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FRANK AND FANNY:
BY MRS. CLARA MORETON.
WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1850,
TY PIILLIPS AND SAMPSON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
To inculcate gentleness of disposition, pa
tience, and benevolence, and to inspire the
young with a love for the simple pleasures
of rural life, is the purpose of the following
story. The love of exciting narratives is
not favourable to the development of those
mild virtues which 'are the most beautiful
ornaments of youth; and, in the following
pages, the quiet scenes and simple characters
of rural life solicit attention, in preference to
the hairbreadth 'scapes and marvellous adven-
tures which are often brought under the no-
tice of the young. If the author has suc-
ceeded in the moral purpose of her little book,
she will be satisfied with the result.
FRANK AND FANNY.
FRANK AND FANNY S HOME.
FRANK and Fanny Lee were orphans.
Their parents died when they were chil-
dren, leaving them to the care of their
grand-parents, who lived in the suburbs
of a beautiful village, in New England.
Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton were very fond
of their grand-children, and did every
thing in their power to make them
FRANK AND FANNY.
happy. They were not rich, and there-
fore had no money to throw away for
useless toys; but this caused Frank and
Fanny no uneasiness. In fine weather,
all the leisure time which they could get
from school, and from their tasks, was
spent in wandering through the woods
which skirted the little village on almost
every side. In spring time they watched
for the first flowers, and many a bouquet
of tiny 'forget-me-nots,' and dark blue,
and pure white violets, they brought to
their grandmother, who welcomed the
wild flowers of spring, with as much
pleasure, and youth of heart as the
As the season advanced, there was no
end to the variety which they gathered;
and the sweetest were daily selected for
the little vase, which always stood upon
the table, beside the large family Bible,
out of which, both morning and evening,
the good grandmother read to her chil-
Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton owned the
comfortable cottage, in which they lived.
It was shaded in front by a large elm
tree, that spread its arms far out over
the moss-covered roof, as if it were some
protecting spirit. Around the door, a
beautiful vine had been trained; and
rose bushes, and shrubs, were scattered
through the yard. On one side of the
house, was a garden, where grew a pro-
fusion of currant bushes, and raspberry
vines, with many useful vegetables, and
flowers were scattered along on each side
of the little walk that ran through the
centre of the garden. There were holly- .2
hocks, and 'noonsleeps, and tiger-lilies,
and little patches of moss pinks, the
tiny flowers all tangled in with their
green foliage, and sweet williams, and
love-lies- bleeding; and the children
thought there was never such another
garden in the world. Here the children
delighted to watch the butterflies, and
bees, and birds, revelling among the
flowers, especially the beautiful hum-
ming bird, with his jacket of golden
green, his ruby-colored throat, and long,
slender bill, which he was so fond of
thrusting into the garden lilies and
hollyhocks. He loved to resort to the
garden of Frank and Fanny, where the
bright sun was shining on the flowers.
THE HUMMMING BIRD.
Then there was a little brown arbor,
with grape vines carefully trained over
it, and rustic seats within; and there
were quince trees just beyond, and up
by the gateway there grew tall stalks of
fennel; and altogether, it was a most
delightful place. Back of the house was
an orchard, and here pippins, long-stems,
flyers, greenings, and seek-no-furthers,
grew side by side.
Here these children delighted to watch
the beautiful cedar bird with his silky
plumage, and his smart crest. He is a
sociable, gentle bird, who allowed the
children to come very near him, as he
was perched upon the cedar bush.
THE CEDAR BIRD.
THE STRIPED SQUIRREL.
The stone wall which surrounded the
orchard, afforded shelter to a great num-
ber of striped squirrels, whose nimble
motions it was the delight of Frank and
Fanny to watch, as they scampered over
the wall, or ran along on its top, or
sought a safer retreat in the thick
branches of the apple trees. This last
retreat, however, was not often sought, as
the striped squirrel is not fond of trees.
