THE STORIESMOTHER NATURE TOLD HERCHILDREN

BY

JANE ANDREWSAUTHOR OF "SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS, " ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED

1888, 1894. 

CONTENTS. 

THE STORY OF THE AMBER BEADS

THE NEW LIFE

THE TALK OF THE TREES THAT STAND IN THE VILLAGE STREET

HOW THE INDIAN CORN GROWS

WATER-LILIES

THE CARRYING TRADE

SEA-LIFE

WHAT THE FROST GIANTS DID TO NANNIE'S RUN

HOW QUERCUS ALBA WENT TO EXPLORE THE UNDERWORLD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

TREASURE-BOXES

A PEEP INTO ONE OF GOD'S STOREHOUSES

THE HIDDEN LIGHT

SIXTY-TWO LITTLE TADPOLES

GOLDEN-ROD AND ASTERS

THE STORY OF THE AMBER BEADS

Do you know Mother Nature? She it is to whom God has given the care ofthe earth, and all that grows in or upon it, just as he has given toyour mother the care of her family of boys and girls. 

You may think that Mother Nature, like the famous "old woman who livedin the shoe, " has so many children that she doesn't know what to do. Butyou will know better when you become acquainted with her, and learn howstrong she is, and how active; how she can really be in fifty places atonce, taking care of a sick tree, or a baby flower just born; and, atthe same time, building underground palaces, guiding the steps of littletravellers setting out on long journeys, and sweeping, dusting, andarranging her great house, --the earth. And all the while, in the midstof her patient and never-ending work, she will tell us the most charmingand marvellous stories of ages ago when she was young, or of thetreasures that lie hidden in the most distant and secret closets of herpalace; just such stories as you all like so well to hear your mothertell when you gather round her in the twilight. 

A few of these stories which she has told to me, I am about to tell you, beginning with this one. 

I know a little Scotch girl: she lives among the Highlands. Her home ishardly more than a hut; her food, broth and bread. Her father keepssheep on the hillsides; and, instead of wearing a coat, wraps himself inhis plaid, for protection from the cold winds that drive before themgreat clouds of mist and snow among the mountains. 

As for Jeanie herself (you must be careful to spell her name with an ea, for that is Scotch fashion), her yellow hair is bound about with alittle snood; her face is browned by exposure to the weather; and herhands are hardened by work, for she helps her mother to cook and sew, tospin and weave. 

One treasure little Jeanie has which many a lady would be proud to wear. It is a necklace of amber beads, --"lamour beads, " old Elsie calls them;that is the name they went by when she was young. 

You have, perhaps, seen amber, and know its rich, sunshiny color, andits fragrance when rubbed; and do you also know that rubbing will makeamber attract things somewhat as a magnet does? Jeanie's beads had allthese properties, but some others besides, wonderful and lovely; and itis of those particularly that I wish to tell you. Each bead has insideof it some tiny thing, incased as if it had grown in the amber; andJeanie is never tired of looking at, and wondering about, them. Here isone with a delicate bit of ferny moss shut up, as it were, in a globe ofyellow light. In another is the tiniest fly, --his little wingsoutspread, and raised for flight. Again, she can show us a bee lodged inone bead that looks like solid honey, and a little bright-winged beetlein another. This one holds two slender pine-needles lying across eachother, and here we see a single scale of a pine-cone; while yet anothershows an atom of an acorn-cup, fit for a fairy's use. I wish you couldsee the beads, for I cannot tell you the half of their beauty. Now, where do you suppose they came from, and how did little Scotch Jeaniecome into possession of such a treasure?

All she knows about it is, that her grandfather, --old Kenneth, whocowers now all day in the chimney-corner, --once, years ago when he was ayoung lad, went down upon the seashore after a great storm, hoping tohelp save something from the wreck of the "Goshawk, " that had goneashore during the night; and there among the slippery seaweeds his foothad accidentally uncovered a clear, shining lump of amber, in which allthese little creatures were embedded. Now, Kenneth loved a prettyHighland lass; and, when she promised to be his bride, he brought her anecklace of amber beads. He had carved them himself out of his lump ofamber, working carefully to save in each bead the prettiest insect ormoss, and thinking, while he toiled hour after hour, of the delight withwhich he should see his bride wear them. That bride was Jeanie'sgrandmother; and when she died last year, she said, "Let little Jeaniehave my lamour beads, and keep them as long as she lives. "

But what puzzled Jeanie was, how the amber came to be on the seashore;and, most of all, how the bees and mosses came inside of it. Should youlike to know? If you would, that is one of Mother Nature's stories, andshe will gladly tell it. Hear what she answers to our questions:--

"I remember a time, long, long before you were born, --long, even, beforeany men were living upon the earth; then these Scotch Highlands, as youcall them, where little Jeanie lives, were covered with forests. Therewere oaks, poplars, beeches, and pines; and among them one kind of pine, tall and stately, from which a shining yellow gum flowed, just as youhave seen little drops of sticky gum exude from our own pine-trees. Thisbeautiful yellow gum was fragrant; and, as the thousands of littleinsects fluttered about it in the warm sunshine, they were attracted byits pleasant odor, --perhaps, too, by its taste, --and once alighted uponit, they stuck fast, and could not get away; while the great yellowdrops oozing out surrounded, and at last covered, them entirely. So, too, wind-blown bits of moss, leaves, acorns, cones, and little stickswere soon securely imbedded in the fast-flowing gum; and, as time wentby, it hardened and hardened more and more. And this is amber. "

"That is well told, Mother Nature; but it does not explain how Kenneth'slump of amber came to be on the seashore. "

"Wait, then, for the second part of the story. 

"Did you ever hear that, in those very old times, the land sometimessank down into the sea, even so deep that the water covered the verymountain-tops; and then, after ages, it was slowly lifted up again, tosink indeed, perhaps, yet again and again?

"You can hardly believe it, yet I myself was there to see; and Iremember well when the great forests of the North of Scotland--the oaks, the poplars, and the amber-pines--were lowered into the deep sea. There, lying at the bottom of the ocean, the wood and the gum hardened likestone, and only the great storms can disturb them as they lie halfburied in the sand. It was one of those great storms that broughtKenneth's lump of amber to land. "

If we could only walk on the bottom of the sea, what treasures we mightfind!

THE NEW LIFE

It is May, --almost the end of May, indeed, and the Mayflowers havefinished their blooming for this year. It is growing too warm for thosedelicate violets and hepaticas who dare to brave even March winds, andcan bear snow better than summer heats. 

Down at the edge of the pond the tall water-grasses and rushes aretossing their heads a little in the wind, and swinging a little, lightlyand lazily, with the motion of the water; but the water is almost clearand still this morning, scarcely rippled, and in its beautiful, broadmirror reflecting the chestnut-trees on the bank, and the little pointsof land that run out from the shore, and give foothold to the old pinesstanding guard day and night, summer and winter, to watch up the pondand down. 

Do you think now that you know how the pond looks in the sunshine ofthis May morning?

If we come close to the edge where the rushes are growing, and look downthrough the clear water, we shall see some uncouth and clumsy black bugscrawling upon the bottom of the pond. They have six legs, and arecovered with a coat of armor laid plate over plate. It looks hard andhorny; and the insect himself has a dull, heavy way with him, and mightbe called very stupid were it not for his eagerness in catching andeating every little fly and mosquito that comes within his reach. Hiseyes grow fierce and almost bright; and he seizes with open mouth, anddevours all day long, if he can find any thing suited to his taste. 

I am afraid you will think he is not very interesting, and will not careto make his acquaintance. But, let me tell you, something very wonderfulis about to happen to him; and if you stay and watch patiently, you willsee what I saw once, and have never forgotten. 

Here he is crawling in mud under the water this May morning: out overthe pond shoot the flat water-boatmen, and the water-spiders dance andskip as if the pond were a floor of glass; while here and there skims ablue dragon-fly, with his fine, firm wings that look like the thinnestgauze, but are really wondrously strong for all their delicateappearance. 

The dull, black bug sees all these bright, agile insects; and, for thefirst time in his life, he feels discontented with his own low place inthe mud. A longing creeps through him that is quite different from thecustomary longing for mosquitoes and flies. "I will creep up the stem ofthis rush, " he thinks; "and perhaps, when I reach the surface of thewater, I can dart like the little flat boatmen, or, better than all, shoot through the air like the blue-winged dragon-fly. " But, as hecrawls toilsomely up the slippery stem, the feeling that he has no wingslike the dragon-fly makes him discouraged and almost despairing. Atlast, however, with much labor he has reached the surface, has crept outof the water, and, clinging to the green stem, feels the spring air andsunshine all about him. Now let him take passage with the boatmen, orask some of the little spiders to dance. Why doesn't he begin to enjoyhimself?

Alas! see his sad disappointment. After all this toil, after passingsome splendid chances of good breakfasts on the way up, and spending allhis strength on this one exploit, he finds the fresh air suffocatinghim, and a most strange and terrible feeling coming over him, as hiscoat-of-mail, which until now was always kept wet, shrinks, and seemseven cracking off while the warm air dries it. 

"Oh, " thinks the poor bug, "I must die! It was folly in me to crawl uphere. The mud and the water were good enough for my brothers, and goodenough for me too, had I only known it; and now I am too weak, and feeltoo strangely, to attempt going down again the way I came up. "

See how uneasy he grows, feeling about in doubt and dismay, for adarkness is coming over his eyes. It is the black helmet, a part of hiscoat-of-mail; it has broken off at the top, and is falling down over hisface. A minute more, and it drops below his chin; and what is hisastonishment to find, that, as his old face breaks away, a new one comesin its place, larger, much more beautiful, and having two of the mostadmirable eyes!--two, I say, because they look like two, but each ofthem is made up of hundreds of little eyes. They stand out globe-like oneach side of his head, and look about over a world unknown and wonderfulto the dull, black bug who lived in the mud. The sky seems bluer, thesunshine brighter, and the nodding grass and flowers more gay andgraceful. Now he lifts this new head to see more of the great world; andbehold! as he moves, he is drawing himself out of the old suit of armor, and from two neat little cases at its sides come two pairs of wings, folded up like fans, and put away here to be ready for use when theright time should come: still half folded they are, and must becarefully spread open and smoothed for use. And while he trembles withsurprise, see how with every movement he is escaping from the old armor, and drawing from their sheaths fine legs, longer and far morebeautifully made and colored than the old; and a slender body that waspacked away like a spy-glass, and is now drawn slowly out, one partafter another; until at last the dark coat-of-mail dangles empty fromthe rushes, and above it sits a dragon-fly with great, wondering eyes, long, slender body, and two pairs of delicate, gauzy wings, --fine andfirm as the very ones he had been watching but an hour ago. 

The poor black bug who thought he was dying was only passing out of hisold life to be born into a higher one; and see how much brighter andmore beautiful it is!

And now shall I tell you how, months ago, the mother dragon-fly droppedinto the water her tiny eggs, which lay there in the mud, and by and byhatched out the dark, crawling bugs, so unlike the mother that she doesnot know them for her children, and, flying over the pond, looks downthrough the water where they crawl among the rushes, and has not asingle word to say to them; until, in due time, they find their way upto the air, and pass into the new winged life. 

If you will go to some pond when spring is ending or summer beginning, and find among the water-grasses such an insect as I have told you of, you may see all this for yourselves; and you will say with me, dearchildren, that nothing you have ever known is more wonderful. 

THE TALK OF THE TREES THAT STAND IN THE VILLAGE STREET

How still it is! Nobody in the village street, the children all atschool, and the very dogs sleeping lazily in the sunshine. Only a southwind blows lightly through the trees, lifting the great fans of thehorse-chestnut, tossing the slight branches of the elm against the skylike single feathers of a great plume, and swinging out fragrance fromthe heavy-hanging linden-blossoms. 

Through the silence there is a little murmur, like a low song. It is thesong of the trees: each has its own voice, which may be known from allothers by the ear that has learned how to listen. 

The topmost branches of the elm are talking of the sky, --of thosehighest white clouds that float like tresses of silver hair in the farblue, of the sunrise gold and the rose-color of sunset that always restupon them most lovingly. But down deep in the heart of the greatbranches you may hear something quite different, and not less sweet. 

