THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

[129]

THE AUNT AND THE NIECE.

[130]

THE AUNT AND THE NIECE.

They had not seen each other for nearly a year; and,
when they met, Mary, who was fond of mischief, acted as
if she were really younger than Ruth, though she well
knew she was nine years older.

“Aunt Ruth,” said Mary, “have you any objection to my
going out in the grove to swing?”

“None at all, my dear,” said Ruth; “but I will go with
you, lest you should get hurt.”

“Thank you, aunty,” replied Mary. “Now let us see
who can run the faster.”

Mary started off at a run towards the swing; but Ruth
called her back, and said, “Stop, my dear, you will wet
those nice new shoes in the damp grass; and then your
mother will blame me for not taking better care of you.
We will go by the gravel road to the grove.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Mary, turning her head to hide
her smiles; and then, seeing a flower, Mary cried, “Oh!
what a beautiful flower! Tell me what it is, aunty. I
think I never saw one like it before. What a heavenly
blue! And how nicely the edges are fringed!”

“Yes, my dear: that is a fringed gentian,” said Ruth.
“It is one of the latest of our wild autumn flowers; and I
am not surprised that you admire it.”

“It is indeed lovely,” exclaimed Mary. “You must teach
me all about these wild flowers, aunty; for we city girls have
[131]few opportunities of seeing them.”

“Yes, my dear niece, I will teach you,” returned Ruth.
“I want you to learn a lesson of some kind every day you
are with us.”

Mary burst out into a laugh that she could not control.

“Why, what are you laughing at, my dear?” asked Aunt
Ruth.

But Mary, to escape replying to the question, ran and
took hold of the swing. “Now for it, aunty!” said she.

Mary sat down in the swing, and Ruth pushed her from
behind; and, after she had swung enough, Ruth took her to
the barn. But here, I regret to say, the sight of a pile of
hay on the barn-floor was too much for Niece Mary. She
seemed to lose all her reverence at once.

Seizing Aunt Ruth, she threw her on the hay, and covered
her up with it, crying out, “You precious little aunty, I
must have a frolic, or I shall die. So forget that you are an
aunt, and try to remember that you are nothing, after all,
but a darling little girl.”

Ruth, though at first surprised, was too sensible a girl to
be offended. Papa came in; and, seeing aunt and niece on
the hay, he covered them both up with it, till they begged
to be let out, and promised to be good.

He was just from the garden, and had thrown down his
hoe, rake, and watering-pot, and taken off his straw-hat.
But the hat suddenly disappeared, and papa wondered
where it was. Niece Mary had slipped it under the hay.

[132]

DREADFULLY CHEATED.

“Uncle,” said George, “what makes you call that great
clumsy dog ‘Watch’? A watch goes ‘tick, tick,’ as busy
as can be all the time; and this dog is a lazy old fellow.”

“I know that,” said Uncle Henry; “but he is called
Watch, because he acts the part of a watchman, or guard,
to keep off thieves and stragglers.

“Don’t you know how he barks when any one comes
here whom he does not know? He will not let a stranger
come near the house after dark, without giving notice. I
do not suppose it would be possible for any of us to come
into the house without his knowing it.”

“I mean to try,” said George, “and see if I cannot cheat
you, old fellow.” And Watch looked up in his face with a
very knowing wink, which seemed to say, “Don’t try to be
too smart, or you may get into trouble.”

Now, for all George called Watch “clumsy” and “lazy,”[133]
he was very fond of him; and many a nice frolic they had
together.

That very afternoon, while they were enjoying a grand
tumble on the grass, George’s mother called him into the
house to do an errand for her.

George had quite a long walk to take; and, when he got
back, it was quite dark. Just as he reached the garden-gate,
he remembered what his uncle had said that morning
about Watch.

“Now,” said he to himself, “I’ll just see if I cannot get
into the house without your knowing it, Master Watch; and,
if I cannot, you are smarter than I think.”

So George took off his shoes, and went stealing along on
the soft grass, looking like a little thief, until he came to
the broad gravel-walk, which he must cross to get round
to the back of the house.