His nest is in a hole under a stump, or
stone wall; he seeks his living on the
ground, and is the most playful, elegant
little animal I ever saw. He is called
THE STRIPED SQUIRREL.
THE KING FISHER.
in different parts of the country, Ground
Squirrel, Chipping Squirrel, and Chip-
muck, the last being probably his Indian
name. Frank and Fanny loved the
striped squirrel; but never threw stones
at him, or sought to make him a prisoner.
The foot of the orchard was bounded
by a clear, wide brook, shaded by wil-
lows, and the fish plashed about in
troops in the cool shade.
Here upon the margin of the water,
seated upbn a little stump, watching for
his finny prey, the children used often to
peep at the Belted King Fisher, in his
THE KING FISHER.
bluish coat, white collar, and prettily
marked wings. This bird's delight is to
dwell on the borders of running rivulets,
THE KING FISHER.
or the bold cataracts of mountain
streams, which abound with small fish
and insects, his accustomed fare. When
the fish do not approach his station, he
flies along, just over the water, and oc-
casionally hovers with rapidly moving
wings over the spot where he sees a trout
or minnow. In the next instant, descend-
ing with with a quick spiral sweep, he
seizes a fish, with which he rises to his
post and swallows it in an instant. All
these proceedings were watched fre-
quently by the children, with intense
delight, as they stood concealed among
20 THE CRANBERRY MARSH.
the bushes, not daring to move for fear
of disturbing the bird.
On the other side of the brook was a
cranberry marsh, with a raised road
passing through to the pine forest, still
beyond, where the children gathered the
ground pine, and hunted for the bright
scarlet berries of the winter green.
When the children resorted to the cran-
berry marsh to obtain a supply of ber-
ries for their mother, they often saw the
beautiful meadow lark, crouching among
the reeds, or flying slowly and steadily
away, as they approached her, uttering
THE CRANBERRY MARSH.
THE MEADOW LARK.
her lisping, melancholy note, which
sounded like, "et-se-de-ah," and some-
times, "tai-sedilio." This bird was much
admired by Fanny, who was dreadfully
grieved when a neighboring sportsman
shot a number of meadow larks for the
22 THE CRANBERRY MARSH.
sake of their flesh, which is almost equal
in flavor to that of the partridge.
THE AMERICAN AVOSET.
TtIE AMERICAN AVTOSET.
In this marsh, too, the children some-
times saw that singular bird, the Avoset,
with its curious curved bill, its noisy
clamor, and its long legs, bending and
tottering under him, as he ran* about the
marsh or waded into its pools. He was
a great curiosity in his way.
Thus the cranberry marsh had its
pleasures for Frank and Fanny.
But this was not their favorite resort.
They loved best to cross the meadows in
front of the house, to a forest, where the
woods were more open, and where trees
of every variety cast their shadows upon
the green turf, and wild flowers grew
upon every hillock, and peeped out from
every mossy glade. There were little
wildernesses of honey-suckles, too, scat-
tered through the woods, and long, pale
green fern leaves, fit for a fairy to sway
to and fro upon; and there were vines
of wild grapes, with branches so strong,
that they often made swings of them.
Sometimes in their rambles in the
woods, they started a wild hare, which
they called a rabbit, who fled away from
them with long leaps, and was soon out
of sight, so that they could hardly catch
a glimpse of him in his rapid flight. But
they were always greatly excited with a
view of him, and lamented that they had
no means of catching him.
Some of Frank's school fellows, how-
ever, were more skilled in hunting.
They knew how to set snares for the
poor rabbits, and were very often suc-
cessful in catching them. By means of
an elastic branch, or sapling, bent over,
and furnished with a snare of strong
twine, they contrived to catch the poor
rabbit by the neck, and string him up
in the air, like a criminal convicted of
28 THE FOREST.
murder. It was no misfortune to Frank
to be ignorant of this hunting craft.
