The Nursery, September 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 3

"O mamma!" said Mary, "the birds are getting them all. We must have them picked at once."

"Never fear, little girl," said her mother. "There will be enough for the birds and ourselves and our neighbors too. But it really is time to begin to pick them. So, Charles, get a basket, and we will all go out under the cherry-tree."

So out they all went,—Charles and Mary and Ellen and Julia and Ruth; and mamma followed with the baby.

"I told the gardener to bring a ladder," said mamma. "He will be here in a moment, Charles. You can't pick cherries without a ladder, you know."

"Of course," said that saucy boy. "Nobody can pick cherries without a ladder." And with that he gave a spring, and in about half a minute had climbed up into the tree.

"Now, girls, hold your aprons," said he. And down came a shower of the delicious fruit.

Then what a glorious scramble those little girls had! How they laughed and jumped and knocked heads together in picking up the cherries! They ate as many as they wanted; and still Charles kept throwing down more.

"Have you had enough?" said he. "So have I. Now it's time to think about filling the basket. Ah! here comes the ladder at last, with a man under it."

    Uncle Sam.

SLEEPING IN THE SUNSHINE

Sleeping in the sunshine,
Fie, fie, fie!
While the birds are soaring
High, high, high!
While the buds are opening sweet,
And the blossoms at your feet
Look a smiling face to greet.
Fie, fie, fie!

Sleeping in the sunshine,
Fie, fie, fie!
While the bee goes humming
By, by, by!
Is there no small task for you,—
Nought for little hands to do?
Shame to sleep the morning through!
Fie, fie, fie!

RAMBLES IN THE WOODS

Rachel has been used to a life in the city, but she is now on a visit to her uncle's in the country; and she has fine times rambling through the woods and fields.

Her cousin Paul takes her to pick berries, and tells her the names of the things she sees. "Smell of these leaves," Paul will say, breaking a twig from a shrub, somewhat like a huckleberry-bush, and crushing the leaves in his hand. "This is the bayberry-shrub. How fragrant the leaves are! It bears a berry with a gray wax-like coating; and in Nova Scotia this wax is much used instead of tallow, or mixed with tallow, to make candles."

"But what is this little red berry on the ground?" asked Rachel once when they were on one of their rambles. "It has a dark glossy leaf; and I like the taste and the smell of it very much."

"That is the checkerberry," said Paul. "Some people call it the boxberry; and some call it wintergreen. It has a flavor like that of the black birch. It is used to scent soap, and sometimes to flavor candy. It is an evergreen plant."

"What do you mean by an evergreen?" asked Rachel.

"I mean, it is green the whole year round: it does not dry up and fall off, like the leaves of the strawberry-plant," said Paul.

"What other sweet-smelling plants are there about here?" asked Rachel.

"Did you ever taste the bark of the sassafras-tree?" asked Paul. "If not, here is one; and I will break off a twig for you to chew. The color of the inner bark, near the root, is red, like cinnamon. A beer is made from it; and it is also used in soaps."

"I like the odor of it very much," said Rachel.

"Here is a black-birch tree," cried Paul. "Some people call it the sweet-birch. I will cut off a piece of the bark for you to taste."

"Why, it tastes like checkerberry-leaves," said Rachel.

"Yes," replied Paul. "It is a beautiful tree, and is good for fuel. But here is a white-birch. See how white the bark is! It grows on poor land, and is a very pretty tree when well taken care of."

Here there was the sound of a horn; and Rachel asked, "What is the meaning of that sound?"

"It means that we must run home to dinner," said Paul. "So give me your hand, Cousin Rachel. You need not be afraid of snakes. There are none here that can do any harm. Come, we will make a short cut through the grove to the house."

    Uncle Charles.

WHAT I SAW AT THE SEASHORE

Last summer I went to spend a few weeks at a quiet little island on the New-England coast. Every morning I used to go to the beach, and sit on the sands, and watch the blue sea with its sparkling waves, and listen to the surf breaking in white foam all along the shore.

On pleasant days the beach was lively with bathers, shouting and laughing as they plunged into the cool waves; and little boys and girls playing in the clean sand, digging with their shovels, and loading and unloading their wagons, or picking up shells and sea-mosses to carry home.

On the brightest days of all, I noticed a pale-faced lady who came to sit a while in the sunshine, propped up with shawls and pillows. She always brought with her a little sky-terrier, of which she seemed as fond as if it had been a real baby.

After a while, I got acquainted with the invalid lady, and found that her name was Miss Dean, and that her dog was named Skye. He was a shaggy-looking little creature; but he had very bright eyes, and he knew almost as much as the children who played with him. He was very fond of his mistress, and very thoughtful of her comfort.

Let me tell you one thing about him that made me think so. Skye slept in the room with his mistress, on a soft cushion, with a little blanket spread over him; and in the morning, when he woke, if she was still asleep, he never disturbed her. He just sat up on his cushion as still as he could be, and watched her till she woke. As soon as she opened her eyes, he gave a little bark, for "good-morning," and sprang up on her bed, to be loved and petted.

Well, Skye was a good little dog; and we all learned to love him; and none of us would have hurt him for the world. But one day, as we were walking up from the beach, ladies and gentlemen and children and all, Skye ran down a lane, out of sight; and a thoughtless, wicked boy, who had a stone in his hand, and wanted to hit something with it, threw it with all his might at poor Skye, and broke one of his legs.

Skye cried out with the pain; and we all hurried back to see what was the matter. There we found him, whining and howling, and trying to limp along on three legs; and we just caught sight of the bad boy, running away far down the lane. Miss Dean picked up her poor little darling, and carried him home.

Now, it happened that there was a very skilful surgeon staying at the hotel, who had come down to the island for a short vacation. Miss Dean sent for him, and begged him to set poor Skye's broken leg. He was a kind-hearted man, and I could not refuse to use his skill to relieve the dumb little sufferer.

So Miss Dean took Skye on her lap, and stroked him gently, and talked lovingly to him, calling him "Poor doggy!" and "Dear Skye," while the doctor made the splints, and pressed the broken bones back into their place. Then the doctor sent for some plaster of Paris, and made a soft mortar of it, and put it all around the mended leg, and let it harden into a little case, so that the bones would have to stay just as he put them till they grew together again.

All the time the doctor was doing this, Skye kept as still as a mouse; but, when it was all done, the little creature laid his head on Miss Dean's shoulder, and cried great tears, just like a child. Miss Dean had to cry, too, at the helplessness of her poor dumb darling.

For a good many weeks, Skye could only hobble about on three legs, and had to keep still on his cushion, or lie on his mistress' lap, most of the time; but he was very patient. And at last, when the good doctor said it would do to remove the plaster and the splints, we did so; and Skye ran around the room as well and lively as ever. Wasn't he glad to have his liberty again!

    Muz-Muz.

BLOSSOM AND I

I will tell you a true story about my sister and me. I am five years old, and Fanny (papa calls her Blossom) is three.