"Peep under my leaves, " sings the elm-tree, "out at the ends of mybroadest branches. What hangs there so soft and gray? Who comes with aflash of wings and gleam of golden breast among the dark leaves, andsits above the gray hanging nest to sing his full, sweet tune? Whoworked there together so happily all the May-time, with gray honeysucklefibres, twining the little nest, until there it hung securely over theroad, bound and tied and woven firmly to the slender twigs? so slenderthat the squirrels even cannot creep down for the eggs; much less canJack or Neddy, who are so fond of birds'-nesting, ever hope to reach thehome of our golden robin. 

"There my leaves shelter him like a roof from rain and from sunshine. Irock the cradle when the father and mother are away and the little onescry, and in my softest tone I sing to them; yet they are never quitesatisfied with me, but beat their wings, and stretch out their heads, and cannot be happy until they hear their father. 

"The squirrel, who lives in the hole where the two great branches part, hears what I say, and curls up his tail, while he turns his bright eyestowards the swinging nest which he can never reach. "

The fanning wind wafts across the road the voice of the old horse-chestnut, who also has a word to say about the birds'-nests. 

"When my blossoms were fresh, white pyramids, came a swift flutter ofwings about them one day, and a dazzlingly beautiful little bird thrusthis long, delicate bill among the flowers; and while he held himselfthere in the air without touching his tiny feet to twig or stem, butonly by the swift fanning of long, green-tinted wings, I offered him mybest flowers for his breakfast, and bowed my great leaves as a welcometo him. The dear little thing had been here before, while yet the stickybrown buds which wrap up my leaves had not burst open to the warmsunshine. He and his mate, whose feather dress was not so fine as his, gathered the gum from the outside of the buds, and pulled the warm woolfrom the inside; and I could watch them as they flew away to the mapleyonder, for then the trees that stand between us had no leaves to hidethe maple, as they do now. 

"Back and forth flew the birds from the topmost maple-branch to myopening buds; and day by day I saw a little nest growing, very small andround, lined warmly with wool from my buds, and thatched all over theoutside with bits of lichen, gray and green, to match what grew on themaple-branches about it; and this thatch was glued on with the gum frommy brown buds. When it was finished, it was delicate enough for thecradle of a little princess, and the outside was so carefully matched tothe tree by lichens, that the sharpest eyes from below could not detectit. What a safe, snug home for the humming-birds!

"By the time the two tiny eggs were laid, I could no longer see thenest, for the thick foliage of other trees had built up a green wallbetween me and it. But for many days the mother-bird staid away, and thefather came alone to drink honey from my blossom-cups: so I knew thatthe eggs were hatching under her warm folded wings, for I have seen suchthings before among my own branches in the robins' nests and thebluebirds'. 

"Now my flowers are all gone, and in their place the nuts are growing intheir prickly balls. I have nothing to tempt the humming-bird, and henever visits me: only the yellow birds hop gayly from branch to branch, and the robins come sometimes. " And the horse-chestnut sighed, for hemissed the humming-bird; and he flapped his great leaves in the veryface of the linden-blossoms, and forgot to say "Excuse me. " But thelinden is now, and for many days, full of sweetness, and will not answerungraciously even so careless a touch. 

Yes, the linden is full of sweetness, and sends out the fragrance fromhis blossoms in through the chamber windows, and down upon the peoplewho pass in the street below. And he tells all the time his story of howhis pink-covered leaf-buds opened in the spring mornings, and unfoldedthe fresh green leaves, which were so tender and full of green juicesthat it was no wonder the mother-moth had thought the branches a goodplace whereon to lay her eggs; for as soon as they should be all laid, she would die, and there would be no one to provide food for her babieswhen they should creep out. 

"So the nice mother-moth made a toilsome journey up my great trunk, "sung the linden, "and left her eggs where she knew the freshest greenleaves would be coming out by the time the young ones should leave theeggs. 

"And they came out indeed, somewhat to my sorrow; for instead of being, like their mother, sober, well-behaved little moths, they were greencanker-worms, and such hungry little things, that I really began to fearI should have not a whole leaf left upon me; when one day they spun forthemselves fine silken ropes, and swung themselves down from leaf toleaf, and from branch to branch, and in a day or two were all gone. 

"A little flaxen-haired girl sat on the broad doorstep at my feet, andcaught the canker-worms in her white apron. She liked to see them humpup their backs, and measure off the inches of her white checked apronwith their little green bodies. And I, although I liked them well enoughat first, was not sorry to lose them when they went. I heard the child'smother telling her that they had come down to make for themselves bedsin the earth, where they would sleep until the early spring, and wake tofind themselves grown into moths just like their mothers, who climbed upthe tree to lay eggs. We shall see when next spring comes if that is so. Now, since they went, I have done my best to refresh my leaves, and keepyoung and happy; and here are my sweet blossoms to prove that I have yetwithin me vigorous life. "

The elm-tree heard what the linden sung, and said, "Very true, verytrue. I, too, have suffered from the canker-worms; but I have yet leavesenough left for a beautiful shade, and the poor crawling things mustsurely eat something. " And the elm bowed gracefully to the linden, outof sympathy for him. 

But the linden has heard the voices of the young robins who live in thenest among his highest boughs; and he must yet tell to the horse-chestnut how sad it was the other day in the thunder-storm, when thewind upset the nest, and one little bird was thrown out and killed;while the father and mother flew about in the greatest distress, untilCharley came, climbed the tree, and fitted the nest safely back into itsplace. 

How much the trees have to say! And there is the pine, who was born andbrought up in the woods, --he is always whispering secrets of the greatforest, and of the river beside which he grew. The other trees can'talways understand him: he is the poet among them, and a poet is alwayssuspected of knowing a little more than any one else. 

Sometime I may try to tell you something of what he says; but here endsthe talk of the trees that stood in the village street. 

HOW THE INDIAN CORN GROWS

The children came in from the field with their hands full of the soft, pale-green corn-silk. Annie had rolled hers into a bird's-nest; whileWillie had dressed his little sister's hair with the long, damp tresses, until she seemed more like a mermaid, with pale blue eyes shining outbetween the locks of her sea-green hair, than like our own Alice. 

They brought their treasures to the mother, who sat on the door-step ofthe farm-house, under the tall, old elm-tree that had been growing thereever since her mother was a child. She praised the beauty of the bird's-nest, and kissed the little mermaiden to find if her lips tasted of saltwater; but then she said, "Don't break any more of the silk, dearchildren, else we shall have no ears of corn in the field, --none toroast before our picnic fires, and none to dry and pop at Christmas-timenext winter. "

Now, the children wondered at what their mother said, and begged thatshe would tell them how the silk could make the round, full kernels ofcorn. And this is the story that the mother told, while they all sat onthe door-step under the old elm. 

"When your father broke up the ground with his plough, and scattered inthe seed-corn, the crows were watching from the old apple-tree, and theycame down to pick up the corn; and, indeed, they did carry away a gooddeal. But the days went by, the spring showers moistened the earth, andthe sun shone; and so the seed-corn swelled, and, bursting open, thrustout two little hands, one reaching down to hold itself firmly in theearth, and one reaching up to the light and air. The first was neververy beautiful, but certainly quite useful; for, besides holding thecorn firmly in its place, it drew up water and food for the whole plant:but the second spread out two long, slender green leaves, that wavedwith every breath of air, and seemed to rejoice in every ray ofsunshine. Day by day it grew taller and taller, and by and by put outnew streamers broader and stronger, until it stood higher than Willie'shead. Then, at the top, came a new kind of bud, quite different fromthose that folded the green streamers; and when that opened, it showed anodding flower, which swayed and bowed at the top of the stalk like thecrown of the whole plant. And yet this was not the best that the corn-plant could do; for lower down, and partly hidden by the leaves, it hadhung out a silken tassel of pale sea-green color, like the hair of alittle mermaid. Now, every silken thread was in truth a tiny tube, sofine that our eyes cannot see the bore of it. The nodding flower thatgrew so gayly up above there was day by day ripening a golden dustcalled pollen; and every grain of this pollen--and they were very smallgrains indeed--knew perfectly well that the silken threads were tubes, and they felt an irresistible desire to enter the shining passages, andexplore them to the very end: so one day, when the wind was tossing thewhole blossoms this way and that, the pollen-grains danced out, and, sailing down on the soft breeze, each one crept in at the open door of asea-green tube. Down they slid over the shining floors; and what wastheir delight to find, when they reached the end, that they had allalong been expected, and for each one was a little room prepared, andsweet food for their nourishment! And from this time they had no desireto go away, but remained each in his own place, and grew every daystronger and larger and rounder, even as baby in the cradle there, whohas nothing to do but grow. 

"Side by side were their cradles, one beyond another in beautifulstraight rows; and as the pollen-grains grew daily larger, the cradlesalso grew for their accommodation, until at last they felt themselvesreally full of sweet, delicious life; and those who lived at the tops ofthe rows peeped out from the opening of the dry leaves which wrappedthem all together, and saw a little boy with his father coming throughthe cornfield, while yet every thing was beaded with dew, and the sunwas scarcely an hour high. The boy carried a basket; and the fatherbroke from the corn-stalks the full, firm ears of sweet corn, and heapedthe basket full. "

"O mother, " cried Willie, "that was father and I! Don't you remember howwe used to go out last summer every morning before breakfast to bring inthe corn? And we must have taken that very ear; for I remember how thefull kernels lay in straight rows, side by side, just as you have told. "

Now Alice is breaking her threads of silk, and trying to see the tinyopening of the tube; and Annie thinks she will look for the pollen-grains the very next time she goes to the cornfield. 

WATER-LILIES

The stream that crept down from the hills, three miles away, has worn asmooth bed for itself in the gravel; has watered the farmer's fields, and turned the wheel of the old grist-mill, where the miller tends thestones that grind the farmer's corn. But down below here the stream hassomething else to do. It has been working hard, up and away from dam todam again; and as always in life there should be something besidesbusiness, --something beautiful and peaceful, --so the stream has sweptround this corner, behind the wooded point of land which hides the mill, and spread itself out in the hollow of Brown's meadow, where farmerBrown says his grandfather used to tell him some Indian wigwams stoodwhen he was a boy. The land has sunk since then, and there is somethingmore beautiful than Indian wigwams there now. 

Where the old squaws used to sit weaving baskets, and the papoosesrolled and played, is now thick, black mud, in which are great tangledroots, some of them bigger than my arm. 

All winter they lie there under the ice, while the children skate overthem. In the spring, when every thing stirs with new life, they, too, must wake up: so, slowly and steadily, they begin to put up long stemsto reach the surface of the water. Chambered stems they are, each havingfour passages leading up to the air, and down to the root and black mud. The walls of these chambers are brown and slimy, and each stem bears atits top a slimy bud, --slimy on the outside, brownish-green as it pushesup through the water; for this outer coat is stout and waterproof, andcan well afford to be unpretending, since it carries something veryprecious wrapped up inside. 

Not days, but weeks, --even months, it is working upon this hiddentreasure before we shall see it. And the July mornings have come whilewe wait. 

Can you wake at three o'clock, children, and, while the birds aresinging their very best songs, go down the road under the elms, acrossthe little bridge, and through the hemlock grove at the right? It is amile to walk, and you will not be there too early. The broad, smoothpond, that the brook has made for its holiday pleasure, is at our feet. At its bottom are the tangled roots; on the surface, among the flat, green leaves, float those buds that have been so long creeping towardsthe light. 

One long, bright beam from the sun just rising smiles across the meadow, and touches the folded buds. They must, indeed, smile back in reply; sothe thick sheath unfolds, and behold! the whitest, fairest lily-cupfloats on the water, and its golden centre smiles back to the sun withmany rays. 

We watched only one, but perhaps none is willing to be latest ingreeting the sun, and the pond is already half-covered with a snowyfleet of boats fit for the fairies, --boats under full sail for fairy-land, laden with beauty and fragrance. 