^ *M\.. \\
BOYS SNARING RABBITS.
Another curious animal, which the
children sometimes saw, and which may
be seen occasionally in the pastures and
pine forests, in all parts of our country,
from Maine to Carolina, was the wood-
chuck, or ground-hog, as it is some-
times called. It feeds, generally, upon
clover and other succulent vegetables,
and hence it is often injurious to the
farmer. It is said to bring forth four or
five young at a litter. Its gait is awk-
ward, and not rapid; but its extreme
vigilance, and acute sense of hearing,
prevent it from being often captured. It
forms deep and long burrows in the
earth, to which it flies upon the least
alarm. It appears to be sociable in its
habits; for upon one occasion, we noticed
some thirty or forty burrows in a field of
about five acres. These burrows contain
large excavations, in which they deposit
stores of provisions. It hybernates
during the winter, having first carefully
closed the entrance of its burrow from
within. It is susceptible of domestica-
tion, and is remarkable for its cleanly
habits. Its cheeks are susceptible of
great dilatation, and are used as recep-
tackles for the food which it thus trans-
ports to its burrow. The capture of the
woodchuck, forms one of the most excit-
ing sports of boys, and it is very easily
The woods abounded in other wild
animals, all small and harmless, but ex-
tremely interesting to the children. In
their frequent visits to the woods, it was
their delight to watch the animals and
birds, and observe their motions, habits,
and modes of life. But they were not
fond of disturbing them; and when they
deviated from their rule in this respect,
on one remarkable occasion, as we shall
now relate, it gave them occasion for
THE YOUNG CHICKADEE.
ONE Saturday afternoon, the children
found in the woods, a grape vine, larger
than any that they had before discovered.
One end clasped a decayed tree, and as
they bore their weight upon the vine, to
try its strength, they were startled by a
hoarse cry above them. Looking up,
they saw two brown birds, beating the
air with their wings, and screaming,
"tshe daigh, daigh, daigh; tshe daigh,
THE BIRD'S NEST.
daigh, daigh!" At the same time, from
amidst the green foliage which twined
about the dead tree, they heard a feeble,
plaintive cry from several little throats,
"te-derry, te-derry." Frank and Fanny
were much amused. They had never
THE BIRD'S NEST.
seen a bird's nest so low before, and they
had been forbidden to climb the trees;
but now Frank saw, that by placing one
large stone upon another, he could reach
up, so as to look into the nest. He did
so, and found there were six little birds
in it. But Fanny begged him to get
down, the poor parent birds were so dis-
tressed. So he went and stood by her,
upon the turf, where she was kneeling,
and they both watched the frighted
mother bird, as she fluttered back to her
nest. The other still flapped the air
with his wings, and by his angry notes,
THE WALK HOME.
brought another bird to the scene. This
one looked so plump and dignified,
perched upon the bough of an adjoining
tree, that Fanny guessed he was the
They became so interested in the
birds, that they forgot how rapidly the
time was passing, and it was nearly sun-
down when they started to go home.
They skipped lightly over the soft, green
grass of the meadows, stopping now and
then, to look at some curious insect, and
then walking on slowly with their arms
around each other.
FRANK AND FANNY IN THE WOODS.
FRANK AND FANNY.
Frank was very fond of his sister, sel-
dom leaving her for any other playmate.
He remembered his dying mother's
charge. She had called both children to
her bed side, before her death, and
placing Fanny's hand in Frank's, had
said, "My son, in a few hours you and
Fanny will be motherless; promise me
that you will try to fill my place; that
you will cherish and love your sister,
with all the care and tenderness of which
you are capable; and Fanny, my little
darling, you must remember mamma,
and try never to be peevish and fretful,
TIE MOTHER S INJUNCTIONS.
so that Frank will love to be with you,
and take care of you; and both of you
must always be the same good and obe-
dient children to your grand-parents,
that you have ever been;" and Frank
promised, through his sobs, that he
would never neglect his gentle little sis-
ter. He had kept his promise faithfully.
