MRS. HOPSEE SHOWS ME A PRAIRIE HEN'S NEST 



It was an old-fashioned vegetable 

 garden in which I saw and imagined 

 many wonderful things. 



Not the least of these strange things 

 was Mrs. Hopsee, a little round woman 

 who wore a stiff rustling brownish-green 

 gown, and who was always picking 

 hops. Her gown was so nearly the color 

 of the vines, and rustled so like the 

 leaves, that it was a long time before I 

 discovered her, although I was in the 

 garden every day. One drowsy after- 

 noon, she seemed to come so close that 

 I saw her little face, which looked very 

 much like one of the little catkins. She 

 spoke in a little rustling voice which I 

 had thought was only the sound of the 

 leaves, and she said, "1 heard a little girl 

 say that she wished to see a prairie-hen's 

 nest. Come with me and I will show 

 you one." Then she touched me and 

 it seemed as if I became as small as her- 

 self, for we went out between the pal- 

 ings of the fence, and along the edge 

 of the field till we came to a tangle of 

 weeds in the corner of the old worm- 

 fence, — and there was a shallow hole in 

 the ground lined with broken stems and 

 grass which looked as if it had been 

 thrown together to get it out of the way. 



Lying on this pile of rubbish were 

 fourteen eggs of a grayish or yellowish- 

 white, and about half as large as the 

 eggs of my old "Speckle" at home. 



One Qgg had rolled a little way from 

 the nest and I was about to replace it 

 when Mrs. Hopsee said, ''hush — sh" and 

 drew me backward to a point where we 

 could not be seen by the mother bird, 

 who was returning to her home. Then 

 the beautiful speckled creature came 

 into view, walking with a quick, jerky 

 step and turning her bright dark eyes 

 in every direction. She appeared to be 

 all brown and gray mingled, but I could 

 not be sure of the colors, because she 

 looked light while in the sunshine, and 

 darker in the shade. She espied the Qgg 

 which had rolled from the nest, and put- 

 ting her bill to the ground, she rolled 

 the egg over and over just as a boy 

 rolls a snowball until she had replaced 

 it, — then she glided onto the nest so 

 quickly that the next moment I could 

 barely distinguish her from the moving 

 shadows of the weeds. Suddenly Mrs. 

 Hopsee disappeared and I found that 

 I had only been dreaming over the des- 

 cription of a nest in the new Bird-book 

 which Uncle Wesley had given me. 



Millie Noel Long. 



IN THE ORCHARD 



The first fellow in the orchard, and the 

 most aggressive, is Mr. Bluejay. He 

 held the fort through the winter, close to 

 our neighbor's corn house, with the 

 merry jingling of sleigh-bells ; at least 

 his pipings sounded like them. Then he 

 introduced himself to every corner with 

 a rasping scrape of his own name, "Jay, 

 jay, jay!" till your ears almost rang. 

 Now, he and his less assertive mate are 



as whist as mice, 'tending the babies, I 

 suppose. In fact, Mr. Jay hardly comes 

 in sight, only now and then to raid a 

 robin's nest, if he dare. 



The orchard is a small one of apple, 

 pear, cherry and one peach tree. A 

 stately elm guards it on the side towards 

 the road, though the street is some dis- 

 tance away. The entire orchard is pro- 

 tected by a row of thickly-foliaged pine 



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