And this is what the dark mud can send forth. This is one of MotherNature's hidden treasures. Perhaps she hides something as white andbeautiful in all that seems dark and ugly, if only we will wait andwatch for it, and be willing to come at the very dawn of day to look forit. 

The lilies will stay with us, now that at last they are here, allthrough the rest of the summer, and even into the warm, sunny days ofearliest October; but it will be only a few who stay so late as that Andwhere have the others gone, meanwhile? You see there are no dead liliesfloating, folded and decaying, among the pads. 

The stem that found its way so surely to the upper world knows not lesssurely the way back again; and when its white blossom has opened for thelast time, and then wrapped its green cloak about it again, not to beunfolded, the chambered stem coils backward, and carries it safely tothe bottom, where its seed may ripen in the soft, dark mud, and preparefor another summer. 

THE CARRYING TRADE

Who wants to engage in the carrying trade? Come, Lottie and Lula andNina and Mary, all bring your maps, and we will play merchants, and seewhat is meant by the carrying trade. 

Lottie shall have the bark "Rosette, " and sail from Boston to Calcutta;Lula, the steamer "North Star, " from New York for Liverpool; Mary shalltake the "Sea-Gull, " from Philadelphia to San Francisco; and Nina isowner of the "Racer, " that makes voyages up the Mediterranean. Are weall ready for our little game?

Lottie begins, and she must find out what Boston has to send toCalcutta. Don't send indigo or saltpetre or gunny-bags or ginger; for, even should you have these articles to spare, Calcutta has an abundanceat home, and you must discover something that she needs, but does notpossess. "Ice, " says Lottie. "Yes, that is just the thing, becauseCalcutta has a hot climate, and does not make her own ice: so load the'Rosette' with great blocks well packed, and start at once, for yourvoyage is long. "

And now we will go with Lula to the North River pier, where her greatsteamer lies, and see what she intends to carry to Liverpool. Bales ofcotton, barrels of flour, of beef, and of petroleum. All very good, sogood-by to her. In a few weeks we will see what she brings back. 

Come, Mary, what has Philadelphia for San Francisco? Oh, what a load the"Sea-Gull" must take of machinery, steam-engines, tobacco, and oil; andsuch a quantity of other things, that the "Sea-Gull" will need to makemany voyages before she can take them all. We load her at this busywharf, where the coal-vessels are passing in and out for New York andBoston, and the steamers are loading for Europe, and the little coasterscrowding in one after another; and away we go for the voyage round the"Horn, " where the "Sea-Gull" will meet her namesakes, and perhaps somestormy winds besides. 

Meantime Nina's "Racer" has been stored full of cotton cloths andhardware, and has raced out of Boston Harbor so swiftly that fair windswill take her to Gibraltar in three weeks. 

And so you have all engaged in the carrying trade; but as yet you havecarried only one way. To complete the game, we must wait for Lottie tobring the "Rosette" safely home with salt-petre and indigo and hides andginger and seersuckers and gunny-cloth. And the "North Star" must steamher quick way across the Atlantic, and return with salt and hardware, anchors, steel, woolens, and linens. Mary must beat her way round CapeHorn, and home again with wool and gold and silver. And the swift"Racer" must quickly bring the figs and prunes and raisins, and theoranges and lemons, that will spoil if they are too long on the way. 

So children may play at the carrying trade, and so their fathers anduncles may work at it in earnest: and so also hundreds of little workersare busy all the world over in another carrying trade, which keeps youand me alive from day to day; and yet we scarcely think; at all how itis going on, or stop to thank the hands that feed us. 

England and Italy are kingdoms, and the United States a republic, andthey all engage in this business, and are constantly sending goods oneto another; but there are other kingdoms, not put down on any map, thatare just as busy as they, and in the same sort of work too. 

The earth is one kingdom, the water another, and there is the greatrepublic of the gases surrounding us on every side; only we can't seeit, because its inhabitants have the fairy gift of being invisible tous. Each of these kingdoms has products to export, and is all ready totrade with the others, if only some one will supply the means; just asthe Frenchmen might stand on their shores, and hold out to us wines andprunes and silks and muslins, and we might stand on our shores, and holdout gold and silver to them, and yet could make no exchange, becausethere were no ships to carry the goods across. "Ah, " you may say, "thatis not at all the case here; for the earth, the air, and the water areall close to each other, and close to us, and there is no need of ships;we can exchange hand to hand. "

But here comes a difficulty. Read carefully, and I think you willunderstand it. Here is Ruth, a little growing girl, who wants phosphateof lime to build bones with; for as she grows, of course her bones mustgrow too. Very well, I answer, there is plenty of phosphate of lime inthe earth; she can have all she wants. Yes, but does Ruth want to eatearth?--do you?--does anybody? Certainly not: so, although the food sheneeds is close beside her, even under her feet, she cannot get it anymore than we can get the French goods, excepting by means of thecarrying trade. Where now are the little ships that shall bring to Ruththe phosphate of lime she needs, and cannot reach, although it lies inher own father's field? Let me show you how her father can build theships that will bring it to her. He must go out into that field, andplant wheat-seeds, and as they grow, every little ear and kernel gathersup phosphate of lime, and becomes a tiny ship freighted with what hislittle daughter needs. When that wheat is ground into flour, and madeinto bread, Ruth will eat what she couldn't have been willing to taste, unless the useful little ships of the wheat-field had brought it to her. 

Now let us send to the republic of the gases for some supplies, for wecannot live without carbon and oxygen; and although we do breathe inoxygen with every breathe we draw, we also need to receive it in otherways: so the sugar-cane and the maple-trees engage in the carrying tradefor us, taking in carbon and oxygen by their leaves, and sending itthrough their bodies, and when it reaches us it is sugar, --and a verypleasant food to most of you, I dare say. 

But we cannot take all we need of these gases in the form of sugar, andthere are many other ships that will bring it to us. The corn willgather it up, and offer it in the form of meal, or of cornstarchpuddings; or the grass will bring it to the cow, since you and I refuseto take it from the grass ships. But the cow offers it to us again inthe form of milk, and we do not think of refusing; or the butcher offersit to us in the form of beef, and we do not say "no. "

Alice wants some india-rubber shoes. Do you think the kingdoms of airand water can send her a pair? The india-rubber tree in South Americawill take up water, and separate from it hydrogen, of which it is partlycomposed, and adding to this carbon from the air, will make a gum whichwe can work into shoes and balls, buttons, tubes, cups, cloth, and ahundred other useful articles. 

Then, again, you and I, all of us, must go to the world of gases fornitrogen to help build our bodies, to make muscle and blood and skin andhair; and so the peas and beans load their boat-shaped seeds full, andbring it to us so fresh and excellent that we enjoy eating it. 

This useful carrying trade has also another branch well worth lookingat. 

You remember hearing how many soldiers were sick in war-time at theSouth; but perhaps you do not know that their best medicine was broughtto them by a South-American tree, that gathered up from the earth andair bitter juices to make what we call quinine. Then there is camphor, which I am sure you have all seen, sent by the East-Indian camphor-treeto cure you when you are sick; and gum-arabic and all the other gums;and castor-oil and most of the other medicines that you don't at alllike, --all brought to us by the plants. 

I might tell you a great deal more of this, but I will only stop to showa little what we give back in payment for all that is brought. 

When England sends us hardware and woollen goods, she expects us torepay her with cotton and sugar, that are just as valuable to us ashardware and woolens to her; but see how differently we treat thekingdoms from which the plant-ships are all the time bringing us foodand clothes and medicines, etc. All we return is just so much as wedon't want to use. We take in good fresh air, and breathe out impure andbad. We throw back to the earth whatever will not nourish and strengthenus; and yet no complaint comes from the faithful plants. Do you wonder?I will let you into the secret of this. The truth is, that what isworthless to us is really just the food they need; and they don't at allknow how little we value it ourselves. It is like the Chinese, of whomwe might buy rice or silk or tea, and pay them in rats which we are gladto be rid of, while they consider them good food. 

Now, I have given you only a peep into this carrying trade, but it isenough to show you how to use your own eyes to learn more about it. Lookabout you, and see if you can't tell as good a story as I have done, ora better one if you please. 

CHAPTER I. THE STAR-FISH TAKES A SUMMER JOURNEY. 

Once there was a little star-fish, and he had five fingers and fiveeyes, one at the end of each finger, --so that he might be said to haveat least one power at his fingers' ends. And he had I can't tell you howmany little feet; but being without legs, you see, he couldn't beexpected to walk very fast The feet couldn't move one before the otheras yours do. They could only cling like little suckers, by which hepulled himself slowly along from place to place. Nevertheless, he wasvery proud of this accomplishment; and sometimes this pride led him toan unjust contempt for his neighbors, as you will see by and by. He wasvery particular about his eating; and besides his mouth, which lay inthe centre of his body, he had a little scarlet-colored sieve throughwhich he strained the water he drank. For he couldn't think of taking incommon seawater with every thing that might be floating in it, --thatwould do for crabs and lobsters and other common people; but anybody whowears such a lovely purple coat, and has brothers and sisters dressed incrimson, feels a little above such living. 

Now, one day this star-fish set out on a summer journey, --not to theseaside where you and I went last year: of course not, for he was therealready. No; he thought he would go to the mountains. He could not go tothe Rocky Mountains, nor to the Catskill Mountains, nor the WhiteMountains; for, with all his accomplishments, he had not yet learned tolive in any drier place than a pool among the rocks, or the very wettestsand at low tide: so, if he travelled to the mountains, it must be tothe mountains of the sea. 

Perhaps you didn't know that there are mountains in the sea. I have seenthem, however, and I think you have, too, --at least their tops, ifnothing more. What is that little rocky ledge, where the lighthousestands, but the stony top of a hill rising from the bottom of the sea?And what are the pretty green islands, with their clusters of trees andgrassy slopes, but the summits of hills lifted out of the water?

In many parts of the sea, where the water is deep, are hills and evenhigh mountains, whose tops do not reach the surface; and we should notknow where they are, were it not that the sailors, in measuring thedepth of the sea, sometimes sail right over these mountain-tops, andtouch them with their sounding-lines. 

The star fish set out one day, about five hundred years ago, to visitsome of these mountains of the sea. If he had depended upon his own feetfor getting there, it would have taken him till this day, I verilybelieve; but he no more thought of walking, than you or I should thinkof walking to China. You shall see how he travelled. A great train wascoming, down from the Northern seas; not a railroad train, but a watertrain, sweeping on like a river in the sea. Its track lay along near thebottom of the ocean; and above you could see no sign of it, any morethan you can see the cars while they go through the tunnel under thestreet. The principal passengers by this train were icebergs, who werein the habit of coming down on it every year, in order to reduce theirweight by a little exercise; for they grow so very large and heavy upthere in the North every winter, that some sort of treatment is reallynecessary to them when summer comes. I only call the icebergs theprincipal passengers, because they take up so much room; for thousandsand millions of other travellers come with them, --from the white bearsasleep on the bergs, and brought away quite against their will, to thetiniest little creatures rocking in the cradles of the ripples, orclinging to the delicate branches of the sea-mosses. I said you couldsee no sign of the great water train from above: that was not quitetrue, for many of the icebergs are tall enough to lift their heads farup into the air, and shine with a cold, glittering splendor in thesunlight; and you can tell, by the course in which they sail, which waythe train is going deep down in the sea. 

The star-fish took passage on this train. He didn't start at thebeginning of the road, but got in at one of the way-stations somewhereoff Cape Cod, fell in with some friends going South, and had altogethera pleasant trip of it. No wearisome stopping-places to feed eitherengine or passengers; for this train moves by a power that needs nofeeding on the way, and the passengers are much in the habit of eatingtheir fellow-travellers by way of frequent luncheons. 

In the course of a few weeks, our five-fingered traveller is safelydropped in the Caribbean Sea; and, if you do not know where that sea is, I wish you would take your map of North America and find it, and thenyou can see the course of the journey, and understand the story better. This Caribbean Sea is as full of mountains as New Hampshire and Vermontare; but none of them have caps of snow like that which Mount Washingtonsometimes wears, and some of them are built up in a very odd way, as youwill presently see. 