More than a year had now passed away,
and very seldom had Fanny known what
it was to have her brother cross, or un-
kind to her.
Frank was now ten years old, and
Fanny seven. In all the village, there
were not two happier, or better behaved
We will now go back to the pleasant
green meadows, where we left them on
their way home. Fanny was looking
very serious, when Frank said:
"Are you tired, sister? If you are, I
will carry you pick-a-back back."
"Oh, no, I am not one single bit tired."
"Then what makes you look so sober?"
"I was wishing that I could have one
of those little birds to love, and to take
care of always. I do think that it would
make me very happy to have a dear little
bird, that would know me, and turn his
bright, black eyes up to me, like Mary
Day's little canary. When she calls,
"Billy, Billy," he turns his yellow head,
first one side, then the other; and when
he sees her, he sings so sweetly! Oh,
couldn't you get just one of those little
birdies for me, Frank ?"
Frank looked very thoughtful for a
moment, and Fanny spoke again.
"Just one; you know there are six
"I know there are six, Fanny; but
you heard how the poor birds cried and
scolded, when I only peeped into the
nest; and if I took one away, what
would they do ?"
Fanny thought an instant, and then
"I did not have six mammas, I only
had one; and God took my mamma
away from me, and I am sure the birds
could spare me one little one, when they
have six, better than I could spare my
mamma, when I only had one."
Fanny's reasoning seemed very cor-
rect to Frank; he was not old enough to
explain the difference to her; so, promis-
ing to bring her one of the birds, he left
her, and ran back, over the meadows,
while Fanny kept on her way home, be-
cause she knew her grandmother always
expected them earlier on Saturday after-
noons. But though she made haste, it
was quite sundown when she reached
home. The snow white cloth was spread
upon the table for tea, and Sally was cut-
ting the fresh rye bread, as Fanny entered
the room. Her grandmother sat by the
little table, between the windows, and
looked up to welcome Fanny, but miss-
ing Frank, she asked where he was.
"He has gone back to the woods,
grandmother, to get" then Fanny
hesitated, for she remembered how often
she had been told, that it was wicked to
rob the bird's nest, and she had not
thought it would be stealing the bird,
until now. She felt ashamed to tell her
grandmother, and so she hurried through
the room, and went to the closet to hang
up her sun bonnet.
Pretty soon she heard the garden gate
swing to, and she ran out into the back
yard, to meet Frank, who was hurrying
along with a sober face, very different
from his usual joyous expression. He
held his cap together with both hands,
and Fanny's heart beat hard, when she
heard the feeble plaint of the poor im-
Oh, Frank, I am so sorry," were the
first words that she said, "I did not
think that it would be stealing, until I
got home, and then I was ashamed to
tell grandmother what you had gone
back for. Oh, I am so sorry."
"And so am I," said Frank; "it almost
made me cry to hear the poor birds fret
so.. When I took it away, one of them
flew close around my head, and when I
ran on to get away from it, I hit my foot
against a stone, and stumbled down, and
I am afraid I hurt the bird. All the
way across the meadow, I could hear the
old birds crying so sorrowfully, chick-
a-dee-dee-dee," and it made my heart
ache so, that I should have carried it
back, if it had not been for you."
"Oh, dear, I wish you had. It is too
late to carry it back to-night, and what
will grandmother say to us."
Supposing we don't tell her to-night,
and to-morrow morning we will get up
early, and carry it back, and then we
can tell her all about it."
"No, we can't do that, Frank, for to-
morrow is Sunday, and grandmother
does not let us go into the woods on Sun-
day; oh, what shall we do ?"
Frank now uncovered the bird, and
Fanny took it gently in her hand,
smoothed the glossy black head, and the
brown wings, but it gave her no plea-
sure, for the poor little thifig wailed piti-
fully, and looked so frightened out of its
dark hazel eyes.
