Dickey Downy Part 13

"Let's show it to d.i.c.key Downy and then put it out of the door and let it go home," said Polly.

"d.i.c.key Downy wouldn't know a lady-bird from a gra.s.shopper," answered Nancy teasingly.

Polly retorted, "Don't be too sure! d.i.c.key is a very intelligent bird, a very extraordinary bird."

She contented herself with paying me compliments, for instead of bringing the crimson beetle into the store she opened the window and let him fly away.

"Well, I'm glad I have learned something new about ladybirds," remarked Louise, as she tied her hat strings ready to go home.

"And I too," chimed in Nancy. "I am glad the Australians prize the pretty little creatures. It's nice to be useful and handsome too."

Then both girls said good-bye and ran home.

A few days later Polly announced to Miss Kathy that she was ready to read the long promised tale.

"Mother says you will be in the back room sewing this afternoon, so I will bring my little rocker and sit here and read to you. My book is full of beautiful stories about children and birds and bees."

I too antic.i.p.ated a pleasant afternoon, for my cage still hung within the doorway where I could hear and see all that took place in both apartments. Soon after dinner Miss Kathy appeared in the back room with her thimble and scissors and seated herself at the work-table.

Polly drew up her chair beside her. The book she held was a pretty little affair bound in red with a silver inscription on the covers, and after being duly admired by both, Polly opened it and selected the following story, which she read aloud:

THE MOUNT AIRY SCHOOL.

The breath of blossoms was in the air and spicy scents from the woods that lined the lane on each side came floating to the delighted senses of a little girl who drove slowly along the road leading to Mount Airy School.

Young horses frisked in the pastures or came whinnying to the fence as she pa.s.sed. Lazy cows cropped the gra.s.s at the sides of the road, pus.h.i.+ng their heads into the zigzag corners of the rail fence in pursuit of the tender clover that had crept through from the thrifty meadows.

The school was a little brick structure standing back a short distance from the road, with a playground on each side as enchantingly beautiful as it was novel to Alice Glenn, the little girl who had come from town by invitation of the teacher to visit the school. Accustomed to the severer discipline of the graded school of which she was a member, the unconventional ways of these children amused the young visitor greatly.

But who could study on a morning like this, with the delicious warbling of the birds sounding in one's ears?

Who could be expected to take an interest in nouns and adverbs while his heart was out in the woods with the bugs and bees or with the sheep over in yonder field, whose ba-a, ba-a, was borne in distinctly through the open door?

"I'm sure I would never have my lessons if I went to school here in the summer time," thought Alice as she glanced over the room. "The country is too lovely to be spoiled by school books. Why, that boy has a wounded bird in his desk! I wonder if Miss Harper knows?" And a moment after, Alice met the bold, defiant look of the boy himself, which seemed to say, "Well, what are you going to do about it? That bird belongs to me."

The history cla.s.s being called at this moment the big boy got up, shoved the little creature to the farthest corner of his desk and giving Alice a parting scowl, went forward to recite his lesson.

Notwithstanding her desire to befriend the feathered captive she soon became interested in the cla.s.s and could scarcely refrain from laughing outright at the answer to the teacher's question, "What happened at Bunker Hill?"

"Old Bunker died."

This was bawled out by a freckled-faced boy, who reminded her of a rabbit, owing to a fas.h.i.+on he had of twitching his nose and keeping it in motion in some mysterious way. Even the teacher wanted to laugh, but a.s.suming her sternest manner she speedily restored order.

It was during the arithmetic lesson that Alice's heart went out in pity for the youthful instructor. The majority of the pupils were bright; but an unruly fraction, one child, refused to comprehend.

"If a family consume a barrel of flour in nine weeks, what part of a barrel will they use in one week, Matilda?"

Matilda rolled her blue eyes up to the ceiling as if to find the answer there, then studied a board in the floor for several minutes, then slowly shook her head and sat down. A dozen hands were raised, and the teacher nodded permission to a small boy who a.n.a.lyzed it successfully.

"Now, Matilda, you try it."

But Matilda shook her head and fidgeted with her ap.r.o.n string.

"Try it, and we will help you," persisted the teacher.

Thus urged, Matilda cleared her throat, folded her arms and began: "If nine persons use a barrel of flour in nine weeks, in one week they would use nine times nine, which is eighty-one."

"What! eighty-one barrels? But, Matilda, it makes no difference about the number of persons. It may be one hundred or it may be twenty.

Suppose it were a bushel of potatoes they consumed in nine weeks. How many would they use in one week?"

The girl again shook her head and resumed her upward gaze.

"Would they not use one-ninth of a bushel? Or, we'll take a peach for instance."

Matilda's face brightened perceptibly and almost lost its look of dejection. The teacher noted the change and smiled encouragingly as she said:

"We'll suppose a peach will last you nine days. What part of it will you eat in one day?"

The expectant look faded out of the poor girl's face. One peach to last nine days! No wonder the question seemed impossible of solution.

"Well, then," said Miss Harper quite in despair and almost perspiring in her effort to make it plain to the child, "we'll let the peach go.

Suppose instead, it were a watermelon. If you ate a carload of watermelons in nine days, what part of a carload would you eat in one day?"

At the mention of her favorite fruit, Matilda's eyes glistened, her features relaxed into a broader smile, and almost before the teacher had finished she had her answer ready and gave a correct a.n.a.lysis.

Watermelons had won.

At last the little clock that ticked away the hours on the teacher's table pointed to the time for the noon intermission, and with a whoop and halloo almost deafening, the pupils rushed out with dinner pails and baskets to eat their luncheon in the shady woods.

Miss Harper led Alice away to her boarding-place across the fields.

Scarcely taking time to taste the different kinds of jams, jellies, grape-b.u.t.ter, and other sauces set out by the hostess in special honor of the young visitor, Alice hastily dispatched her dinner and was soon back at the playground, where she found a bevy of girls seated on a big grapevine which one of the larger girls was swinging backward and forward amid shouts of glee. Nearby two gingham sunbonnets bobbed up and down as their owners bent their heads to watch a speckled lady-bug crawl up a twig.

"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will roam,"

repeated Esther in a low monotone.

"See, it's going now. I wonder whether it really understands us?"

"Of course it does," replied her companion positively.

"Daddy-long-legs are real smart too. I caught one last night and I said over three times, 'Tell me which way our cow goes or I will kill you,' and it pointed in the direction of our pasture lot every time."

"You wouldn't really have killed the poor thing, though," exclaimed Alice, who had drawn near to look at the crimson lady-bug. "A daddy-long-legs is such a harmless creature. It has a right to live as well as we have."

"Oh, Caleb, did you catch it?" interrupted Matilda. "Bring it here!"

and she beckoned to a small boy who was busy near a large beech tree some distance away. "He's been after a tree-frog," she explained.

"There's one up in that tree that sings the cutest every evening and morning. I hear him when I am gathering bluebells."

"It's pretty near dead," said the boy bringing his trophy. "I guess I squeezed it too hard. We might as well kill it."

"No, no! that would be cruel; the poor little thing will soon be all right if you put it back on its tree. We'll go with you and help you put it up," replied Alice. "Come on, girls."

"It ain't hardly worth the trouble," and the boy looked at the frog disdainfully. "It's uglier than a toad, if anything. But I never kill toads; I know better'n to do that."