Now the star-fish is floating in the warm, soft water among themountains, turning up first one eye and then another to see the wondersabout him, or looking all around, before and behind and both sides atonce, --as you can't do, if you try ever so hard, --while his fifth eye ison the lookout for sharks, besides; and he meets with a soft littlebody, much smaller than himself, and not half so handsomely dressed, whoinvites him to visit her relatives, who live by millions in thismountain region. "And come quickly, if you please, " she says, "for Ibegin to feel as if I must fix myself somewhere; and I should like, ifpossible, to settle down near my brothers and sisters on the RoncadorBank. "

CHAPTER II. CORALTOWN ON RONCADOR BANK. 

Where is Roncador Bank, and who are the little settlers there? If youwant me to answer this question, you must go back with me, or ratherthink back with me, over many thousands of years; and, looking into thissame Caribbean Sea, we shall find in its south-western part a littlehill formed of mud and sand, and reaching not nearly so high as the topof the water. Not far from it float some little, soft, jelly-likebodies, exactly resembling the one who spoke to the star-fish just now. They are emigrants looking for a new home. They seem to take a fancy tothis hill, and fix themselves on bits of rock along its base, until, asmore and more of them come, they form a circle around it, and the hillstands up in the middle, while far above the whole blue waves aretossing in the sunlight. 

[Illustration: (Conical mound of coral under surface of water. )]

How do you like this little circular town seen in the picture? It is thebeginning of Coraltown, just as the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouthwas the beginning of Massachusetts. Now we will see how it grows. Firstof all, notice this curious fact, that each settler, after once choosinga home, never after stirs from that spot; but, from day to day, fastenshimself more and more firmly to the rock where he first stuck. The partof his body touching the rock hardens into stone, and as the months andyears go by, the sides of his body, too, turn to stone; and yet he isstill alive, eating all the time with a little mouth at his top, takingin the sea-water without a strainer, and getting consequently tiny bitsof lime in it, which, once taken in, go to build up the little body intoa sort of limestone castle; just as if one of the knights in armor, ofwhom we read in old stories, had, instead of putting on his steelcorselet and helmet and breastplate, turned his own flesh and bones intoarmor. How safe he would be! So these inhabitants of Coraltown were safefrom all the fishes and other fierce devourers of little sea creatures(for who wants to swallow a mail-clad warrior, however small?); andtheir settlement was undisturbed, and grew from year to year, until itformed a pretty high wall. 

[Illustration: (Individual coral polyp. )]

But, before going any farther, you may like to know that these settlerswere all of the polyp family: fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, --all were polyps. And this is the way their familiesincreased: after the first comers were fairly settled, and prettythoroughly turned to stone, little buds, looking somewhat like thesmallest leaf-buds of the spring-time, began to grow out of their edges. These were their children, at least one kind of their children; for theyhad yet another kind also, coming from eggs, and floating off in thewater like the first settlers. These latter we might call the freechildren or wanderers, while the former could be named the fixedchildren. But even the wanderers come back after a short time, andsettle beside their parents, as you remember the one who met the star-fish was about to do. 

It was not very easy for you or me to think back so many thousand yearsto the very beginning of Coraltown, nor is it less difficult to realizehow many, many years were passing while the little town grew, even asfar as I have told you. 

The old great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers had died, but theyleft their stone bodies still standing, as a support and assistance totheir descendants who had built above them; and the walls had risen, notlike walls of common stone or brick, but all alive and busy buildingthemselves, day after day, and year after year, until now, at the timeof the star-fish's visit, the topmost towers could sometimes catch agleam of sunlight when the tide was low; and when storms rolled thegreat waves that way, they would dash against the little castles, breaking themselves into snowy spray, and crumbling away at the sametime the tiny walls that had been the polyps' work of years. Do youthink that was too bad, and quite discouraging to the workers. It doesseem so; but you will see how the good God, who is their loving Fatherjust the same as he is ours, had a grand purpose in letting the wavesbreak down their houses, just as he always does in all thedisappointments he sends to us. Wait till you finish the story, and tellme if you don't think so. 

And now let us see what the star-fish thought of the little town and itsinhabitants. "Ah, these are your houses!" he said. "Why don't you comeout of them, and travel about to see the world?"--"These are not ourhouses, but ourselves, " answered the polyps; "we can't come out, and wedon't want to. We are here to build, and building is all we care to do;as for seeing the world, that is all very well for those who have eyes, but we have none. "

Then the star-fish turned away in contempt from such creatures, --"peopleof neither taste nor ability, no eyes, no feet, no water-strainers; poorlittle useless things, what good are they in the world, with theirstupid, blind building of which they think so much?" And he workedhimself off into a branch water-train that was setting that way, and, without so much as bidding the polyps good-by, turned his back uponCoraltown, and presently found a fellow-passenger fine enough to absorball his attention, --a passenger, I say, but we shall find it rather agroup of passengers in their own pretty boat; some curled in spiralcoils, some trailing like little swimmers behind, some snugly ensconcedinside, but all of such brilliant colors and gay bearing that even thestar-fish felt his inferiority; and, wishing to make friends with sofine a neighbor, he whirled a tempting morsel of food towards one of theswimming party, and politely offered it to him. "No, I thank you, "replied the swimmer, "I don't eat; my sister does the eating, I onlyswim. " Turning to another of the gay company with the same offer, he wasanswered, "Thank you, the eaters are at the other side; I only layeggs. " "What strange people!" thought the star-fish; but, with all hislearning, he didn't know every thing, and had never heard how peoplesometimes live in communities, and divide the work as suits their fancy. 

While we leave him wondering, let us go back to Coraltown. The crumblingbits, beaten off by the waves, floated about, filling all the chinks ofthe wall, while the rough edges at the top caught long ribbons ofseaweed, and sometimes drifting wood from wrecked vessels, and then thesea washed up sand in great heaps against the walls, building buttressesfor them. Do you know what buttresses are? If you don't, I will leaveyou to find out. And the polyps, who do not know how to live in thelight and air, had all died; or those who were wanderers had emigratedto some new place. Poor little things, their useless lives had ended, and what good had they done in the world?

CHAPTER III. LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

And now let us look at Coraltown once more. It is the first day of Juneof 1865. The sun is low in the West, and lights up the crests of thelong lines of breakers that are everywhere curling and dashing among thetopmost turrets of the coral walls. But here is something new andstrange indeed for this region; along one of the ledges of rock, fittedas it were into a cradle, lies the great steamship "Golden Rule, " avessel full two hundred and fifty feet long, and holding six or sevenhundred people. Her masts are gone, and so are the tall chimneys fromwhich the smoke of her engine used to rise like a cloud. The rocks havetorn a great hole through her strong planks, and the water is washingin; while the biggest waves that roll that way lift themselves inmountainous curves, and sweep over the deck. 

This fine, great vessel sailed out of New York harbor a week ago tocarry all these people to Greytown, on their way to California; and hereshe is now at Coraltown instead of Greytown, and the poor people, nearlya hundred miles away from land, are waiting through the weary hours, while they see the ocean swallowing up their vessel, breaking it, andtearing it to pieces, and they do not know how soon they may findthemselves drifting in the sea. But, although they may be a hundredmiles from land, they are just as near to God as they ever were; and heis even at this moment taking most loving care of them. 

On the more sheltered parts of the deck are men and women, holding on byropes and bulwarks: they are all looking one way out over the water. What are they watching for? See, it comes now in sight, --only a blackspeck in the golden path of the sunlight! No, it is a boat sent out twohours ago to search for some island where the people might find refugewhen the ship should go to pieces. Do you wonder that the men and womenare watching eagerly? Look! it has reached the outer ledge of rock. Themen spring out of it, waving their hats, and shouting "Success;" and themen on board answer with a loud hurrah, while the women cannot keep backtheir tears. What land have they discovered? You could hardly call itland. It is only a larger ledge of coral, built up just out of reach ofthe waves, its crevices filled in firmly with broken bits of rock anddrifts of sand; but it seems to-day, to these shipwrecked people, morebeautiful than the loveliest woods and meadows do to you and me. 

It would be too long a story if I should tell you how the people weremoved from the wreck to this little harbor of refuge, lowered over thevessel's side with ropes, taken first to a raft which had been made ofbroken parts of the vessel, and the next day in little boats to therocky island; but you can make a picture in your mind of the boats fullof people, and the sailors rowing through the breakers, and the greatsea-birds coming to meet their strange visitors, peering curiously atthem, as if they wondered what new kind of creatures were these, withoutwings or beaks. And you must see in the very first boat little MayWarner, three years and a half old, with her sunny hair all wet withspray, and her blue eyes wide open to see all the wonders about her. ForMay doesn't know what danger is: even while on the wreck, she clappedher little hands in delight to see the great curling crests of thewaves; and now she is singing her merry songs to the sea-birds, andlaughing in their funny faces, and fairly shouting with joy, as, atlanding, she rides to the shore perched high on the shoulder of sailorJack, while he wades knee-deep through the water. 

So we have come to a second settlement of Coraltown: first the polyps;then the men, women, and children. Do you see how the good Fatherteaches all his creatures to help each other? Here the tiny polyps havebuilt an island for people who are so much larger and stronger thanthemselves, and the seeming destruction of their upper walls was only abetter preparation for the reception of these distinguished visitors. The birds, too, are helping them to food, for every little cave andshelf in the rock is full of eggs. And now should you like to see howlittle May Warner helps them in even a better way?

Did you ever fall asleep on the floor, and, waking, find yourself achingand stiff because it was so hard? Then you know, in part, what hard bedsrocks make. And in a hot, sunny day, haven't you often been glad to keepunder the trees, or even to stay in the house for shade? Then you canunderstand a little how hot it must have been on Roncador Island, wherethere were no trees nor houses. And haven't you sometimes, when you werevery hot and tired and hungry, and had, perhaps, also been kept waitinga long hour for somebody who didn't come, --haven't you felt a littlecross and fretful and impatient, so that nothing seemed pleasant to you, and you seemed pleasant to nobody? Now, shouldn't you think there wasgreat danger that these people on the island, in the hot sun, tired, hungry, and waiting, waiting, day and night, for some vessel to come andtake them to their homes again, and not feeling at all sure that anysuch vessel would ever come, --shouldn't you think there was danger oftheir becoming cross and fretful and impatient? And if one begins tosay, "Oh, how tired I am, and how hard the rocks are, and how littledinner I have had, and how hot the sun is, and what shall we ever dowaiting here so long, and how shall we ever get home again!" don't yousee that all would begin to be discouraged? And sometimes on this islandit did happen just so: first one would be discouraged, and then another;and as soon as you begin to feel in this way, you know at once everything grows even worse than it was before, --the sun feels hotter, therocks harder, the water tastes more disagreeably, and the crab's clawsless palatable. But in the midst of all the trouble, May would cometripping over the rocks, --a little sunburnt girl now, with tatteredclothes and bare feet, --and she would bring a pretty pink conch-shell orthe lovely rose-colored sea-mosses, and tell her funny little story ofwhere she found them. The discontented people would gather around her:she would give a sailor kiss to one, and a French kiss to another, and, best of all, a Yankee kiss, with both arms round his neck, to her owndear father; and then, somehow or other, the discontent and troublewould be gone, for a little while at least, --just as a cloud sometimesseems to melt away in the sunshine; and so May Warner earned the name of"Little Sunshine. "

If anybody had picked up driftwood enough to make a fire, and could getan old battered kettle and some water to make a soup of shell fish, "Little Sunshine" must be invited to dinner, for half the enjoymentwould be wanting without her. 

If a great black cloud came up threatening a shower, the roughest man onthe island forgot his own discomfort, in making a tent to keep "LittleSunshine" safe from the rain. And so, in a thousand ways, she cheeredthe weary days, making everybody happier for having her there. 

Do you think there are any children who would have made the people lesshappy by being there? who would have complained and fretted, and beenselfish and disagreeable?