All the time that they had been talk-
ing, their grandmother had been stand-
ing at the open window, close by them,
but the vines hid her from sight, and
they did not know that she was there.
When they went into the house, they did
not see her, and so they carried the bird
up stairs, into Fanny's room, and made
a nest out of soft wool, and placed the
little bird in it; but it fluttered out, and
Frank saw that one of its wings was
broken. Then he knew that he must
have broken it when he fell, and the tears
came to his eyes, as he laid it in the nest
again, and covered it over with the wool.
"Let us go and tell grandmother all
about it," said he, "for, perhaps, she
may know how to mend the broken
Just then they heard Sally calling
them to supper, and they went down
stairs, and sat down at the table. But
the bowls of new milk remained un-
touched. They felt too sad to eat, for
Fanny could hear the low plaint of the
bird, in the room above; and still louder
sounded in Frank's memory, the sad,
" chick-a-dee-dee-dee," of the mourning
"Why do you not eat your supper,
children ?" inquired their grandmother,
Fanny burst into tears, but Frank an-
I have done something very naughty,
grandmother, and we both feel too bad
to eat. We did not want to tell you to-
night, for we knew it would make you
unhappy to hear that we had done
wrpng, but we cannot keep it to our-
selves any longer.
"Frank would not have done it, if it
had not been for me, grandmother,"
52 GRANDMAMMA'S OPINION.
sobbed Fanny; "but I wanted a little
bird so badly, and I forgot that it was
wicked, and I teazed Frank to go back
to the woods, and get me one, and now I
am so sorry."
Their grandmamma looked very grave,
but she answered,
"You have done right, my children, to
tell me about it. I should have been
still more grieved if you had concealed
it from me. As it is, I feel sorry for you,
for I know how much you are both suffer-
ing for your thoughtlessness: now, try to
eat your supper, and we will take good
care of the bird to-night, and to-morrow
morning, before church, I will send Sally
with Frank, to carry it back again, for it
will be an errand of mercy to the poor
The children were very much relieved
by their grandmother's sympathy. After
supper, they brought the bird down, and
showed her the broken wing, and Frank
told how he feared he had broken it.
Sally tried to feed it, but it would not
eat; and the children felt very sad
again, when they found that the wing
could not be mended. After carefully
laying the bird, with the wool, in the
basket, Sally prepared the children for
bed. Then their grandmother read to
them a chapter from the Bible, after
which they sung, in sweet tones, this
little evening hymn, which I will copy
here, as it is such a good one, for all
little children to repeat:
"( LORD, I have passed another day,
And come to thank thee for thy care;
Forgive my faults in work and play,
And listen to my evening prayer.
Thy favor gives me daily bread,
And friends, who all my wants supply;
And safely now I rest my head,
Preserved and guarded by thine eye.
EVENING HYMN. 55
Look down in pity, and forgive
Whate'er I've said or done amiss;
And help me, every day I live,
To serve thee better than in this.
Now, while I speak, be pleased to take
A helpless child beneath thy care,
And condescend, for Jesus' sake,
To listen to my evening prayer."
Then Frank and Fanny kissed each
other 'good night,' and Frank went to
his little room, which was close to the
one where Sally slept with Fanny.
THE BIRD S FUNERAL.
THE next morning was a beautiful one.
The air seemed full of fragrance, and the
sunshine rippled down through the
leaves of the old elm tree, falling in
little golden waves of light upon the
vines, that were twined about the door-
way and casements of the cottage.
