Our Boys Part 10

WON'T TAKE A BAFF.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ESCAPE.]

To the brook in the green meadow dancing, The tree-shaded, gra.s.s-bordered brook, For a bath in its cool, limpid water, Old Dinah the baby boy took.

She drew off his cunning wee stockings, Unb.u.t.toned each dainty pink shoe, Untied the white slip and small ap.r.o.n, And loosened his petticoats, too.

And while Master Blue Eyes undressing, She told him in quaintest of words Of the showers that came to the flowers, Of the rills that were baths for the birds.

And she said, "Dis yere sweetest of babies, W'en he's washed, jess as hansum'll be As any red, yaller or blue bird Dat ebber singed up in a tree.

"An' sweeter den rosies an' lilies, Or wiolets eder, I guess--"

When away flew the mischievous darling, In the scantiest kind of a dress.

"Don't care if the birdies an' fowers,"

He shouted, with clear, ringing laugh, "Wash 'eir hands an' 'eir faces forebber An' ebber, _me_ won't take a baff."

MARGARET EYTINGE.

ONE WAY TO BE BRAVE.

(_A TRUE STORY._)

"[[P]]apa," exclaimed six-year-old Marland, leaning against his father's knee after listening to a true story, "I wish I could be as brave as that!"

"Perhaps you will be when you grow up."

"But maybe I sha'n't ever be on a railroad train when there is going to be an accident!"

"Ah! but there are sure to be plenty of other ways for a brave man to show himself."

Several days after this, when Marland had quite forgotten about trying to be brave, thinking, indeed, that he would have to wait anyway until he was a man, he and his little playmate, Ada, a year younger, were playing in the dog-kennel. It was a very large kennel, so that the two children often crept into it to "play house." After awhile, Marland, who, of course, was playing the papa of the house, was to go "down town" to his business; he put his little head out of the door of the kennel, and was just about to creep out, when right in front of him in the path he saw a snake. He knew in a moment just what sort of a snake it was, and how dangerous it was; he knew it was a rattlesnake, and that if it bit Ada or him, they would probably die. For Marland had spent two summers on his papa's big ranch in Kansas, and he had been told over and over again, if he ever saw a snake to run away from it as fast as he could, and this snake just in front of him was making the queer little noise with the rattles at the end of his tail which Marland had heard enough about to be able to recognize.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LITTLE RANCHMAN. (From a photograph.)]

Now you must know that a rattlesnake is not at all like a lion or a bear, although just as dangerous in its own way. It will not chase you; it can only spring a distance equal to its own length, and it has to wait and coil itself up in a ring, sounding its warning all the time, before it can strike at all. So if you are ever so little distance from it when you see it first, you can easily escape from it. The only danger is from stepping on it without seeing it. But Marland's snake was already coiled, and it was hardly more than a foot from the entrance to the kennel. You must know that the kennel was not out in an open field, either, but under a piazza, and a lattice work very near it left a very narrow pa.s.sage for the children, even when there wasn't any snake. If they had been standing upright, they could have run, narrow as the way was; but they would have to crawl out of the kennel and find room for their entire little bodies on the ground before they could straighten themselves up and run. Fortunately, the snake's head was turned the other way.

"Ada," said Marland very quietly, so quietly that his grandpapa, raking the gravel on the walk near by, did not hear, him, "there's a snake out here, and it is a rattlesnake. Keep very still and crawl right after me."

"Yes, Ada," he whispered, as he succeeded in squirming himself out and wriggling past the snake till he could stand upright. "_There's room_, but you mustn't make any noise!"

Five minutes later the two children sauntered slowly down the avenue, hand in hand.

"Grandpapa," said Marland, "there's a rattlesnake in there where Ada and I were; perhaps you'd better kill him!"

And when the snake had been killed, and papa for the hundredth time had folded his little boy in his arms and murmured, "My brave boy! my dear, brave little boy!" Marland looked up in surprise.

"Why, it wasn't _I_ that killed the snake, papa! it was grandpapa! I didn't do anything; I only kept very still and ran away!"

But you see, in that case, keeping very still and running away was just the bravest thing the little fellow could have done; and I think his mamma--for I am his mamma, and so I know just how she did feel--felt when she took him in her arms that night that in her little boy's soul there was something of the stuff of which heroes are made.

MRS. ALICE WELLINGTON ROLLINS.

THE MYSTERY OF SPRING.

Come, come, come, little Tiny, Come, little doggie! We Will "interview" all the blossoms Down-dropt from the apple-tree; We'll hie to the grove and question Fresh gra.s.ses under the swing, And learn if we can, dear Tiny, Just what is the joy called Spring.

Come, come, come, little Tiny; Golden it is, I know: Gold is the air around us, The crocus is gold below; Red as the golden sunset Is robin's breast, on the wing-- But, come, come, come, little Tiny, This isn't the half of Spring.

Spring's more than beautiful, Tiny; Fragrant it is--for, see, We catch the breath of the violets However hidden they be; And buds o'erhead in the greenwood The sweetest of spices fling-- Yet color and sweets together Are still but a part of Spring.

Then come, come, come, little Tiny, Let's hear what _you_ have to tell Learned of the years you've scampered Over the hill and dell-- What! Only a _bark_ for answer?

Now, Tiny, that isn't the thing Will help unravel the riddle Of wonderful, wonderful Spring.

Yes, Tiny, there's something better Than form and scent and hue, In the gra.s.s with its emerald glory; In the air's cerulean blue; In the glow of the sweet arbutus; In the daisy's perfect mould:-- All these are delightful, Tiny, But the secret's still untold.

Oh, Tiny, _you'll_ never know it-- For the mystery lies in this: Just the fact of such warm uprising From winter's chill abyss, And the joy of our heart's upspringing Whenever the Spring is born, Because it repeats the story Of the blessed Easter-morn!

MRS. MARY B. DODGE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ... THE LEAST LITTLE THING HATH MESSAGE SO WONDEROUS AND TENDER.]

MIDSUMMER WORDS.

What can they want of a midsummer verse, In the flush of the midsummer splendor?

For the Empress of Ind shall I pull out my purse And offer a penny to lend her?

Who cares for a song when the birds are a-wing, Or a fancy of words when the least little thing Hath message so wondrous and tender?

The trees are all plumed with their leaf.a.ge superb, And the rose and the lily are budding; And wild, happy life, without hindrance or curb, Through the woodland is creeping and scudding; The clover is purple, the air is like mead, With odor escaped from the opulent weed And over the pasture-sides flooding.

Every note is a tune, every breath is a boon; 'Tis poem enough to be living; Why fumble for phrase while magnificent June Her matchless recital is giving?

Why not to the music and picturing come, And just with the manifest marvel sit dumb In silenced delight of receiving?

Ah, listen! because the great Word of the Lord That was born in the world to begin it, Makes answering word in ourselves to accord, And was put there on purpose to win it.