Ten days go by, so slowly that they seem more like weeks or months thanlike days. The people have suffered from the rain, from heat, from wantof food. They are very weak now; some of them can hardly stand. Can youimagine how they feel, when, in the early morning, two great gun-boatscome in sight, making straight for their island as fast as the strongsteam-engines will take them? Can you think how tenderly and carefullythey are taken on board, fed with broth and wine, and nursed back intohealth and strength? And do not forget the little treasures that go inMay's pocket, --the bits of coral, the tinted sea-shells, and ruby-colored mosses; and nested among them all, and chief in her regard, alittle five-fingered star, spiny and dry, but still showing a crimsoncoat, and dots which mark the places of five eyes, and a little scarletwater-strainer, now of no further use to the owner. Do you remember ourold friend the star-fish? Well, this is his great-great-great-great-great-grandchild. In a week or two more, the rescued people have allreached California, and gone their separate ways, never to meet again. But all carry in their hearts the memory of "Little Sunshine, " wholightened their troubles, and cheered their darkest days. 

WHAT THE FROST GIANTS DID TO NANNIE'S RUN

THE FROST GIANTS

Do you believe in giants? No, do you say? Well, listen to my story, which is a really true one, and then answer my question. 

Many hundreds of years ago, certain people who lived in the North, andwere therefore called Northmen, had a strange idea of the form andsituation of the earth: they thought it was a flat, circular piece ofland, surrounded by a great ocean; and that this ocean was againsurrounded by a wall of snow-covered mountains, where lived the race ofFrost Giants. 

I have seen a pretty picture of this world of theirs, with a lovelyrainbow bridge arching up over the sea to the earth, and a great coiledserpent, holding his tail in his mouth, lying in mid-ocean like a ringaround the land. Perhaps you will some day read about it all, but atpresent we have only to do with the Frost Giants; for I want to tellyou, that, although no one now thinks of believing about the serpent orthe flat earth or the rainbow bridge, yet the Frost Giants still live, and their home is really among the mountains. 

You may call them by what name you like, and we may all know certainlythat they are not what the old Northmen believed them to be, but areGod's workmen, a part of Nature's family, employed to work in the greatgarden of the world; but, whenever we look at their work, we cannot failto admit that to do it needed a giant's strength, and so they deservetheir title. 

Have you sometimes seen great boulder stones, as big as a small house, that stand alone by themselves in some field, or on some seashore, whereno other rocks are near? Well, the Frost Giants carried these bouldersabout, and dropped them down miles away from their homes, as you mighttake a pocketful of pebbles, and drop them along the road as you walk. Sometimes they roll great rocks down the mountain-sides, playing adesperate game of ball with each other. Sometimes they are sent to makea bridge over Niagara Falls, or to build a dam across a mountain torrentin an hour's time. Now and then they have to rake off a steep mountain-side as you might a garden-bed; and sometimes to bury a whole village soquickly that the poor inhabitants do not know what strange hand broughtsuch sudden destruction upon them. Their deeds often seem to be cruel, and we cannot understand their meaning; but we shall some time know thatthe loving Father who sent them orders nothing for our hurt, but hasalways a loving purpose, though it may be hidden. 

While I thus introduce to you the Frost Giants, let me also presenttheir tiny brethren and sisters, the Frost Fairies, who always accompanythem on their expeditions; and, however terrible is the deed that has tobe done, these little people adorn it with the most lovely handiwork, --tiny flowers and crystals and veils of delicate lace-work, fringes andspangles and star-work and carving; so that nothing is so hard and uglyand bare that they cannot beautify it. 

Now that you are introduced, you will perhaps like to join a Frost partythat started out to work, one day in the early spring of 1861, fromtheir homes among the Olympic Mountains. 

NANNIE'S RUN

Can you imagine a beautiful oval-shaped bay, almost encircled by a longarm of sand stretching out from the mainland? In its deep water thelargest vessels might ride at anchor, but at the time of my story alonelier place could scarcely be found. Now and then Indian canoesglided over the water, and at long intervals some vessel from the greatisland away yonder to the North visited the little settlement upon theshore of the bay. It is indeed a very little settlement, --a few housesclustered together upon the sandy beach close to the blue water; behindthe houses rises a cliff crowned with great fir-trees, standing tall anddark in thick ranks, making a dense forest; and beyond this forest, cold, snow-covered mountains lift their peaks against the sky, --afitting home for the Frost Giants. 

Three streams, straying from the far-away mountains, and fed by theirmelted snows and hidden springs, find their way through the forest, leapand tumble over the cliff, and, passing through the little settlement, reach the sea. The people who live here call these little streams RUNS, and one of them is Nannie's Run. 

And, now, who is Nannie? Why, Nannie is Nannie Dwight, --a little girlnot yet five years old, who lives in the small square house standingunder the cliff. She sits even now on the door-step, and her red dresslooks like one gay flower brightening the sombre shadow of the firs. Herfather and mother came here to live when she was but a baby, and beforethere was a single house built in the place; and it is out of complimentto her that one of the streams has been named Nannie's Run. 

While Nannie sits on the doorstep, and looks out at the sea, watchingfor the vessel that will bring her father home from Victoria, we will gothrough the forest, and up the mountain-sides, till we find the home ofthe Frost Giants, and see what they are about to-day. 

They have been working all winter, but not quite so busily as now; forsince yesterday they have cracked that big rock in two, and dug thegreat cave under the hill, and now they are gathered in council on themountain-side that overlooks a dashing little stream. As we followedthis stream from the seashore, we happen to know that it is no otherthan Nannie's Run. And as we have already begun to care for the littlegirl, and therefore for her namesake, we are anxious to know what thegiants think of doing. We have not long to wait before we shall see, andhear too; for a great creaking and cracking begins, and, while we gazeastonished, the mountain-side begins to slide, and presently, with arush and a roar, dashes into the stream, and chokes it with a huge damof earth and rocks and trees. 

What will the stream do now? For a moment the water leaps into the air, all foam and sparkle, as if it would jump over the barrier, and find itsway to the sea at any rate. But this proves entirely unsuccessful; andat last, after whirling and tumbling, trying to creep under; trying toleap over, it settles itself quietly in its prison, as if to think aboutthe matter. 

Now, if you will stay and watch it day after day, you will see what goodresult will come from this waiting; for every hour more and more wateris running to its aid, and, as its forces increase, we begin to feelsure, that, although it can neither pass over nor under, it will someday be strong enough to break through the Frost Giants' dam. And the daycomes at last, when, summoning all its waters to the attack, it makes abreach in the great earth wall, and in a strong, grand column, as highas this room, marches away towards the sea. 

As we have the wings of thought to travel with, let us hurry back to thesettlement, and see where Nannie is now, and tell the people, if we onlycan, what a wall of water is marching down upon them; for you see thelittle channel that used to hold Nannie's Run is not a quarter largeenough for this torrent, that has gathered so long behind the dam. 

Peep in at the window, and see how Nannie stands at the kitchen table, cutting out little cakes from a bit of dough that her mother has givenher; she is all absorbed in her play, and her mother has gone to lookinto the oven at the nicely browning loaves. 

Oh, don't we wish the house had been built up on the cliff among thefir-trees, safe above the reach of the water! But, alas! here it stands, just in the path that the torrent will take, and we have no power totell of the danger that is approaching. 

Mrs. Dwight turns from the oven, and, passing the window on her way tothe table, suddenly sees the great wall of water only a few rods fromher house. With one step she reaches the bedroom, seizes the blanketsfrom the bed, wraps Nannie in them, and with the little girl on one arm, grasps Frankie's hand, and, telling Harry to run beside her, opens thedoor nearest the cliff, and almost flies up its steep side. 

Five minutes afterwards, sitting breathless on the roots of an old tree, with her children safe beside her, she sees the whole shore covered withsurging water, and the houses swept into the bay, tossing and driftingthere like boats in a stormy sea. And this is what the Frost Giants didto Nannie's Run. 

THE INDIANS

What will Nannie do now? Here in our New-England towns it would seemhard enough to have one's house swept away before one's eyes; but thenyou know you could take the next train of cars, and go to your aunt inBoston, or your uncle in New York, to stay until a new house could beprepared for you. But here is Nannie hundreds and thousands of milesaway from any such help; for there are not only no railroads to travelupon, but not even common roads nor horses nor wagons; nevertheless, there are neighbors who will bring help. 

You remember reading in your history, how, when our great-great-grandfathers came to this country to live, they found it occupied byIndians. The Indians are all gone from our part of the country now; butout in the far North-West, where Nannie lives, they still have theirwigwams and canoes, still dress in blankets, and wear feathers on theirheads, and in that particular part of the country lives a tribe calledthe Flatheads. They take this odd name because of a fashion they have ofbinding a board upon the top of a child's head, while he is yet veryyoung, in order that he may grow up with a flattened head, which isconsidered a mark of beauty among these savages, just as small feet areso considered among the Chinese, you know. 

The Flatheads are Nannie's only neighbors, and perhaps you wouldconsider them rather undesirable friends; but when I tell you how theycame at once with blankets and food, and all sorts of friendly offers ofshelter and help, you will think that some white people might well takea lesson from them. 

They had been in the habit of bringing venison and salmon to thesettlement for sale; and when Nannie's mother tells them that she has nolonger any money to buy, they say, "Oh, no, it is a potlatch!" which intheir language mean a present. 

Happily the warm weather is approaching; and a little girl who has livedout of doors so much does not find it unsafe to sleep in the hammockwhich Hunter has slung for her among the trees, or even on the ground, rolled in an Indian blanket; and when her shoes wear out, she can safelyrun barefooted in the woods or on the sand. 

Before many weeks have passed, some of the tall fir-trees are cut down, and a new house is built, this time safely perched on top of the cliff;and, so far as I know, the Frost Giants have never succeeded in touchingit. 

HOW QUERCUS ALBA WENT TO EXPLORE THE UNDER-WORLD: WHAT CAME OF IT

Quercus Alba lay on the ground, looking up at the sky. He lay in alittle brown, rustic cradle which would be pretty for any baby, but wasspecially becoming to his shining, bronzed complexion; for although hisname, Alba, is the Latin word for white, he did not belong to the whiterace. He was trying to play with his cousins Coccinea and Rubra; butthey were two or three yards away from him, and not one of the threedared to roll any distance, for fear of rolling out of his cradle: so itwasn't a lively play, as you may easily imagine. Presently Rubra, whowas a sturdy little fellow, hardly afraid of any thing, summoned courageto roll full half a yard, and, having come within speaking distance, began to tell how his elder brother had, that very morning, started onthe grand underground tour, which to the Quercus family is what going toEurope would be for you and me. Coccinea thought the account verystupid; said his brothers had all been, and he should go too sometime, he supposed; and, giving a little shrug of his shoulders which set hiscradle rocking, fell asleep in the very face of his visitors. Not soAlba: this was all news to him, --grand news. He was young andinexperienced, and, moreover, full of roving fancies: so he lifted hishead as far as he dared, nodded delightedly as Rubra described thedeparture, and, when his cousin ceased speaking, asked eagerly, "Andwhat will he do there?"

"Do?" said Rubra, "do? Why, he will do just what everybody else does whogoes on the grand tour. What a foolish fellow you are, to ask such aquestion!"

Now, this was no answer at all, as you see plainly; and yet little Albawas quite abashed by it, and dared not push the question further forfear of displaying his ignorance, --never thinking that we children arenot born with our heads full of information on all subjects, and thatthe only way to fill them is to push our questions until we are utterlysatisfied with the answers; and that no one has reason to feel ashamedof ignorance which is not now his own fault, but will soon become so ifhe hushes his questions for fear of showing it. 

Here Alba made his first mistake. There is only one way to correct amistake of this kind; and it is so excellent a way, that it even bringsyou out at the end wiser than the other course could have done. Alba, Iam happy to say, resolved at once on this course. "If, " said he, "Rubradoes not choose to tell me about the grand tour, I will go and see formyself. " It was a brave resolve for a little fellow like him. He lost notime in preparing to carry it out; but, on pushing against the gate thatled to the underground road, he found that the frost had fastened itsecurely, and he must wait for a warmer day. In the mean time, afraid toask any more questions, he yet kept his ears open to gather any scrapsof information that might be useful for his journey. 

