The window was so constructed as to swing back like a door, and being now open, the lady's face was framed against the dark background of the room, producing the effect of a picture. 'Twas a strange face, sallow and curiously wrinkled, with a nose like the beak of a hawk, and large black eyes, which seemed to be endowed with the power of perpetual motion. These roved from one to another of the busy builders, till suddenly one of them seemed to be aware that some one was looking at her, and turned towards the little window.

"Ah, I know you, Wealthy Robbins! Come here a minute, my little dear,"

spoke the lady, in a shrill, quavering voice. And she beckoned to her with a hooked finger like a claw. But Wealthy shrank back, murmuring, "I don't want to," almost under her breath, and nudging with her elbow the nearest girl; "Hannah, Mrs. Pike wants something. See!"

"Is that you, Hannah Green? Come over here, and I'll give you a piece of my Pa.s.sover candy." And the lady waved in the air a long candle-rod entwined with a strip of scarlet flannel, which made it look like a mammoth stick of peppermint candy.

This attracted the attention of all the girls, and going close to the fence, they peered through, while she besought them, with enticing promises and imploring eyes, to come around under the window, for she had something to tell them.

"Don't let's go," whispered Mary Green, the oldest of the group.

"Mother told me never to go near her window when she's standing there, for she's a crazy woman. That stick isn't candy no more than I am."

"Come, Sarah; I always knew you were a kind little girl," said Mrs.

Pike, in a coaxing tone, to the youngest and smallest of the group; "_do_ come here just a minute."

At last, Sarah Holmes and her sister Jane went around, and stood under the little window. Jane said it could do no harm just to go and see what Mrs. Pike wanted, and if _she_ was shut up in jail, she guessed she'd want a good many things.

"Now, you dear little lambs, you see I'm all alone in the house; and they've gone away, and forgotten to give me my dinner; and I'm _very_ hungry. All I want is a little unleavened bread, for this is Pa.s.sover Day, you know. Well, you just climb in through the dining-room window, little Sarah,--Jane can help you,--and unlock my door, so I can go to the b.u.t.tery and get some bread. Then I'll bring you out a nice saucer mince pie, and come back here, and you can lock me in. They'll never know; and I shall starve if you don't take pity on me."

After some whispering together, the little girls did as they were bidden, notwithstanding the warnings of their mates the other side of the fence. When they had disappeared from view, Mary Green turned away, and began to hammer, as though she was driving a nail into Mrs.

Pike's head, or Jane Holmes's, or somebody's, ejaculating, "I guess they'll rue this day."

Which prophetic words came very near being verified at the moment they were spoken. For no sooner had Jane unlocked the door of Mrs.

Pike's room, than out sprang that lady, and clutched one of the little girls with either hand, almost shrieking, "Ah, I know you! you belong to that wicked and rebellious tribe of Korah. Why didn't you come over to the help of the mighty immediately? Now, you shall see how _you_ like dwelling in the Cave of Machpelah for a day and a night, and a month and a year, until He shall come whose right it is to reign."

And she thrust the trembling, awe-struck children into the room that had been her prison, and turned the key upon them. Then away she strode out of the house and up the street, a noticeable figure, truly, in her short yellow nankeen dress, with pantalets of the same, and neat white Quaker cap, with long white ribbons crossed under her chin, and carrying an immense umbrella over her head. It was strange that none of the nearest neighbors should see her pa.s.s. The front door was on the opposite side of the house from where the little girls were playing; so they did not observe her exit; and thus it happened that the crazy lady, who had been confined in the house for weeks, escaped without any check upon her triumphant progress. Busy women, seeing her from their windows, thought Mrs. Pike must be better again, to be out, and did wish her friends wouldn't let her walk the streets looking like a Dutch woman. Boys paused in their games almost respectfully, as she pa.s.sed by; for notwithstanding her strange appearance and rapid movements, there was an air of mysterious command about the woman which checked any rudeness.

"There goes Madam Pike," exclaimed one ragged-kneed boy, when she had pa.s.sed out of hearing. "Got on her ascension-robe--hasn't she? Wonder if that umberil will help her any? I say, boys, do you suppose all the saints that walk the streets of the new Jerusalem look like her?"

While Mrs. Pike walked rapidly on, with a keen appreciation of the fresh air and occasional gleams of sunshine, the little prisoners drooped like two April violets plucked and thrown upon the ground.

They were so frightened and awe-struck, that the idea of calling for help from the open window did not occur to them; and they crouched upon the floor, melancholy and mute. After a while, some odd-looking garments, hanging in a row on one side of the room, attracted their attention; but they did not dare to go near them at first. Mrs. Pike was what was called a Second Adventist, and had read the Bible and Apocrypha with a fiery zeal, and an earnest determination to find therein proof of what she believed, and had attended Second Advent meetings, and exhorted wherever she could get a hearing, until her poor brain was crazed. But lately her husband and friends had kept her in doors as much as possible; and she spent most of the time knitting ascension-robes for the saints of the twelve tribes of the house of Judah. These were long garments, coming nearly to the feet, each of a single color, royal purple and blue being her favorites. She said that she must improve every moment, lest the great and dreadful day of the Lord should come, and she should not be ready, i. e., would not have a robe prepared for each of the saints to ascend in. When her son, a boy of twelve, died, she had him buried by the front doorstep, so, when the procession of saints should pa.s.s out at the door, Erastus could join them immediately, and not have to come from the burying-ground, a mile away.

It was after sunset when Mr. Pike pa.s.sed along the village street, on his way home, and was informed by a good woman, standing at her gate, that his wife had gone by about one o'clock, and that, not long after, Jane and Sarah Holmes were missed. Some little girls they had been playing with had seen them get into Mr. Pike's house through the dining-room window, and that was the last that had been seen or heard of them. Mrs. Holmes was going on dreadfully; for she thought that, as likely as not, Madam Pike had thrown them down in the well, or hid them where they would never be found, and then run away. The bewildered man hurried home to harness his horse, and go in search of his wife; for, with a trust in her better nature, worthy of a woman, he believed that she would tell him where the children were, if she knew. Fortunately, he found her in a tavern about a mile from home, preaching, as the children would say. As usual, she was exhorting her hearers to prepare for the great and terrible day of the Lord, etc., etc.; but when her husband appeared in the doorway, the thread of her discourse was suddenly broken, and she turned and accosted him with, "Ah, Mr. Pike, have you seen my prisoners in the Cave of Machpelah?

They belong to that wicked and rebellious tribe of Korah, you know."