Minnie; or, The Little Woman Part 8

"To tell another secret, then," Minnie answered, "my dress is not only worn to rags, but so soiled that I am ashamed of it, and cannot think of going into company. See what a plight!" And she held up the skirt that was torn into strips like ribbon.

"Is that all? I watched to-day while a cruel boy was shooting in the wood. He fired at a poor little humming-bird, and broke its wing. It fluttered down among the bushes, and lies there now, I suppose, for I took care to call the boy away."

"How?"

"O, we understand. I cried out as if he had also wounded me; and, when he began to search, went slyly round into another place, and cried again. So I led the boy on, till I felt pretty sure he could not find his game if he went back."

"But why did you take so much pains?"

"Partly so that he should not carry the pretty little creature home, and send half the boys in town out here, next day, hunting humming-birds, and partly because I thought the feathers would make you such a warm, handsome cloak. Fly with me, now, and we'll find it; for here comes my mate, to take his turn in staying with the nest."

They quickly reached the bush, under which humming-bird lay dead; but how heavy he was! It was as much as ever Minnie could do to lift him from the ground.

While they stood over him, wondering what was next to be done, Master Squirrel frisked in sight, rolling before him a large, round turtle-sh.e.l.l.

"Stand out of the way!" he shouted. But Minnie stood across his path, and, for fear of throwing her down, he stopped; and, leaning on his sh.e.l.l, not very good-naturedly asked what she wanted.

"O, squirrel, do leave your play a little while, and help us!" she said.

"We have this heavy bird to carry home, and skin, and make the skin into a cloak, while the daylight lasts; do be kind, now, and help us!"

"It isn't my way to be kind; but I'll make a bargain with you."

"Well."

"Yellow-bird shall fix a harness out of straw, fasten you into my sh.e.l.l for a horse, and I will drive home with your load."

"That's a good plan," said Minnie, not waiting to think how squirrel had kept the best of the bargain for his own share. "What say you, yellow-bird?"

"Poor little woman! after such a long journey you are too tired to drag this great fellow home. I will do it myself."

"Then I will help you twist the ropes."

To work they went, and soon had the harness finished. Squirrel, meantime, selected a good long twig for a whip, laid the humming-bird across the sh.e.l.l, and leaped into his place.

He could hardly wait for the harnessing to be ended; but Minnie made him stay until he had promised only to snap his whip in the air, not use it on yellow-bird, and they darted on.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE MOONLIGHT DANCE.

Minnie tripped behind, watching the little team. She had grown so nimble that she could keep nearer than squirrel thought.

When he supposed he was out of sight from her, he lifted his whip, and gave yellow-bird a smart stroke across his shoulders.

But she knew how to punish him;--spreading her wings at once, she rose into the air, and made the deceitful squirrel roll out of his chariot.

He was ashamed to see Minnie after this, so limped away, whining that he had broken his paw, and would tell his mother.

Then yellow-bird sung one of her droll little songs, that were like twenty laughs shaken together, and, when Minnie came, begged her to take the squirrel's place, and drive home.

The little woman was too thoughtful of her kind friend for that. She went behind and pushed, while yellow-bird dragged the sh.e.l.l, and they soon had it safe beneath the elm.

Then they slipped off the humming-bird's skin in a trice, hung it a while on the sunny side of the elm to dry, and Minnie's good friend pulled out from among the twigs of the nest that dear piece of her mother's dress, and gave it to her for a lining.

You never saw a prettier and more fairy-like little garment than this when it was finished; the tiny feathers all lay together so evenly, and whenever the wearer moved they took such brilliant hues! Now the cloak was red, now brown, now green and gold, and again it glittered with all these colors at once.

Minnie had always seemed like a bird, with her quick, light, flying ways, and more than ever she seemed one now, with her gay feather cloak, and the fluttering, sailing motions she had caught from yellow-bird.

Mrs. Yellow-bird, having put the last st.i.tch in Minnie's cloak, fastened it about her neck, and looked at her guest with great satisfaction.

Then, at a chirp, her mate came, and readily consented to be Minnie's escort; so away they flew together.

The evening was mild, and clear moonlight filled the wood. Owl had chosen a lovely green dell in which to meet his friends, and had fitted it up with taste, and no little pains. All among the bushes and lower boughs of the trees he had tied live fire-flies and bright green beetles. He had built for the dance a tent of bark, and had sanded the floor with a curious dust that is found in the wood countries, and is like pale coals of fire.

The birds dared not step on this fiery carpet at first, for fear of singeing their feet; but owl a.s.sured them that it had no warmth. As for the fire-fly lanterns, it must be confessed that the birds' mouths watered in pa.s.sing them, but they were too civil to eat up their host's decorations.

There was an orchestra of crickets, and they played such merry tunes that the guests all danced and waltzed till they were tired, and then it was supper-time.

Alas! owl had not been so thoughtful as the squirrels, and had only furnished such food as he liked himself. You may judge the surprise and disgust of the company, when, to the music of the band, they were marched in front of a heap of dead mice!

The owl began to eat at once, and begged his guests not to be diffident.

Not one of them tasted a morsel, however. Some politely refused, some went home angry, and a few had the courage to own that they were not fond of mouse-flesh.

Thus owl's party ended, and, indeed, all his parties, for, the next time he sent out invitations, every bird in the wood respectfully declined.

If we think of no one but ourselves, we shall soon be left to ourselves.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE LITTLE NURSES.

Minnie almost fell asleep on her way back to the elm, and found it hard to keep up with yellow-bird, who flew on briskly as ever.

Her long morning journey, the labor and hurry of making her cloak, as well as the effort to bring the humming-bird home, and the party afterwards, the dancing and late hours, tired her so much--so much that she feared all the rest in the world would not make her strong again.

And when the tree was reached, Minnie's friends did not, as usual, offer her their nest. They must keep it now for the eggs. Cold and weary as she was, the little girl must lie down among damp leaves, with no other bed than a mossy place which she found on the rough bark of the elm.

In the morning she still felt tired, lame, and stiff, yet her spirits came back with the suns.h.i.+ne, and when she told yellow-bird she had not strength enough to fly away with him, he stayed and sung to her a while, and afterwards brought her delicious berries from the wood, all sweet and ripe, and cool with dew.

With such an attentive friend to supply her wants, it was not very hard to sit quietly upon her couch of moss, so green and velvety, with suns.h.i.+ne all about her on the leaves, and the pleasant prospect below.

You will remember that the tree was full of inhabitants, and our Minnie had made friends with almost all of them. When well and active, she had never pa.s.sed them without a pleasant word, or at least a nod of welcome; and, now that she was sick, they were most happy to sit and talk with her, or offer their a.s.sistance.