Listening ears can always hear; and Alba very soon began to learn, fromthe old trees overhead, from the dry rustling leaves around him, andfrom the little chipping-birds that chatted together in the sunshine. Some said the only advantage of the grand tour was to make one a perfectand accomplished gentleman; others, that all the useful arts were taughtabroad, and no one who wished to improve the world in which he livedwould stay at home another year. Old grandfather Rubra, standing talland grand, and stretching his knotty arms, as if to give force to hiswords, said, "Of all arts, the art of building is the noblest, and thatcan only be learned by those who take the grand tour; therefore, all myboys have been sent long ago, and already many of my grandsons havefollowed them. "

Then there was a whisper among the leaves: "All very well, old Rubra;but did any of your sons or grandsons ever COME BACK from the grandtour?"

There was no answer; indeed, the leaves hadn't spoken loudly enough forthe old gentleman to hear, for he was known to have a fiery temper, andit was scarcely safe to offend him. But the little brown chipping-birdssaid, one to another, "No, no, no, they never came back! they never cameback!"

All this sent a chill through Alba's heart, but he still held to hispurpose; and in the night a warm and friendly rain melted the frozengateway, and he boldly rolled out of his cradle forever, and, slippingthrough the portal, was lost to sight. 

His mother looked for her baby; his brothers and cousins rolled over andabout, in search for him. Rubra began to feel sorry for the lastscornful words he had said, and would have petted his little cousin withall his heart, if he could only have had him once again; but Alba wasnever again seen by his old friends and companions. 

THE UNDER-WORLD

"How dark it is here, and how difficult for one to make his way throughthe thick atmosphere!" so thought little Alba, as he pushed and pushedslowly into the soft mud. Presently a busy hum sounded all about him;and, becoming accustomed to the darkness, he could see little formsmoving swiftly and industriously to and fro. 

You children who live above, and play about on the hillsides and in thewoods, have no idea what is going on all the while under your feet; howthe dwarfs and the fairies are working there, weaving moss carpets andgrass blades, forming and painting flowers and scarlet mushrooms, tending and nursing all manner of delicate things which have yet to growstrong enough to push up and see the outside life, and learn to bear itscold winds, and rejoice in its sunshine. 

While Alba was seeing all this, he was still struggling on, but veryslowly; for first he ran against the strong root of an old tree, thenknocked his head upon a sharp stone, and finally, bruised and sore, tired, and quite in despair, he sighed a great sigh, and declared hecould go no farther. At that, two odd little beings sprang to his side;the one brown as the earth itself, with eyes like diamonds forbrightness, and deft little fingers, cunning in all works of skill. Pulling off his wisp of a cap, and making a grotesque little bow, heasked, "Will you take a guide for the under-world tour?"--"That I will, "said Alba, "for I no longer find myself able to move a step. "--"Ha, ha!"laughed the dwarf, "of course you can't move in that great body, theways are too narrow; you must come out of yourself before you can get onin this journey. Put out your foot now, and I will show you where tostep. "--"Out of myself?" cried Alba. "Why, that is to die! My foot, didyou say? I haven't any feet; I was born in a cradle, and always lived init until now, and could never do any thing but rock and roll. "

"Ha, ha, ha!" again laughed the dwarf, "hear him talk! This is the waywith all of them. No feet, does he say? Why, he has a thousand, if heonly knew it; hands too, more than he can count. Ask him, sister, andsee what he will say to you. "

With that a soft little voice said cheerfully, "Give me your hand, thatI may lead you on the upward part of your journey; for, poor littlefellow, it is indeed true that you do not know how to live out of yourcradle, and we must show you the way!" Encouraged by this kindly speech, Alba turned a little towards the speaker, and was about to say (as hismother had long ago taught him that he should in all difficulties), "I'll try, " when a little cracking noise startled the whole company;and, hardly knowing what he did, Alba thrust out, through a slit in hisshiny brown skin, a little foot reaching downward to follow the dwarf'slead, and a little hand extending upward, quickly clasped by that of thefairy, who stood smiling and lovely in her fair green garments, with atender, tiny grass-blade binding back her golden hair. Oh, what a thrillwent through Alba as he felt this new possession, --a hand and a foot! Athousand such, had they not said? What it all meant he could onlywonder; but the one real possession was at least certain, and in that hebegan to feel that all things were possible. 

And now shall we see where the dwarf led him, and where the fairy, andwhat was actually done in the underground tour?

The dwarf had need of his bright eyes and his skilful hands; for thesoft, tiny foot intrusted to him was a mere baby, that had to find itsway through a strange, dark world; and, what was more, it must not onlybe guided, but also fed and tended carefully: so the bright eyes gobefore, and the brown fingers dig out a roadway, and the foot that haslearned to trust its guide utterly follows on. There is no longer anydanger: he runs against no rocks; he loses his way among no tangledroots; and the hard earth seems to open gently before him, leading himto the fields where his own best food lies, and to hidden springs ofsweet, fresh water. 

Do you wonder when I say the foot must be fed? Aren't your feet fed? Tobe sure, your feet have no mouths of their own; but doesn't the mouth inyour face eat for your whole body, hands and feet, ears and eyes, andall the rest? else how do they grow? The only difference here betweenyou and Alba is, that his foot has mouths of its own, and as it wanderson through the earth, and finds any thing good for food, eats both foritself and for the rest of the body; for I must tell you, that, as thelittle foot progresses, it does not take the body with it, but onlygrows longer and longer and longer, until, while one end remains at homefastened to the body, the other end has travelled a distance, such aswould be counted miles by the atoms of people who live in the under-world. And, moreover, the foot no longer goes on alone: others have comeby tens, even by hundreds, to join it; and Alba begins to understandwhat the dwarf meant by thousands. Thus the feet travel on, running someto this side, some to that; here digging through a bed of clay, andthere burying themselves in a soft sand-hill, taking a mouthful ofcarbon here, and of nitrogen there. But what are these two strangearticles of food? Nothing at all like bread and butter, you think. Different, indeed, they seem; but you will one day learn that bread andbutter are made in part of these very same things, and they are just asuseful to Alba as your breakfast, dinner, and supper are to you. Forjust as bread and butter, and other food, build your body, so carbon andnitrogen are going to build his; and you will presently see what a fine, large, strong body they can make. Then, perhaps, you will be better ableto understand what they are. 

Shall we leave the feet to travel their own way for a while, and seewhere the fairy has led the little hand?

QUERCUS ALBA'S NEW SIGHT OF THE UPPER-WORLD

It was a soft, helpless, little baby hand. Its folded fingers laylistlessly in the fairy's gentle grasp. "Now we will go up, " she said. He had thought he was going down, and he had heard the chipping-birdssay he would never come back again. But he had no will to resist thegentle motion, which seemed, after all, to be exactly what he wanted: sohe presently found himself lifted out of the dark earth, feeling thesunshine again, and stirred by the breeze that rustled the dry leavesthat lay all about him. Here again were all his old companions, --thechipping-birds, his cousins, old grandfather Rubra, and, best of all, his dear mother. But the odd thing about it all was, that nobody seemedto know him: even his mother, though she stretched her arms towards him, turned her head away, looking here and there for her lost baby, andnever seeing how he stood gazing up into her face. Now he began tounderstand why the chipping-birds said, "They never came back! theynever came back!" for they truly came in so new a form that none oftheir old friends recognized them. 

Every thing that has hands wants to work; that is, hands are suchexcellent tools, that no one who is the happy possessor of a pair isquite happy until he uses them: so Alba began to have a longing desireto build a stem, and lift himself up among his neighbors. But whatshould he build with? Here the little feet answered promptly, "You wantto build, do you? Well, here is carbon, the very best material; there isnothing like it for walls; it makes the most beautiful, firm wood. Waita minute, and we will send up some that we have been storing for youruse. "

And the busy hands go to work, and the child grows day by day. His bodyand limbs are brown now, but his hands of a fine shining green. And, having learned the use of carbon, these busy hands undertake to gatherit for themselves out of the air about them, which is a great storehousefull of many materials that our eyes cannot see. And he has also learnedthat to grow and to build are indeed the same thing: for his body istaking the form of a strong young tree; his branches are spreading for aroof over the heads of a hundred delicate flowers, making a home formany a bushy-tailed squirrel and pleasant-voiced wood-bird. For, yousee, whoever builds cannot build for himself alone: all his neighborshave the benefit of his work, and all enjoy it together. 

What at the first was so hard to attempt, became grand and beautiful inthe doing; and little Alba, instead of serving merely for a squirrel'sbreakfast, as he might have done had he not bravely ventured on hisjourney, stands before us a noble tree, which is to live a hundred yearsor more. 

Do you want to know what kind of a tree?

Well, Lillie, who studies Latin, will tell you that Quercus means oak. And now can you tell me what Alba's rustic cradle was, and who were hiscousins Rubra and Coccinea?

We all have our treasure-boxes. Misers have strong iron-bound chestsfull of gold; stately ladies, pearl inlaid caskets for their jewels; andeven you and I, dear child, have our own. Your little box with lock andkey, that aunt Lucy gave you, where you have kept for a long time yourchoicest paper doll, the peacock with spun-glass tail, and the robin'segg that we picked up on the path under the great trees that windy daylast spring, --that is your treasure-box. I no less have mine; and, ifyou will look with me, I will show you how the trees and flowers havetheirs, and what is packed away in them. 

Come out in the orchard this September day, under the low-bowed peach-trees, where great downy-cheeked peaches almost drop into our hands. Siton the grassy bank with me, and I will show you the peach-tree'streasure-box. 

What does the peach-tree regard as most precious? If it could speak inwords, it would tell you its seed is the one thing for which it caresmost; for which it has worked ever since spring, storing food, anddrinking in sunshine. And it is so dear and valued, because, when thepeach-tree itself dies, this seed, its child, may still live on, growinginto a beautiful and fruitful tree; therefore, the mother tree cherishesher seed as her greatest treasure, and has made for it a casket morebeautiful than Mrs. Williams's sandal-wood jewel-box. 

See the great crack where this peach broke from the bough. We will pullit open; this is opening the cover of the outside casket. See how richwas its outside color, but how wonderfully beautiful the deep crimsonfibres which cling about the hard shell inside. For this seed cannot betrusted in a single covering; moreover, the inner box is lockedsecurely, and, I am sorry to say, we haven't the key: so, if I wouldshow you the inside, we must break the pretty box, with its strong, ribbed walls, and then at last we shall see what the peach-tree'streasure-box holds. 

Here, too, are the apples, lying on the grass at our feet; we will cutone, for it too holds the apple-tree's treasure. First comes the skin, rosy and yellow, a pretty firm wrapping for the outside; but itsometimes breaks, when a strong wind tosses the apples to the ground, and sometimes the insects eat holes in it: so, if this were the onlycovering, the treasure would hardly be very safe. Therefore, next wecome to the firm, juicy flesh of the apple, --seldom to be broken throughby a fall, not often eaten through by insects; but lest even this shouldfail, we come at last, far in the middle, to horny sheaths, or cells, built up together like a little fortress, surrounding and protecting thebrown, shining seeds, which we reach in the very centre of all. 

One thing more let us look at before we leave the apple. Cut ithorizontally through the middle with a sharp knife, and try how thin andsmooth a slice you can make; hold it up to the light, and we shall seesomething very beautiful. There in the centre of the round slice is thedelicate figure of a perfect apple-blossom, with all its petals spread;for it was that lovely pink-and-white blossom from which the apple wasformed, --a tiny green ball at first, which you may see in the spring, ifyou look where the blossoms have just fallen. As this little green applegrew, it kept in its very heart always the image of the fair blossom;and now that the fruit has reached this ripe perfection, we may stillsee the same form. 

The pears, too, the apricots and plums, you may see for yourselves; youdo not need me to tell their stories. 

But come down to the garden, for there I have some of the oddest andprettiest boxes to show. The pease and beans have long canoes, satin-lined and waterproof. On what voyage they are bound, I cannot say. 