Fanny was awakened from her sleep,
by the joyous notes of a robin, that had
perched close beside her window, and
uO 1~ r*
was shaking the dew in showers from
the leaves, with every motion of his rest-
less little wings. She sprang ott upon
the floor, fancying for a moment, that it
58 FANNY'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
was her chick-a-dee, that was singing so
merrily; and she hastened to the basket,
and carefully lifted the wool. She was
grievously disappointed, for the poor bird
lay stretched upon its back, and when
she lifted it, she found it was quite cold
and dead I Her little bosom swelled,
and large tears gushed from her eyes. It
was more than she could bear, and when
Sally came into the room, a few moments
afterwards, she found her sobbing bit-
Frank was in the room below, study-
ing over his Sabbath school lesson, but
when he heard his sister crying, he
dropped his book, and hastened up to
her. Sally had told him, that the bird
was dead; and he, too, felt very badly
about it, but he could not bear to hear
his sister grieve so.
"Don't cry so, dear sister," he said,
"I will earn some money, and buy you
a Canary, like Mary Day's."
"No, no, Frank; I don't want any
more birds; and, 0, how I do wish I had
never wanted this one," and then she
cried again, as though her little heart
It was some time before she was at all
pacified, and even then, the long sighs
seemed almost to choke her.
As Sally said, she was, indeed, 'very
After breakfast, her grandmother, to
divert her mind, took her in her lap, and
read to her Bible stories, until the first
bell rang for church. Then Fanny was
dressed in a neat lawn, and her long
curls were fastened back, under her
simple straw bonnet; and taking hold
of Frank's hand, they walked to church
with their grand-parents.
Several times during the sermon,
Fanny's lips quivered, and tears started
to her eyes, but she looked at the min-
ister, and tried very hard, to forget the
little dead chick-a-dee.
After church, they staid to Sunday
school. When they went home, Fanny
asked if they might not stay at home
that afternoon, so as to go down in the
woods, and bury the bird. Her grand-
mother told her, that that would not be
right; and Fanny said very earnestly,
"Why not, grandmother? Wouldn't
that be an errand of mercy?" This
GOING TO CHURCH.
made her grandmother smile; but she
told her that the poor bird's sufferings
were now over, and that it was to shorten
them, that she had given her consent to
Frank's carrying it into the woods, on
After dinner, they all went to church
again, but Fanny was very warm and
tired; so her grandmother took off her
bonnet, and laid her head in her lap, and
she soon fell asleep. Just as the min-
ister sat down, after finishing his ser-
mon, Fanny turned restlessly, and said,
"poor, dear little birdie." The church
was so still, that though she spoke low,
she was heard all around. It made the
children smile, but Frank blushed, and
felt almost as badly as his grandmother
did. She woke Fanny up, and soon after
service was over, and they walked slowly
home again. Then Frank and herself
sang little hymns, and read their Sab-
bath school books until sundown, when
their grandmother gave them permission
to walk in the garden. They talked a
great deal about the bird. Frank said
he would make a coffin for it, and Fanny
picked mullen leaves to wrap around it.
The next morning they woke up very
early, and Frank nailed some pieces of
shingles together, and Fanny folded the
leaves about the bird, and laid it in.
Then she picked rose buds, and put them
around, and every thing was prepared
for the little bird's funeral.
But their grandmother said there was
too much dew on the grass for them to
go down through the meadows that
morning; so they borrowed a piece of
black cambric from Sally, and spread it
over the little box, which they called the
coffin; and Frank darkened the windows,
as he remembered they had done when
his mother died. Then they left the
bird alone, and went down stairs to
breakfast, after which they studied their
lessons until school time.
At school, they looked very solemn all
the forenoon. Their teacher noticed it,
and asked Fanny what was the matter.
We are going to a bird's funeral, Miss
Norton," said Fanny, "and we feel very
afflicted." The teacher had to bite her
lips to keep from smiling. Frank noticed
it, and said,
"It was Sally, Miss Norton, that put
that into Fanny's head; but we have
reason to feel badly, for if it had not
been for us, the little bird would have
been alive now."
When they had told Miss Norton about
it, she said that she did not wonder that
they should feel bad, and the children
saw that they had her sympathy also.
At noon, their grandmother thought
there would scarcely be time for them to
go down to the woods, and back, between
dinner and school time; so the funeral
was again postponed.