He stopped for a minute, while he looked about for
Watch, and soon spied him lying at the front-door, with his
black nose resting upon his great white paws; and he
seemed to be fast asleep.

Then George very cautiously stepped upon the gravel-walk,
first with one foot, and then with the other. As he
did so, Watch pricked up both ears; but it was so dark, that
George did not see them.

So, thinking that the old dog had not moved, he went on
very quickly, and, as he thought, very quietly, when all at
once, just as he was beginning to chuckle at the success of
his trick, he heard a gruff “Bow-wow,” and found himself
flat upon the ground, with the dog upon his back, and two
rows of sharp white teeth very near his throat.

Although George was hurt by the fall, and was a good
deal frightened, he had his wits about him, and said, “Watch,
Watch, don’t you know me, old fellow?”[134]

I wish you could have seen Watch then, when he found
that he had mistaken his little friend for a thief. He jumped
up and down, and cried and whined as if he had been
whipped, and was so mortified, and ashamed of his mistake,
that it was a long time before George could persuade him
to go into the house.

At last they both went in, and George told his story;
and when the laughing was over, and old Watch had been
patted and comforted by every one, Uncle Henry said,
“Well, George, we shall have to say that you were both
dreadfully cheated.”

SUMMER’S OVER.

[135]

A BAD BLOW.

Little David came running home from school one winter
afternoon. As he passed through the yard, he saw the door
of the cellar-kitchen standing open, and heard some one
down in the cellar, pounding, thump, thump, thump.

Little David ran down the steps to see who it was.

He saw a great blazing fire in the wide fireplace, and
three big pots hanging on the crane over it; and his
mamma, Leah, Jane, and Aunt Jinny, making sausages;
and John Bigbee, the colored boy, with a wooden mortar
between his knees, and an iron-pestle in his hand, pounding,
thump, thump, thump, in the mortar.

Little David ran to John, and asked, “What’s in there?”
but did not wait for an answer. He drew in his breath as
hard as he could, and blew into the mortar with all his
might.[136]

A cloud of fine black pepper flew up into his mouth, nose,
and eyes. How he did sneeze and strangle and cry!

Leah ran for a basin of cold water. His mamma got a
soft linen cloth, and washed away all the pepper and most
of the pain.

When he stopped crying, she said, “Little David, don’t
meddle.”

THE ANVIL CHORUS.

[137]

PAUL.

“Four years is very old: I am almost a man,” said wee
Paul. “Now I can wear papa’s coat and hat, and use his
gold-topped cane.”

He put on the coat. It took some time.

“If the end was cut off, and the thickening taken out, it
would be a nice fit. The hat is too tall for a man of my
size; but it keeps all my head dry. I shall save an umbrella.”

He would also save his eyes; for they were not needed
in the top of the hat, and he could feel his way with his
feet. He pitied the horses who wore blinders, and wondered
how they could go so fast. He tried to step off
boldly, but fell over the cane, and smashed the hat. Jane
had to come and hunt for him under the coat.

“Don’t cry, child,” said Jane, shaking the dust from him.
“Come now, and have a ride on the rocking-horse.”[138]

“He’s too slow for me,” cried Paul loudly; “and a man
of my age won’t be shooken, Jane!”

Paul went out and sat beside Fido, on the basement-steps.
He made his mouth into a funny round O, and grew purple
in the face, trying to whistle Yankee Doodle.

“Don’t go off the bricks, child,” said Jane, opening a
window.

“I’ll take care of myself,” said Paul. Then he told Fido
that Jane had put it into his head to go off the bricks, and
that it would be her fault if he did.

Fido began to bark and jump to coax his young master
away. He had such fine times when Jane took them out
to walk, that he wanted to go again. Paul knew his
mamma had forbidden his leaving the brick walk in front
of their home; but he longed to go. He put one foot off
the bricks, then the other, and away he ran, Fido barking
beside him.

Paul ran across two streets, and reached the Public Garden
quite out of breath. He said it was fine fun; but he
really was not so happy as he was when sitting on his
mother’s steps. He walked slowly to the pond. He thought
he would catch some fish, and give them to Jane, and perhaps
she would not tell his mother.

