A BACK-YARD CLASS. 



The Farnum 's back-yard was some 

 thing disagreeable. Still it didn't mat 

 ter much, thought the children, as lone 

 as the front yard was nicely kept and 

 there was a high fence all around the 

 back. Besides, Mr. Farnum was away 

 from home traveling all the week ; Mrs. 

 Farnum was so busy that she hardly ever 

 saw the disreputable yard, and the chil 

 dren, Rob, Lora and Baby Jim, liked best 

 to play away from home. 



At last it dawned on the .mother's mind 

 that they were hardly ever at home ex 

 cept to eat and to sleep and to get ready 

 to go away again and she began to worry 

 about it and wonder what she should do. 

 That very day Rob came running in 

 to show a bug which he had in a bottle. 

 It was such a queer looking specimen 

 that all became interested in it at once. 

 "I'll keep it till papa comes back, he'll 

 be sure to know !" exclaimed Rob 

 proudly. 



"But this is only Tuesday, my boy. 

 You can't keep it in that bottle all the 

 week without food or drink. It must 

 not^be left to starve," Mrs. Farnum re 

 plied. 



"We'll find it something to eat," cried 

 the children, and off they ran. 



But this was not such an easy matter. 

 Mr. Bug would not touch any of the 

 back-yard "vegetables," as Rob called 

 the variety of weeds that clung to the rot 

 ten fence boards or matted the ground of 

 the large garden. In spite of their ef 

 forts the bug stuck to the corner of the 

 bottle and refused to be comforted, with 

 food, at least. At last, in despair, Rob 

 ran to the drug store and asked what he 

 could give the bug to "make it die a 

 peaceful death." 



"Just put a layer of pyrethrum in the 

 bottom of your bottle," answered the 

 druggist, "keep it corked tight, and you 

 can make every bug in your yard die 

 happy. Pyrethum is a powder that is 

 harmless to people (though of course you 

 must not eat it), but the least smell of it 

 kills insects." 



Rob went home delighted. "I'll make 

 a collection of bugs, as Sam Ward does 

 of butterflies," he declared. 



"I'd help you if it wasn't for those hor 

 rid spiders," said Lora. "I'm afraid as 

 death of them ever since I read about a 

 baby dying from a spider-bite." 



"Pshaw ! Only a few spiders are pois 

 onous, that is, I think so. Let's get a 

 library book about them and find out ; 

 then may be we'll have a spider collection. 1 

 too," answered the practical brother. 



While Rob was getting his bottles 

 ready in which to "electrocute" the bugs 

 and Lora was going to the library after 

 the books, Mrs. Farnum was rummaging 

 in the attic. At last she came down 

 bearing triumphantly aloft a big old- 

 fashioned work-box. 



"This you may have for a specimen 

 case," she said. "If you'll fit some little- 

 drawers in it, Rob, I'll line them with 

 scraps of velvet and have a glass top put 

 on." 



The children set to work at once, and 

 in vain the neighbors' children whistled 

 for them on the other side of the high 

 board fence. Lora took the hammock 

 from the front lawn to swing beneath the 

 old apple tree. But the tall weeds 

 reached up to the hammock, so Rob had 

 to go for the old scythe rusting in the 

 fence corner and Baby Jim came drag 

 ging a hoe with which to cut them down. 

 Soon they had a large space cleared un 

 der and around the apple trees, and when 

 it was carefully raked and swept they ran 

 in to beg their mother for some porch 

 chairs for their "summer parlor." 



Then Rob made for himself a camp- 

 stool that he could carry around and 

 plant among the bushes where he would 

 sit watching for certain bugs to appear 

 and trying to catch them in his bottle. 

 Such patience as it took at first ! And 

 how little Rob had of it ! But Lora read 

 lon^, interesting chapters to him out of 

 "The Insect World," and the specimen 

 case grew so fast and became so fasci 

 nating that he found the patience quite 

 worth while. 



Whatever Rob did, of course, Baby 

 Jim wanted to do. 



"The ant-hill's mine ! I 'scoverecl it !" 

 he announced at supper one evening. 

 "I'll make a fence wound it to keep the 



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