The Nursery, July 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 1

HETTIE'S CHICKEN

What can be prettier than a brood of chickens with a good motherly hen, like the one in this picture! See how the little chicks nestle and play about their mother! and see what a watchful eye she has over them! But some chickens do not have such kind mothers, as you shall hear.

There was a little black one in our yard this spring, which none of the mother-hens would own. They would peck at it, and drive it away, till it was almost starved. Aunt Jennie told our little Hettie that she might have it for her own, if she would take care of it.

So Hettie put the chicken in a cage, with some wool to cover it, and fed it several times every day, till it came to know her. When it was let out of the cage, it would follow her about wherever she went.

One night Hettie went to bed, and forgot to put her pet in its cage. What do you think it did? It just flew up on her pillow; and there it sat with its head tucked under its wing.

Hettie named it Posey, and called it her daughter.

"What will you be, some day, when Posey lays eggs, and brings out a brood of little chickens?" asked mamma one day.

That was a new idea to Hettie; and it puzzled her little brain for a minute: then she laughed out, "Shall I be their grandmother?"

Papa looked up from his paper to see what amused his little girl so much; and, when she had told him, he said he would have a pair of spectacles ready for her; and mamma said she would make her a cap; and Hettie said her little arm-chair would be very nice for a grandmother's chair.

"What will you do as you sit in your chair?" said mamma.

"Let me think," replied Hettie. "Why, my grandma is always knitting mittens and socks and hoods for us; and I must learn to knit, so I can knit some for my grandchildren."

Mamma said she would teach her, and they would begin that very day.

And now, wouldn't you like to see our little Hettie with her roguish eyes peeping over spectacles, and her sunny curls straying from her cap, and her chubby little hands knitting mittens, and all in that little arm-chair?

Aunt Amy.

MAMMA'S BOY

 
"Baby, climbing on my knee,
Come and talk a while to me.
We have trotted up and down.
Playing horse, all over town.
Whose sweet darling are you, dear?
Whisper close to mamma's ear:
Tell me quickly, for you can."
"I'm mamma's boy, but papa's man!"
 
 
"Why, you've many miles to go
Ere you'll be a man, you know.
You are mamma's own delight;
You are mamma's diamond bright;
Rose and lily, pearl and star,
Love and dove,—all these you are."
"No!" the little tongue began:
"I'm mamma's boy, but papa's man!"
 

George Cooper.

A SCHOOL-BOY'S STORY

John Tubbs was one day doing his sums, when little Sam Jones pushed against him; and down went the slate with a horrid clatter. "Take care of the pieces!" said the boys, laughing. But Mr. Brill, the master, thought it no laughing matter, and, believing it to be John Tubbs's fault, told him that he should pay for the slate, and have his play stopped for a week.

John said nothing. He did not wish to get little Sam into trouble: so he bore the blame quietly. John's mother was by no means pleased at having to pay for the slate, as she was a poor woman, and had to provide for several other little Tubbses besides John.

"I tell you what it is, John," said she, "you must learn to be more careful. I shall not give you any milk for your breakfast all the week; and by this I shall save money for the slate, which it is right you should pay for."

Poor John ate his bread with water instead of milk: but somehow he was not unhappy, for he felt that he had done a kindness to little Sam Jones; and the satisfaction of having rendered a service to another always brings happiness.

A few days after, Mr. Jones came to the school, and spoke to Mr. Brill about the matter; for little Sam had told his father and mother all about it. Sam was a timid boy; but he could not bear to see John Tubbs kept in for no fault, while the other boys were at play.

"What!" said the master, "and has John Tubbs borne all the blame without saying a word?—Come here, John."

"What's the matter now?" said John to himself. "Something else, I suppose. Well, never mind, so that poor little Sam Jones has got out of his little scrape."

"Now, boys," said Mr. Brill, "here's John Tubbs. Look at him!" And the boys did look at him as a criminal; and John looked very much like a criminal, and began to think that he must be a bad sort of fellow to be called up in this way by his master.

Then Mr. Brill, the master, told the boys all about the broken slate,—that John did not break it, but bore all the blame to save Sam Jones from trouble, and had gone without his milk and play without a murmur. The good schoolmaster said that such conduct was above all praise; and, when he had done speaking, the boys burst out into a cheer. Such a loud hurrah! it made the school-walls ring again. Then they took John on their shoulders, and carried him in triumph round the playground.

And what did John say to all this? He only said, "There, that'll do. If you don't mind, you'll throw a fellow down."

T. C.