“Here, Fido, go catch fish!” he cried, pointing to the water.

Fido jumped in, and chased a chip with all his might.
Paul scolded him well for not catching a fish. The little
boy was cross, because he knew he was doing wrong; and
when Fido got the chip at last, and laid it at Paul’s feet,
the child drove him into the water again.

Fido was a small dog, and grew tired very soon. His paws
moved slowly, and he had hard work to keep his tiny nose
out of the water. He cried for help.

“Poor dog, he will drown!” said a lady upon the bridge.[139]

Paul had been so cross that he forgot dear little Fido
could be in danger. He began to cry aloud, and rushed to
the edge of the pond to save his pet.

“Dear Fido, don’t die!” sobbed Paul, stretching out his
hands; but he lost his balance, and fell into the water.

Paul and Fido might both have been drowned if the
people on the bridge had not run to save them. The
street and number of Paul’s house were printed on Fido’s
collar: so they carried the two there. Paul’s mother cried
when she saw the sad plight her little boy was in; and he
was quite sick for a few days.

“We’d better mind mother, and let Jane go with us
always, if she is an old fuss!” said Paul to Fido, the first
time they were alone together. And Fido gave a deep
sigh that meant yes.

The cat and the book

THE CAT AND THE BOOK.

[140]

LITTLE PIGGY.

One day my brother Richard brought a little pig in-doors
from the farm-yard. “Squeak, squeak!” cried the little
thing as it nestled in Dick’s arms.

As soon as we all had looked at it, my mother wished Dick
to take it back to the sow. “No,” said Dick: “she has too
many piggies to bring up. I think we must kill this one.”
We all begged him not to kill it; and after some talk it
was settled that I should have it, and try to bring it up.

So I took piggy under my charge. I named him “Dob.”
I fed him on skim-milk with a wooden spoon; and he soon
looked for his meal as regularly as I looked for my breakfast.
I made him a bed in a basket with some hay and a bit
of flannel; but he soon outgrew the basket, and we then
made him a bed under the kitchen-stairs.

When he grew big enough, he was sent into the farm-yard
to get his living among the other pigs; but he would always
run after me, and follow me into the house like a dog. I
had only to call out, “Dob, Dob!” at the gate, and Dob
would be sure to come.

One day he followed me in-doors with a bit of hay in his
mouth. He ran down stairs, and left this bit of hay where
he used to sleep, under the kitchen-stairs. He then ran off,
and soon returned with some more hay in his mouth, and put
it in the same place. “Well, I declare!” said cook, “this pig
has as much sense as a Christian. Now he has made his
bed, I wonder whether he’ll come and sleep in it?”

In the evening, when we were at tea, Dob came to the
kitchen-door, crying, “Ugh, ugh!” and, when they let him
in, he trotted off to his bed. We all thought this very clever
on the part of Dob; and cook said, “He was the knowingest
little piggy she ever seed!“

[141]

CAMPING OUT.

Albert lives in the Far West. He is only seven years
old. He has no brothers or sisters to play with him, so
he has to amuse himself. He makes railroads and bridges
and houses with bits of rock. He has a toy shovel and a
pickaxe and a little axe that will cut. He is very happy
playing with them for hours.

Sometimes he gets tired of his playthings, and says,
“Mamma, what shall I do now?” Then his mamma tells
him that he may read his lesson. If he has been a good
boy, she reads some of the stories in “The Nursery” to him,
which pleases him very much.

One day last autumn, his papa and mamma went over on
the Neosho River, in the Indian Territory (you must look[142]
on the map and see where that is), to gather some hickory-nuts
and walnuts. Of course they took Albert with them.

It was a bright sunny morning
when they started off across the
prairie. They saw a great many
prairie-chickens, and two big gray
wolves, as they went along. Albert
was in great glee; but it was a long
ride, and the little boy was very glad
when they came in sight of the sparkling waters of the
Neosho, just as the sun was setting.

Papa had just time to pitch a tent and build a big fire before
it was quite dark. Then they all sat down by the fire,
and ate their supper. Then mamma made up a nice bed
with blankets and shawls, and put Albert into it. They
were all glad to go to bed early.

