BESIDE THE SEA

One hot August day Phyllis went to the seashore to live.

"Such fun," she cried, as the train drew up at the seaside station. "Such fun as I shall have playing in the sand and wading in the water."

It was not half an hour before she was running along the beach beside the cliffs. Her feet were bare, and she wriggled her toes in the sand and splashed into the puddles of water.

Presently she saw a number of little birds running along the beach and flying over the water.

"How swiftly they fly, and how well they dive," she said. "How easily they swim, and they sometimes settle on the waves and rest. I wish they would come nearer!"

"I will tell you about them," said a solemn voice near by. Phyllis stumbled in her surprise and splashed the water into her eyes. When she could see again, a great blue heron was standing near.

"Oh!" cried Phyllis, a bit frightened. "It is strange that I did not see you. Yes, do tell me about the little sea-bird—and about yourself also!"

So the blue heron drew his head down between his shoulders, and, standing on one leg, told Phyllis what he knew of the little sea-doves.

"That little bird with brown back and white breast loves the sea," said the heron. "He is never tired of the blue waves.

"In stormy weather the little sea-dove is most happy, because it is then that the waves are laden with small fish and crabs. During stormy weather the little fisherman grows fat.

"Watch them as they fly. Do you see how they are constantly dipping their bills into the water? That is their way of fishing.

"The sea-doves' nests are among the cliffs. In them they lay just two bluish-white little eggs.

"Sometimes, when the winds are very strong, the sea-doves are blown far inland. Sometimes they find their way back to the sea. But there are other times when they do not return."

"And where is your own nest, O Great Blue Heron?" asked Phyllis, half laughing at the queer, long-legged bird.

"It is over yonder on a rock," said the heron. "There are now four dull blue-green eggs in the nest.

"Soon there will be four ugly, helpless birdlings, who will sit up and cry for food. It will be at least three weeks after they are hatched before they will try to wade out into these flat sea-marshes. I shall have to let no fish escape me, if I do not wish the fledglings to starve."

"You do not think your babies pretty?" asked Phyllis.

"No," said the heron, truthfully, "they are not even so good-looking as other birds' babies. But that I do not mind, for will they not some day be as beautiful as I myself?"

"Yes," said Phyllis, "I have seen your picture many a time. In mother's room is a large screen and on it is your likeness embroidered in silks. The long green grasses are growing about you in the picture. One foot is drawn up and your head is drawn down between your shoulders just as it now is."

"That is the way to rest," said the heron.

"What were you doing here?" Phyllis asked, wading a little closer to the long-legged bird.

"I was fishing," said the great blue heron. "It is the one thing I delight in. From morning till night—"

"My brother Jack—" began Phyllis, but the bird paid no attention.

"I sometimes stand here perfectly still for hours. I wait patiently for the fish or the frogs to appear.

"Then I strike suddenly with my strong, sharp bill. I snap up the fish or frog and give it a knock or two to kill it.

"Then I eat it. If it is a fish I swallow it, head first, so that the scales shall not scratch my throat.

"But see, Phyllis, the sun has set, and I have not yet had my supper. I really must leave you!"

Then the great blue heron rose slowly and silently and circled away over the flat sea-marshes. Barefooted Phyllis scampered back to the little seaside cottage, where a fish supper was awaiting her.

SEA-PIGEONS

It was very early in the spring. The sun rose, stayed for only a moment above the horizon, and then sank again from the sight of Eskimo children.

But already huge icebergs broke from the shore and floated out to sea. Already the icy winds hurried away farther north. Already a few of the bravest birds were returning for the summer season.

It happened that a whole family of Eskimo children ran shouting and laughing along the top of a cliff which overhung the sea.

The older ones cared for the little ones. All were as happy and thoughtless as children could be. In their glee they took off their boots and ran with bare feet.

Now below the cliff on the ice waited some Eskimo hunters. They watched the huge cakes of ice farther out break off and float away. They knew that soon the ice nearer shore would crack and float off in the same manner.

They knew also that when the shore ice cracked the seals would rise and push their noses out of the water for air.

The hunters, therefore, sat for hours upon their three-legged stools, waiting with ever-ready spears.

The children, not seeing the hunters, ran more noisily among the high rocks of the cliff.

At last with a booming sound the ice cracked and spread apart. The water gushed up and spread lightly over the ice. The hunters waited breathlessly.

It was but a moment before the brown nose of a seal appeared. The hunters lifted their spears to strike. But at that instant came a wilder shout from the children and the brown nose of the seal disappeared.

"Oh," cried the hunter, angrily, "I wish the cliff would topple over on those noisy children!"

Hardly were the words spoken when with a great clash the cliff did topple over. As the falling stones rattled about him the hunter heard the shrieks of the children.