The tall milk-weed that grew so fast all summer, and threatened to over-run the garden, now pays well for its lodging by the exquisite treasurewhich its rough-covered, pale-green bag holds. Press your thumb on itsclosed edges; for this casket opens with a spring, and, if it is ripeand ready, it will unclose with a touch, and show you a little fish, with silver scales laid over a covering of long, silken threads, finerand more delicate than any of the sewing-silk in your mother's work-box. This silk is really a wing-like float for each scale; and the scales areseeds, which will not stay upon the little fish, but long to float awaywith their silken trails, and, alighting here and there, cling and seekfor a good place to plant themselves. 

See, too, how the poppy has provided herself with a deep, round box of adelicate brown color; the carved lid might have been made by theChinese, it looks so much like their fine work. Full to the brim, thisbox is. The poppy is rich in the autumn; brown seeds by the hundred, packed away for another year's use. 

Here are the balsams, --touch-me-nots, we used to call them when I was achild; for, Poor things, so slightly have they locked up their treasure, that even the baby's little finger will open the rough-feeling oblongcasket with a snap and a spring, and send the jewels flying all over thegarden-bed, where you will scarcely be able to find them again. 

Roses have beautiful round, red globes to hold their precious seeds; andso firm and strong are they, that the winter winds and snows even do notbreak or open them. I have found them dashed with sea-spray, or on dustyroadsides; everywhere strong and safe, making the dullest day brightwith their cheery color. 

If we go to the wet meadows and stream-sides, we shall find how thescarlet cardinal has packed away its minute seeds in a pretty little boxwith two or three partings inside; and the cowslip has a cluster of ovalbags as full as they can hold. 

Among the rocks, hairballs have their tiny five-parted chests; and thecolumbine, its standing group of narrow brown sacks, which show, if weopen them, hundreds of tiny seeds. 

But in the woods, the oak has stored her treasures in the acorn; thechestnut, in its bur which holds the nut so safely. The walnut and beechtrees have also their hard, safe caskets, and the boys who go nuttingknow very well what is inside. 

Autumn is the time to open these treasures. It takes all the spring andsummer to prepare them, and some even need all of September too, beforethey are ready to open the little covers. But go into the garden andorchard, into the meadows and woods, and you have not far to look beforefinding enough to prove that the plants, no less than the children, havetreasures to keep, and often most charming boxes to keep them in. 

A PEEP INTO ONE OF GOD'S STOREHOUSES

Once there was a father who thought he would build for his children abeautiful home, putting into it every thing they could need or desirethroughout their lives. So he built the beautiful house; and any onejust to look at the outside of it would exclaim, How lovely! For itsroof was a wide, blue dome like the sky, and the lofty rooms had archingceilings covered with tracery of leaves and waving boughs. The floorswere carpeted with velvet, and the whole was lighted with lamps thatshone like stars from above. The sweetest perfumes floated through theair, while thousands of birds answered the music of fountains with theirsongs. And yet, when you have seen all this, you have not seen the bestpart of it: for the house has been so wonderfully contrived, that it isfull of mysterious closets, storehouses, and secret drawers, all lockedby magic keys, or fastened by concealed springs; and each one is filledwith something precious or useful or beautiful to look at, --piles uponpiles, and heaps upon heaps of wonderful stores. Every thing that thechildren could want, or dream of wanting, is laid up here; but yet theyare not to be told any thing about it. They are to be put into thisdelightful home, and left to find it all out for themselves. 

At first, you know, they will only play. They will roll on the softcarpets, and listen to the fountain and the birds, and wander from roomto room to see new beauties everywhere; but some day a boy, full ofcuriosity, prying here and there into nooks and corners, will touch oneof the hidden springs; a door will fly open, and one storehouse oftreasures will be revealed. How he will shout, and call upon hisbrothers and sisters to admire with him; how they will pull out thetreasures, and try to learn how to use the new and strange materials. What did my father mean this for? Why did he give that so odd a shape, or so strange a covering? And so through many questions, and manyexperiments, they learn at last how to use the contents of this onestorehouse. But do you imagine that sensible children, after one suchdiscovery, would rest satisfied? Of course they would explore andexplore; try every panel, and press every spring, until, one by one, allthe closets should be opened, and all the treasures brought out. Andthen how could they show their gratitude to the dear father who hadtaken such pains to prepare this wonderful house for them? The leastthey could do would be to try to use every thing for the purposesintended, and not to destroy or injure any of the precious giftsprepared so lovingly for their use. 

Now, God, our loving Father, has made for us, for you and for me and forlittle Mage and Jenny, and for all the grown people and children too, just such a house. It is this earth on which we live. You can see theblue roof, and the arched ceilings of the rooms, with their canopy ofleaves and drooping boughs, and the velvet-covered floors, and thelights and birds and fountains; but do you know any of the secretclosets? Have you found the key or spring of a single one, or beencalled by your mother or father or brother or sister to take a peep intoone of them?

If you have not, perhaps you would like to go with me to examine onethat was opened a good many years ago, but contains such valuable thingsthat the uses of all of them have not yet been found out, and theirbeauty is just beginning to be known. 

The doorway of this storehouse lies in the side of a hill. It is twiceas wide as the great barn-door where the hay-carts are driven in; andtwo railroad-tracks run out at it, side by side, with a little foot-pathbetween them. The entrance is light, because it opens so wide; but wecan see that the floor slopes downward, and the way looks dark andnarrow before us. We shall need a guide; and here comes one, --a rough-looking man, with smutty clothes, and an odd little lamp covered withwire gauze, fastened to the front of his cap. He is one of the workmenemployed to bring the treasures out of this dark storehouse; and he willshow us, by the light of his lamp, some of the wonders of the place. Walk down the sloping foot-path now, and be careful to keep out of theway of the little cars that are coming and going on each side of you, loaded on one side, and empty on the other, and seeming to run up anddown by themselves. But you will find that they are really pulled andpushed by an engine that stands outside the doorway and reaches them bylong chains. At last we reach the foot of the slope; and, as our eyesbecome accustomed to the faint light, we can see passages leading to theright and the left, and square chambers cut out in the solid hill. Sothis great green hill, upon which you might run or play, is inside likewhat I think some of those large anthills must be, --traversed bygalleries, and full of rooms and long passages. All about we see menlike our guide, working by the light of their little lamps. We hear theechoing sound of the tools; and we see great blocks and heaps that theyhave broken away, and loaded into little cars that stand ready, here andthere, to be drawn by mules to the foot of the slope. 

Now, are you curious to know what this treasure is? Have you seenalready that it is only coal, and do you wonder that I think it is soprecious? Look a little closer, while our guide lets the light of hislamp fall upon the black wall at your side. Do you see the delicatetracery of ferns, more beautiful than the fairest drawing. See, beneathyour feet is the marking of great tree-trunks lying aslant across thefloor, and the forms of gigantic palm-leaves strewed among them. Here issomething different, rounded like a nut-shell; you can split off oneside, and behold there is the nut lying snugly as does any chestnut inits bur!

Did you notice the great pillars of coal that are left to uphold theroof? Let us look at them; for perhaps we can examine them more closelythan we can the roof, and the sides of these halls. Here are mosses andlittle leaves, and sometimes an odd-looking little body that is notunlike some of the sea-creatures we found at the beach last summer; andevery thing is made of coal, nothing but coal. How did it happen, andwhat does it mean? Ferns and palms, mosses and trees and animals, allperfect, all beautiful, and yet all hidden away under this hill, andturned into shining black coal. 

Now, I can very well remember when I first saw a coal fire, and how oddit looked to see what seemed to be burning stones. For, when I was alittle girl, we always had logs of wood blazing in an open fireplace, and so did many other people, and coal was just coming into use forfuel. What should we have done, if everybody had kept on burning wood tothis day? There would have been scarcely a tree left standing; for thinkof all the locomotives and engines in factories, besides all the firesin houses and churches and schoolhouses. But God knew that we shouldhave need of other fuel besides wood, and so he made great forests togrow on the earth before he had made any men to live upon it. Theseforests were of trees, different in some ways from those we have now, great ferns as tall as this house, and mosses as high as little trees, and palm-leaves of enormous size. And, when they were all prepared, heplanned how they should best be stored up for the use of his children, who would not be here to use them for many thousand years to come. So helet them grow and ripen and fall to the ground, and then the great rockswere piled above them to crowd them compactly together, and they wereheated and heavily pressed, until, as the ages went by, they changedslowly into these hard, black, shining stones, and became better fuelthan any wood, because the substance of wood was concentrated in them. Then the hills were piled up on top of it all; but here and there someedge of a coal-bed was tilted up, and appeared above the ground. Thisserved for a hint to curious men, to make them ask "What is this?" and"What is it good for?" and so at last, following their questions, tofind their way to the secret stores, and make an open doorway, and letthe world in. So much for the fuel; but God meant something else besidesfuel when he packed this closet for his children. At first they onlyunderstood this simplest and plainest value of the coal. But there weresome things that troubled the miners very much: one was gas that wouldtake fire from their lamps, and burn, making it dangerous for men to gointo the passages where they were likely to meet it. But by and by thewise men thought about it, and said to themselves, We must find out whatuseful purpose God made the gas for: we know that he does not make anything for harm only. The thought came to them that it might be preparedfrom coal, and conducted through pipes to our houses to take the placeof lamps or candles, which until that time had been the only light. But, after making the gas, there was a thick, pitchy substance left from thecoal, called coal-tar. It was only a trouble to the gas-makers, who hadno use for it, and even threw it away, until some one, more thoughtfulthan the others, found out that water would not pass through it. And soit began to be used to cover roofs of buildings, and, mixed with someother substances, made a pavement for streets; and being spread overiron-work it protected it from rust. Don't you see how many uses we havefound for this refuse coal-tar? And the finest of all is yet to come;for the chemists got hold of it, and distilled and refined it, untilthey prepared from the black, dirty pitch lovely emerald-coloredcrystals which had the property of dying silk and cotton and wool inbeautiful colors, --violet, magenta, purple, or green. What do you thinkof that from the coal-tar. When you have a new ribbon for your hat; or apretty red dress, or your grandmamma buys a new violet ribbon for hercap, just ask if they are dyed with aniline colors; and if the answer is"Yes, " you may know that they came from the coal-tar. Besides the dyes, we shall also have left naphtha, useful in making varnish, and variousoils that are used in more ways than I can stop to tell you, or youwould care now to hear. If your cousin Annie has a jet belt-clasp orbracelet, and if you find in aunt Edith's box of old treasures an odd-shaped brooch of jet, you may remember the coal again; for jet is onlyone kind of lignite, which is a name for a certain preparation of coal. 

But here is another surprise of a different kind. You have seen boxes ofhard, smooth, white candles with the name paraffin marked on the cover. Should you think the black coal could ever undergo such a change as tocome out in the form of these white candles? Go to the factory wherethey are made, and you can see the whole process; and then you willunderstand one more of God's meanings for coal. 

And all this time I have not said a word about how, while the greatforests lay under pressure for millions of years, the oils that were inthe growing plants (just as oils are in many growing plants now) werepressed out, and flowed into underground reservoirs, lying hidden there, until one day not many years ago a man accidentally bored into one. Upcame the oil, spouting and running over, gushing out and streaming downto a little river that ran near by. As it floated on the surface of thewater (for oil and water will not mix, you know), the boys, formischief, set fire to it, and a stream of fire rolled along down theriver; proving to everybody who saw it, that a new light, as good asgas, had come from the coal. Now those of us who have kerosene lamps maythank the oil-wells that were prepared for us so many years ago. 

When your hands or lips are cracked and rough from the cold, does yourmother ever put on glycerin to heal them? If she does, you are indebtedagain to the coal oil, for of that it is partly made. 

And now let me tell you that almost all the uses for coal have beenfound out since I was a child; and, by the time you are men and women, you may be sure that as many more will be discovered, if not from thatstorehouse, certainly from some of the many others that our good Fatherhas prepared for us, and hidden among the mountains or in the deserts, or perhaps under your very feet to-day; for thousands of people walkedover those hills of coal, before one saw the treasures that lay hiddenthere. I have only told you enough to teach you how to look foryourselves; a peep, you know, is all I promised you. Sometime we mayopen another door together. 