The wolves barked at them several times during the
night, but were too much afraid of the fire to venture very
near. Albert slept as sweetly as if he had been in his own
little bed at home, instead of being out under the starry
sky, far away from a house. When he opened his eyes
next morning, it was yet quite dusk; but papa was getting
ready to go to a pond to shoot some ducks for breakfast.
Albert wished to go too; and papa kindly consented. When
they came to the pond, papa told Albert to sit down on a
log a little way off, so that he would not scare the ducks,
and wait until he called him.

Albert promised to do so, and waited for a while; but it
seemed to him a very long time, and he began to grow tired
and hungry. He called several times; but no one answered,
as papa did not wish to scare the ducks. Then he thought
he would go back to mamma at the camp.

He walked on bravely at first; but by and by, as he saw[143]
no sign of the camp, and the trees seemed to look all alike,
he began to be afraid. He feared lest he might see a wolf
or other wild animal; and then he began to cry, and to call
loudly. Some Indians across the river called to him, and
asked him what was the matter.

Albert was not afraid of them; but he did
not stop crying. At last mamma heard
him, and was just going to look for him,
when papa overtook him, and brought him
to the camp. He had scared the ducks so
that they had none for breakfast, after all.

But mamma had the coffee-pot boiling by
the fire; and the bread and butter, cakes,
cold meat, and other things from the luncheon-basket, tasted
very good in the cool autumn air.

Albert was much ashamed of having been such a coward,
and promised never to be so foolish again. If he had
done as his papa told him, he would not have got into
such trouble.

After breakfast they all went to work in earnest, and soon
had a fine lot of nuts. Albert also picked up some pretty
shells by the river-brink. Then papa and mamma packed
up the blankets, luncheon-basket, and other things, and,
giving a parting look at the bright river, they turned the
horses’ heads towards home.

[144]

A FIELD-DAY WITH THE GEESE.

Joseph wants to be a soldier; but, not having any boys to
drill, he has to content himself with drilling his uncle’s
geese. See them on parade! He has opened the gate: he
has cried out, “Forward, march!” and in come the geese,
black and white, single file.

Joseph stands proudly aside, as a commander ought to,
while reviewing his troops. He has a flag in his hand. His
cousin Richard is the trumpeter. Mary looks on with admiration,
and does not remark that Fido, the sly dog, is trying
to find out what she has good to eat in her basket.

Now let me tell you a few facts about geese. They have
the reputation of being stupid; but Richard has not found
them so. That leading goose goes by the name of Capt.
Waddle. He does not hold up his head as a captain should;
but he minds a good deal that Richard says to him, for he is
very fond of Richard, and tries to do all that he is told
to do.

I have heard of a goose who became very fond of a bull-dog.
Grim, for that was the dog’s name, had saved her
from the clutch of a fox; and after that it seemed as if the
poor goose could not do enough to show her gratitude.
Every day she would keep as near to Grim as she could;
and, when he was chained to his kennel, she would stay by,
and show her affection in many ways.

At last the bull-dog was sent off to a neighboring town;
and then the poor goose lost her appetite, and seemed to
pine so, that her owner, Mrs. Gilbert, who was a humane
woman, and took a great interest in dumb animals, sent for
Grim to come back.

[145]
It would have pleased you to see the meeting. The instant
the goose heard Grim’s familiar bark, she started up,[146]
and ran with outstretched wings to greet him. She came
as near to embracing him as a goose could. Grim seemed
well pleased with her delight, and barked his acknowledgments
in a tone that could not be mistaken.

The goose soon regained her appetite, and was not again
parted from her dear Grim. The best of this story is, that
it is true. So you see that even geese are not so stupid but
that they show gratitude to those who befriend them.

Indeed, geese seem to be constant in their affections. They
know, also, how to show anger. I remember once seeing a
boy tease some geese in order to make them angry. They
ran after him in a rage, seized hold of his clothes, and
nipped him smartly to punish him for the insult.

Once, in Scotland, a young goose became so fond of its
master, that it followed him everywhere, no matter how
great the distance, and even through the crowd and tumult
of a city.