But after school was out in the after-
noon, the children hastened home, and
bearing the little box, still covered with
the black cambric, they walked slowly
down through the meadows, stopping
just at the edge of the woods, a few rods
from the tree that contained the nest,
from which Frank had taken the little
bird only two days before.
When they heard the notes of the
brother and sister birds, Fanny thought,
that had it not been for her, the little
one that they carried would have been
chirping as merrily as they, and this
made her cry again.
She sat down on a little mount of
grass, and watched Frank as he prepared
the grave. It was a beautiful spot. The
broad, green boughs of a noble oak
shaded them from the sun, and a placid
little brook wound along through the
long grass and brake leaves at their feet.
Tall stems of blue bells blossomed
around, and modest little daisies sprang
from the turf every where. After Frank
finished burying the bird, he heaped up
the green moss, all about it, and then
sat down beside his sister. Putting his
arm around her neck, he drew her close
2, lj 9
FRANK AND FANNY.
to him, while he clasped both of her
hands in his.
Her eyes still rested upon the little
mount of moss beneath which the bird
was buried, and the tears were still well-
ing from them.
Don't cry any more, dear Fanny," he
said; "don't cry any more, I am sure
we have both repented doing so wrong,
and we never shall forget how unhappy
it has made us. Grandmother has often
said that every thing is for the best; and
perhaps, this will make us more careful
to try to do right-so don't cry any more."
"I do try not to cry, Franky, and then
I think how sweetly the little bird would
have been singing to-day, if it had not
been for me, and how badly the papa
and mamma birds must have felt, when
you took it away, and I can't help cry-
ing. And perhaps, the little bird will
go to heaven, Frank, and it might see
our mamma, and tell her how naughty
we had been to take it from its nest, and
then she would think we were such bad
children-oh, dear;" and Fanny breathed
another long sigh.
For some time the children sat very
THE FUNERAL. 73
quietly, occupied with their own thoughts,
but at length Frank proposed that they
should gather twigs, and make a fence
around the grave. After this was com-
pleted, it looked very neat, and Frank
thought that if the birds could see it,
they would think it was a very nice little
COUNTRY AMUSEMENTS AND OCCUPATIONS.
FRANK and Fanny were permitted to
keep pigeons. They had a pigeon house
at the back of the barn, with windows
opening into the yard, which could be
entered by going up into the hay loft,
and opening a little door. Fanny often
went up there to look at the eggs, and
play with the young pigeons. Indeed,
the old ones were quite tame, and not at
all afraid of her
FANNY IN THE PIGEON HOUSE.
All the various occupations of the
neighboring farmers were observed by
these children with great attention; be-
cause they were desirous of gaining infor-
mation by their own observation. The
ploughing of the ground in the spring,
and the breaking of it up with the har-
row, to prepare it for receiving grain,
such as barley, rye, and wheat, were
operations which interested them very
much, as well as the sowing of the wheat,
and harrowing it so as to cover the seed.
Then, again, the culture of Indian
corn, or maize, was another curious ope-
ration. They saw the farmer, after
ploughing up the ground, making it into
little hillocks with his hoe; each hillock,
or hill, as he called it, received a shovel
full of manure, before the corn was
dropped in, which last operation, Frank
and Fanny sometimes. assisted their
neighbor, Farmer Baldwin, to perform.
Afterwards they saw the farmer hoe the
corn, loosening the soil round the plant,
and cutting up the weeds with his hoe.
In summer, they often enjoyed a feast of
green corn, roasted or boiled, and when
it was gathered, in autumn, they assisted
the farmer in husking it.
Farmer Baldwin's sheep were objects
of great interest to the children, and the
little lambs they very justly regarded as
types of purity and innocence. When
the season of sheep washing and shear-
ing came, they went over to the farmer's,
COUNTRY OCCUPATIONS. 81
and witnessed these amusing operations
with great delight.