THE HIDDEN LIGHT

There were plenty of gold-green beetles in the forest. Their violet-colored cousins also held royal state there; and scarlet or yellow withblack trimmings was the uniform of many a gay troop that careered insplendor through the vine-hung aisles of the hot, damp woods. Butclinging to the gray bark of some tree, or lying concealed among thedamp leaves in a swamp, was the gayest and fairest of them all, if thetruth be told. 

A little blackish-brown bug, dingy and hairy, not pleasant to look upon, you will say; surely not related to such winged splendors as play in thesunlight. Yet he is true first cousin to the green and gold, or to theroyal violet; has as fair a title to a place in your regard, and willprove it, if you will only wait his time. He is like those plain peoplewhom we pass every day without notice, until some great trial ordifficulty calls out a hidden power within them, and they flash intogreatness in some noble action, and prove their kinship to God. 

We need not wait long; for as soon as the sun has set, our dull, blackish bug unfolds his wings and reveals his latent glory. He becomesa star, a spark from the sun's very self. If you can prevail upon him tocondescend to attend you, you may read or write by his light alone. 

But come with me to this Indian's hut, where instead of lamp, candle, ortorch, three or four of these luminous insects make all the dwellingbright. See the Indian hunter preparing for a journey, or a raid uponthe forest beasts, by fastening to his hands and feet the littlelantern-flies that shall make the pathway light before him. 

When the Indian wants his brilliant little servants, he goes out on somelittle hillock, waving a lighted torch and calling them by name, "cucuie, cucuie;" and quickly they crowd around him in troops. 

And here I must tell you a little Japanese story. The young lady fire-fly is courted by her many suitors, who themselves carry no light. Sheis shy and reserved. She will not accept the attentions; but when soimportuned that she sees no other escape, she cries, "Let him who reallyloves me, go bring me a light like my own, as a proof of his affection. "Then the daring lovers rush blindly at the nearest fire or candle, andperish in the flame. 

But to return to the Indian. Not only do his lantern-flies illuminatehis path, but they go on before him, like an advance guard, to clear theroad of its infecting mosquitoes, gnats, and other troublesome insects, which they seize and devour on the wing. 

No harm would the Indian do to his little torchbearer; for, besides theservice he renders, does he not embody a portion of the sun god, theholy fire? And there are times, when, with reverent awe, these simpleforest children think they see in the cucuie the souls of their departedfriends. 

And now if we leave the forest and enter the gay ball-room of sometropical city, we shall find that the cucuie is a cosmopolitan, at homealike in palace and in hut, in forest and city. Not only does he, as awise little four-year-old friend of mine said, "light the toads to bed, "but, restrained by invisible folds of gauze, he flutters in the hair ofthe fairest ladies, and rivals those earth-stars the diamonds. 

But it is hardly fair to show only the bright side, even of a cucuie;and in justice I must tell that the sugar-planters see with dismay theirlittle torches among the canes. For although mosquitoes and gnats willdo for food in the forests where sugar is not to be had, who would tastethem when a field of cane is all before you, where to choose?

SIXTY-TWO LITTLE TADPOLES

Look at this mass of white jelly floating in a bowl of pond water. It isclear and delicate, formed of little globes the size of pease, heldtogether in one rounded mass. In each globe is a black dot. 

I have it all in my room, and I watch it every day. Before a weekpasses, the black dots have lengthened into little fishy bodies, eachlying curled in his globe of jelly, for these globes are eggs, and thesedots are soon to be little living animals; we will see of what kind. 

Presently they begin to jerk backwards and forwards, and perform suchsimple gymnastics as the small accommodations of the egg will allow; andat last one morning, to my delight, I find two or three of the littlethings free from the egg, and swimming like so many tiny fishes in mybowl of water. How fast they come out now; five this morning, but twentyto-night, and thrice as many to-morrow! The next day I conclude that theremaining eggs will not hatch, for they still show only dull, dead-looking dots: so reluctantly I throw them away, wash out my bowl, andfill it anew with pond water. But, before doing this, I had to catch allmy little family, and put them safely into a tumbler to remain duringtheir house-cleaning. This was hard work; but I accomplished it with thehelp of a teaspoon, and soon restored them to a fresh, clean home. 

It would be difficult to tell you all their history; for never didlittle things grow faster, or change more wonderfully, than they. 

One morning I found them all arranged round the sides of the bowl inregular military ranks, as straight and stiff as a company on dressparade. It was then that I counted them, and discovered that there werejust sixty-two. 

You would think, at first sight, that these sixty-two brothers andsisters were all exactly alike; but, after watching them a while, yousee that one begins to distinguish himself as stronger and more advancedthan any of the others, --the captain, perhaps, of the military company. Soon he sports a pair of little feathery gills on each side of his head, as a young officer might sport his mustache; but these gills, unlike themustache, are for use as well as for ornament, and serve him asbreathing tubes. 

How the little fellows grow! no longer a slim little fish, but quite aportly tadpole with rounded body and long tail, but still with noexpression in his blunt-nosed face, and only two black-looking pitswhere the eyes are to grow. 

The others are not slow to follow their captain's example. Day after daysome new little fellow shows his gills, and begins to swim by paddlingwith his tail in a very stylish manner. 

And now a sad thing happens to my family of sixty-two, --something whichwould never have happened had I left the eggs at home in their own pond;for there there are plenty of tiny water-plants, whose little leaves andstems serve for many a delicious meal to young tadpoles. I did not feedthem, not knowing what to give them, and half imagining that they couldlive very well upon water only; and so it happened that one morning, when I was taking them out with a spoon as usual, to give them freshwater, I counted only fifty. Where were the others?

At the bottom of the bowl lay a dozen little tails, and I was forced tobelieve that the stronger tadpoles had taken their weaker brothers forsupper. 

I didn't like to have my family broken up in this way, and yet I didn'tat that time know what to give them: so the painful proceeding was notchecked; and day after day my strongest tadpoles grew even stronger, andthe tails of the weaker lay at the bottom of the bowl. 

The captain throve finely, had clear, bright eyes, lost his featherygills, and showed through his thin skin that he had a set of excellentlegs folded up inside. At last, one day, he kicked out the two hindones, and after that was never tired of displaying his new swimmingpowers. The fore-legs following in due time; and when all this was done, the tail, which he no longer needed to steer with, dropped off, and mylargest tadpole became a little frog. 

His brothers and sisters, such of them as were left (for, I grieve tosay, he had required a great many hearty meals to enable him to reachthe frog state), followed his illustrious example as soon as they wereable; and then, of course, my little bowl of water was no suitable homefor them; so away they went out into the grass, among the shallow pools, and into the swamps. I never knew exactly where; and I am afraid that, should I meet even my progressive little captain again, I should hardlyrecognize him, so grown and altered he would be. He no longer devourshis brothers, but, with a tongue as long as his body, seizes slugs andinsects, and swallows them whole. 

In the winter he sleeps with his brothers and sisters, with the bottomof some pond or marsh for a bed, where they all pack themselves away, hundreds together, laid so closely that you can't distinguish one fromanother. 

But early in the spring you may hear their loud croaking; and when theMarch sun has thawed the ice from the ponds, the mother-frogs are allvery busy with their eggs, which they leave in the shallow water, --roundjelly-like masses, like the one I told you of at the beginning of thisstory, made up of hundreds and hundreds of eggs. For the frog motherhopes for a large family of children, and she knows, by sad experience, that no sooner are they born than the fishes snap them up by the dozen;and even after they have found their legs, and begin to feel old, andcompetent to take care of themselves, the snakes and the weasels willnot hesitate to take two or three for breakfast, if they come in theway. So you see the mother-frog has good reason for laying so many eggs. 

The toads too, who, by the way, are cousins to the frogs, come down inApril to lay their eggs also in the water, --long necklaces of a doublerow of fine transparent eggs, each one showing its black dot, which isto grow into a tadpole, and swim about with its cousins, the frogtadpoles, while they all look so much alike that I fancy their ownmothers do not know them apart. 

I once picked up a handful of them, and took them home. One grew up tobe a charming little tree-toad, while some of his companions gave goodpromise, by their big awkward forms, of growing by and by into greatbull-frogs. 

GOLDEN-ROD AND ASTERS

Do you know that flowers, as well as people, live in families? Come intothe garden, and I will show you how. Here is a red rose: the beautifulbright-colored petals are the walls of the house, --built in a circle, you see. Next come the yellow stamens, standing also in a circle: theseare the father of the household, --perhaps you would say the fathers, there are so many. They stand round the mother, who lives in the verymiddle, as if they were put there to protect and take care of her. Andshe is the straight little pistil, standing in the midst of all. Thechildren are seeds, put away for the present in a green cradle at theirmother's feet, where they will sleep and grow as babies should, until byand by they will all have opportunities to come out and build forthemselves fine rose-colored houses like that of their parents. 

It is in this way that most of the flowers live; some, it is true, quitedifferently: for the beautiful scarlet maple blossoms, that open soearly in the spring, have the fathers on one tree, and the mothers onanother; and they can only make flying visits to each other when a highwind chooses to give them a ride. 

The golden-rod and asters and some of their cousins have yet another wayof living, and it is of this I must tell you to-day. 

You know the roadside asters, purple and white, that bloom soplenteously all through the early autumn? Each flower is a circle oflittle rays, spreading on every side: but, if you should pull it topieces to look for a family like that of the rose, you would be sadlyconfused about it; for the aster's plan of living is very different fromthe rose's. Each purple or white ray is a little home in itself; andthese are all inhabited by maiden ladies, living each one alone in theone delicately colored room of her house. But in the middle of the asteryou will find a dozen or more little families, all packed away together. Each one has its own small, yellow house, each has the father, mother, and one child: they all live here together on the flat circle which iscalled a disk; and round them are built the houses belonging to themaiden aunts, who watch and protect the whole. This is what we mightcall living in a community. People do so sometimes. Different familieswho like to be near each other will take a very large house and inhabitit together; so that in one house there will be many fathers, mothers, and children, and very likely maiden aunts and bachelor uncles besides. 

Do you understand now how the asters live in communities? The golden-rodalso lives in communities, but yet not exactly after the aster's plan, --in smaller houses generally, and these of course contain fewer families. Four or five of the maiden aunts live in yellow-walled rooms round theoutside; and in the middle live fathers, mothers, and children, as theydo in the asters. But here is the difference: if the golden-rod hassmaller houses, it has more of them together upon one stem. I have nevercounted them, but you can, now that they are in bloom, and tell me howmany. 

And have you ever noticed how gracefully these great companies arearranged? For the golden-rods are like elm-trees in their forms: somegrow in one single, tall plume, bending over a little at the top; somein a double or triple plume, so that the nodding heads may bend on eachside; but the largest are like the great Etruscan elms, many branchesrising gracefully from the main stem and curving over on every side, like those tall glass vases which, I dare say, you have all seen. 

Do not forget, when you are looking at these golden plumes, that eachone, as it tosses in the wind, is rocking its hundreds of littledwellings, with the fathers, mothers, babies, and all. 

When you go out for golden-rod and asters, you will find also the greatpurple thistle, one of those cousins who has adopted the same plan ofliving. It is so prickly that I advise you not to attempt breaking itoff, but only with your finger-tips push softly down into the purpletassel; and if the thistle is ripe, as I think it will be in theseautumn days, you will feel a bed of softest down under the spreadingpurple top. A little gentle pushing will set the down all astir, and Ican show you how the children are about to take leave of the home wherethey were born and brought up. Each seed child has a downy wing withwhich it can fly, and also cling, as you will see, if we set them loose, and the wind blows them on to your woollen frock. They are hardychildren, and not afraid of any thing; they venture out into the worldfearlessly, and presume to plant themselves and prepare to buildwherever they choose, without regard to the rights of the farmer'sploughed field or your mother's nicely laid out garden. 

More of the community flowers are the immortelles, and in spring thedandelions. Examine them, and tell me how they build their houses, andwhat sort of families they have; how the children go away; when thehouse is broken up; and what becomes of the fathers, mothers, and aunts.