WHAT WILLY DID.

[147]

LEARN TO THINK.

Walter Dane was in a hurry to go off to play at ball
with some of his schoolfellows; and so he did not give
much thought to the lesson which he had to learn.

It was a lesson in grammar. Walter’s mother took the
book, and said, “I fear my little boy finds it hard to put
his thoughts on his lesson to-day.”

“Try me, mother,” said Walter. “I will do my best.”

“Then, I will put you a question which is not in the[148]
book,” said mamma. “Which is the heavier,—a pound of
feathers, or a pound of lead?”

“A pound of lead, to be sure!” cried Walter confidently.

“There! you spoke then without thinking,” said Mrs.
Dane. “A little thought would have made it clear to you
that a pound is a pound, and that a pound of feathers must
weigh just as much as a pound of lead.”

“When I spoke, I was thinking that Tom Burton was
out in the yard waiting for me,” said Walter.

“Well, take your thoughts off from Tom Burton, and put
them on the question I am now about to ask you. What
is a noun?”

“A noun is a word used as the name of any object.”

“Very well. A noun, then, is a name-word.”

“But why is not every word a name-word just the
same?” asked Walter.

“Different sorts of words have different uses,” said Mrs.
Dane. “If I say, ‘Walter, come here,’ by the word Walter,
I name an object or person; and it is therefore a name-word,
or noun. Noun means name. By the word come, I tell
Walter what to do; and therefore come is a different sort of
word from a name-word. Come is a verb. By the word here,
I tell Walter where he must come; and so here is a different
sort of word from both Walter and come. Here is an
adverb.”

“But, if I say ‘Come,’ do I not name something?” asked
Walter.

“You certainly do not. What thing do you name? Come
is not an object or thing; come is not a person. You cannot
say, ‘Give me a come,’ or ‘Let me see a come.'”

“But dog is a name-word, and tree is a name-word,” cried
Walter. “I can say, ‘Give me a dog,’ ‘Let me see a tree;’
can I not?”[149]

“You certainly can, my son,” said Mrs. Dane.

“And sister, father, mother, sky, cloud, sun, moon, bread,
butter, horse, cow, book, picture, water, land, doll, cart, ball,
bat, are all name-words, or nouns; are they not, mother?”

“Yes: I think you begin to see now what a noun is. And
let me say one thing more, and then you may run to see
Tom Burton.”

“What is it, mother?” inquired Walter.

“When your uncle gave you a box of mixed shells last
winter, what did you do with them?”

“I sorted them carefully, putting those of the same kind
together, so that I might learn their names, the places where
they are found, and the habits of the little animals that live
in them.”

“And just so we ought to treat words. We must first
sort them, so as to learn what their use is in speech, and
how and where they ought to be used. Grammar teaches
us to sort words. Now run and play.”

[150]

[151]

GRANDPA AND THE MOUSE.

Grandpa Crane went into the city every morning. He
had to go so far, and it was so late when he came home to
dinner, he thought he would like to have something to eat
while he was away.

So every day, when he was ready to go to the cars, Aunt
Emmie gave him a little basket with a pretty round cover
on it.

Inside she put cookies or gingerbread, or plum-cake with
ever so many plums in it. Grandpa liked the plum-cake
best of all the little basket carried.

The office he sat in was down on a wharf, where the
water comes, and the wind blows, just as if it were out at
sea.

When he had been there a long while, he would get his[152]
basket, and eat what Aunt Emmie had put in it. As he was
old, his hand would shake, and let bits of cake fall on the
floor.

Now, a little gray mouse lived in a hole in that very floor,
way up in a corner. His bright eyes peeped out at Grandpa
Crane when he was eating; and he looked as though he
would like to get those good bits if he could muster courage
to do it.

One day mousie was so hungry, that he made bold to run
at a crumb which had fallen a good way from grandpa’s
feet. He picked it up as quick as he could, and scampered
back with it to his safe little hole.

Finding that grandpa did him no hurt, mousie tried it
another day. After a while, he came out every time he
saw grandpa open the little basket, and picked up all the
crumbs that fell down.