FARMER BALDWIN'S DISASTER.
Very sorrowful were they when they
heard of the disaster which happened to
the good farmer's flock, by the great
snow storm. The sheep were in a pas-
ture quite distant from the village, late
in autumn, when just before night there
came up a sudden and violent storm of
snow, and Farmer Baldwin and his hired
men got the flock home with some diffi-
culty, losing several lambs in the snow.
When the season for harvesting the
grain arrived, the children's services
were sometimes required by -te farmer,
to carry the dinner to the reapers, out in
the field where they were reaping the
wheat with sickles, and binding it into
sheaves. An expedition of this kind
was quite delightful to Frank, who
always felt proud of being useful, and
never neglected an opportunity of ren-
dering good service to the farmer. His
good conduct in this respect, not only
gained him the respect and good will of
Farmer Baldwin, but it was well re-
quited, when the apples and pears were
gathered, when the potato crop came
in; and when the festive occasions of
Thanksgiving day, Christmas, and the
New Year, served to remind the worthy
farmer, that a brace of fowls, or a turkey,
might be acceptable to Frank's grand-
mother. Very light was Frank's step
when he carried the reapers their dinner.
Sometimes he was accompanied by his
sister on this useful errand, but he went
oftener alone. But before he returned
home, he made a point of picking up a
few dry sticks for kindling wood, which
he brought home on his shoulder.
..r r~rly y'^f Bpy^ IJLIVUIUVI
This was not the only service which
Frank rendered to the farmer. He often
ran of errands for him when out of
school, and the farmer was kind to him
in return. He predicted that Frank
would turn out a useful and industrious
man. He was also useful to his parents.
One of his regular occupations was to
THE HOP FIELD.
drive the cow to pasture, early every
morning, and to drive her home again in
the evening, after school was done.
Farmer Baldwin had a large hop field,
which, when the hops were in full bloom,
was a very beautiful sight. Here the
children were allowed to wander about
at pleasure, their favorite resort being
under a spreading oak in the hop field.
Here they often spent a Saturday after-
noon, reading, or making rush baskets,
or wreaths of flowers, and listening to
the sweet singing of the redstart, whose
nest was in the top of the oak. Very
sweet and plaihtive was the music of the
When the season for hop gathering
came, the children had a grand frolic, as
this kind of labor, in Which they took a
part, was a real pleasure to them. The
hops were so light and fragrant, and the
92 GATHERING IIOPS.
picking of them was such fun, and so
many men and women assisted at the
work, and the long summer day was
closed with such a grand rural entertain-
ment, when the great table was spread
in the farmer's orchard. Frank and
Fanny wished that there might be a
dozen hop picking frolics every year.
I SHOULD not omit to tell you, Mrs.
Hamilton was bringing Fanny up to be
very industrious, both with her sewing
and knitting, and Mr. Hamilton taught
Frank to weed the garden, and saw wood,
and gather chips; and the children were
as busy as bees, when at work, and as
happy as birds, when at play.
I have told you that Frank seldom
played with any one beside his sister;
but sometimes when she was busy, after
his work was done, he would cross over
a corner of the orchard, to a little brown
house that stood near by, to play with a
boy that lived there, with his mother.
Mrs. Mills was a widow; but Jack was
very rough and wild, and Frank's grand-
mother did not like to have him go there
One day Jack called to him from the
orchard, and Frank, who had just finished
his work, ran over to meet him.
"Look here," said Jack, "see what
I've got," and he held out his cap,
which was nearly half full of bird's
eggs. Frank looked at them with sur-
"You certainly couldn't have been so
wicked as to rob the birds' nests of all
those," said Frank.
"Couldn't I?" said Jack, and he gav6
a long, low whistle; "may be you never
did nothing of the kind."
"I never took eggs away from a bird
in my life," said Frank; but he held his
head down, for he thought of the little
bird he had taken only a few weeks be-
fore. So he told Jack about it, and how