Neither the hunters nor the children were ever again seen in the village. But the next day some birds with pink wet feet ran about among the stones at the foot of the cliffs. As they ran they made strange cries which sounded half like children's laughter.

"Listen," say the Eskimo people, when they hear the sea-pigeons cry, "Listen to the voices of the little children who shouted so loud that they frightened away the seals!"

"Look!" cry the Eskimo children, when they see the pink feet of the sea-pigeons, "those are the cold, bare little feet of the Eskimo children who ran and shouted on the cliffs above!"

THE SANDPIPER[1]

Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I;
And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,—
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,—
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery;
He has no thought of any wrong;
He scans me with a fearless eye.
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

—Mrs. Thaxter.

[1] Used by permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

THE CIRCLING OF CRANES

One autumn day ages and ages ago, the cranes were preparing to go south. Cranes always dreaded the cold and flew away to the summer-land at the first glitter of the frost.

The crane leader had a loud, hoarse voice, and he called and called to his flock to hurry. The cranes came from all directions at the call of their leader. The father and mother cranes came. The old cranes came and the young cranes came. Even the babies, whose feathers were scarce grown, came flying at the call of the leader.

All the cranes were happy, for they were going to the summer-land. They were glad to go, for already the frost jewels sparkled on the brown grasses and the cold winds were beginning to blow.

"Come! come!" cried the crane leader, and his voice was hoarse with shouting. "Come! It is full time we were off!"

Young and old spread their wings for flight. They waited a moment for their leader to take his place. As they waited the cranes glanced down to the cold, bare country which they were about to leave.

Thus looking down, the cranes saw a beautiful maiden standing alone at the edge of the village.

"How lovely she is!" said the crane leader. "And how lonely she seems!"

"How thin her dress is!" said another crane.

"See, she is weeping!" cried a third. Just at that moment the maiden looked up and saw the flock of cranes above her.

"Oh," she cried, "you are going to the summer-land. I wish I had wings. I would fly away with you!

"Alas! in this cold, cheerless Northland I shall starve and freeze. I have no home. I have no friends.

"There is no oil in my stone stove! There is no meat in my kettle. What shall I do when the thick snow flies and the winter winds cut like knives?"

The crane leader looked down at the beautiful maiden in pity. The whole flock, young and old, were filled with a wish to help the girl. It was very sad, they said, that one so young and lovely should ever be cold or hungry or unhappy.

"Let us carry the maiden with us to the summer-land!" whispered a young crane.

"Yes, let us take her to the land of ever-lasting summer," begged an old crane.

"There she might gather food from the grain-fields. She might pick berries by the roadside. She might drink from the clear, cool brooks that run to the sea," said the leader.

Following their leader, the whole flock swept down to the earth. They gathered about the lovely, lonely maiden.

They lifted her on their widespread wings and bore her up into the air.

The maiden's long dark hair floated out like a cloud. She smiled happily as the cranes with one voice told her of the summer-land to which they would carry her.

With wings outspread, that she might not fall, the cranes bore the maiden away. Day and night, night and day, they carried her and never seemed to tire.

And the maiden had no fear. She laughed in sheer happiness when they told her again and again of the beautiful country to which they journeyed.

For into that land, the cranes told her, neither cold nor hunger came. They would show her the richest grain-fields. They would tell her where the sweetest berries grew. They would show her wondrous blossoms which grew for her in the distant summer-land.

The beautiful maiden was never again seen in the cold, dreary Northland, for to this day she wanders beside the sweet-voiced streams in the far-off summer-land.

But season by season the cranes, with wide-spread wings and hoarse cries, return to the Northland at nesting-time.

There they remain through the short sunny summer, but when the first snowflakes flutter through the air the cranes prepare to fly away.

And even to this day they circle about on widespread wings as though they again carried the beautiful maiden.

Even to this day the cranes, young and old, shout so loudly the praises of the summer-land that their voices are hoarse and harsh.

ALL ABOUT THE GREAT BLUE HERON OR BLUE CRANE

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Usually resident throughout the year. Lives in marshy, swampy places.

Head and throat white, with long black crest.—Very long neck covered with light gray feathers—darker on chest—back, ashy gray—darker wings—a touch of red on bend of wings and legs.

Long legs, which are black.

Long bill, which is yellow, sharp, and strong.

Food—mostly fish, frogs, and small reptiles. Feeds near sunset.

Nest very simple—sometimes directly on ground or rocks—at other times a rickety platform of sticks.

Eggs blue-green—four in number—young helpless for at least three weeks after hatching.

ALL ABOUT THE SEA-DOVE

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Goes far north in nesting season. Found in Illinois swamps, and as far north as Greenland.

Small bird with entire upper parts almost black—under parts white—wings tipped with white, bill black—feet pale red—toes webbed.

Food obtained from the waves—flies swiftly and dives well—walks on land better than most water-birds.

Lays but two bluish-white eggs.

THE END.