One day grandpa was very tired, and fell fast asleep after
he had eaten his cake. Pretty soon he felt a pull at his
soft white hair. He put up his hand, and down ran mousie.

Not getting as much to eat that day as he wanted, mousie
had just walked up grandpa’s side to his shoulder, and then
up on his head. Wasn’t that a queer place for a mouse to
try to find something to eat?

[153]

HOME FROM THE WOODS.

[154]

THE SPECKLED HEN.

[156]

STORY OF A DAISY.

Deep down in a snug little dell, beneath a high bank,
near the roadside, grew a wild daisy. It had braved the
snow and ice of winter, and was now putting forth its leaves
to the soft breezes and blue skies of spring.

One day a party of boys and girls came to play near the
daisy-plant’s home; and she thought she would surely be
trampled on and killed. But the children at last went away,
and daisy-plant breathed freely once more.

But it was not long before she heard a child’s voice cry,
“Papa, papa, I can run down this bank. Let me run down
this bank all by myself, dear papa.” And, before papa could
say Nay, down ran little Emma Vincent, and stood close
beside daisy-plant.

“Oh, look at this darling daisy, only look, papa!” cried
Emma; and in one little minute the child’s finger and
thumb had tight hold of the young daisy-plant’s only
flower.[157]

Tremble, now, daisy-plant; one little nip, and your beauty
and pride will be gone. But something else than this was
in store for poor daisy-plant. “I’ll not gather the flower,”
said Emma. “The whole plant shall go into my garden,
papa, just as it is.”

Daisy-flower did not know its danger then, or maybe it
would have shut up its eye, and hung down its head, for
very fear. But, instead of this, it looked up as boldly as
a modest daisy well could into the little girl’s face.

So the whole plant was taken up by its roots; and Emma
bore it carefully home, and with the aid of John, the gardener’s
boy, set it out nicely in her little flower-bed.

Emma took great care of daisy-plant, watering it at
night, and protecting it from the hot sun at noon. Soon it
began to thrive as bravely as in its own native dell. It was
very happy, and could spare a flower or two without missing
them so very much.

But one day, when she returned from a week’s visit to
her aunt, Emma missed her darling daisy-plant. “O papa!”[158]
cried she, “somebody has taken it away,—my precious
daisy.”

Yes, a new gardener’s boy, who had thought that it was
a weed, had pulled it up, and thrown it, he could not tell
where. It was hard to comfort Emma. Such a beautiful
flower it seemed in her eyes! And she had found it, and
put it in her own garden, and watched it and watered it so
carefully!

And what had become of poor daisy-plant? Had it
withered and perished? No, no! daisy-plants don’t give
up life and hope so easily as that. Daisy-plant was safe
yet, though it had been thrown on a heap of rubbish.

The next day papa came in with something he had covered
with a handkerchief. Emma took away the handkerchief,
and clapped her hands for joy. “My own dear
daisy,” she said: “yes, I am sure it is the same. Thank
you, dear papa!”

Yes, papa had found it on the rubbish, had washed it from
dirt, and clipped off its broken leaves, and put it into a[159]
pretty little flower-pot with some fine rich mould; and there
was daisy as brisk and bright as ever.

Summer passed away, and autumn came, and Emma was
as fond as ever of her dear plant. But Mrs. Vincent, Emma’s
mother, had been very ill, and Dr. Ware had cured her.

One day, while Emma was in the parlor with her father
and mother, Dr. Ware came in.

“I need not come again,” he said: “I am here now to say
good-by. You will not want any more of my medicines.”

Then Emma’s papa thanked Dr. Ware very much for the
skill and care which he had shown in the case; and Emma’s
mother said, “I hope to show you some day how grateful I
am, Dr. Ware.”

“What can I do to let him know how much I thank
him?” thought Emma. “I will give him my little daisy-plant,”
said she. So she took it to Dr. Ware; and he was
so much pleased, that he took her on his knee and kissed
her. But I am not sure that a little tear did not drop on
Daisy-flower, as Emma put it into the doctor’s hand.

[160]

WINIFRED WATERS.