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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, NOVEMBER 16, 1862.
HETTY'S I'BOBLEH.
“Three and five are eight, and two is a
two,” she said. “That’s every single cent
I’ve got, and I’m sure I can’t get up much
of a supper with that.”
A troubled little woman of business was
Hetty. 8he had come into town in the
morning with papa; mamma and the boys
were to come by the late train. They had
expected to board for a few days until their
house could be got ready; but the house
proved to be much better furnished than
they had supposed, and one dinner at
the boarding-house was as much as the
father cared for.
“ We will go to housekeeping right away,
little woman,” he said gaily to Hetty as
they roamed through the cottage after din
ner. “ I guess you can pucker something
together for supper, and mamma will be
more comfortable here, I am sure.”
So they bad been at work all the long,
bright afternoon, brushiug, dusting, filling
water-pitchers, doinga hundred other things,
and now papa was gone to order coal, and to
stop at the market and the baker's, and then
to go to the train, and little Hetty was to
have supper ready by the time they all re
turned. She had poured all her money out
of her pocket-book and counted it out, first
on her fingers and then on her slate, and she
couldn't make but twenty-eight cents of it;
she had forgotten to get auy money of papa.
She felt very doleful—nothing but baker's
sour bread and not very good butter. What
could be bought with twenty-eight cents?
‘'Homesick?” said a voice at her elbow,
and the girl whom she took to be her next-
door neighbor, and whom she didn't like be
cause she had freckles and a turned-up nose,
and wore an ugly calico dress, sat down in
the doorway. She had a pleasant voice, and
chatted away so cheerily that Hetty found
herself telling how much she would like to
get a nice tea for mamma, and how sure she
was that she couldn’t do it with so little
money.
“Twenty-eight cents will do lots," said
the girl with the freckles. “ You ought to
get the necessary things first. Have you
milk?”
“Oh, no I” said Hetty with a little start.
" I forgot all about milk.”
“There's a milk-man yelling at the next
corner,” said the visitor. “Give me your
pitcher and I’ll run and get you some milk.
It is eight cents a quart.” So Hetty counted
out eight pennies and away she ran.
“Suppose you have batter cakes for sup
per,” she said, when they were discussing
the matter again.”
“I don’t know how to make them," raid
Hetty dolefully.
“ I do, they’re easy. Have you flour ?”
Hetty nodded. “A sack full. Papa got it
with sugar and tea and things.”
“ I suppose you haven't any sour milk;
but I have; I could lend you a cupful. The
next thing would be eggs. You mfkit get
half a dozen at the grocery just around the
corner.” She had such a brisk, cherry
voice, and was so eager to help and scemc^^j^iigsted
to know so well what to do, that Hett™ CWnulance
ing out right under the window, “Straw'
berries 1 only twelve cents a quart!”
"Oh,delightful!” said Hetty. “Mother
will like some so much." And twelve cents
were counted out. The eggs had taken six,
so there were just two cents left; but the
supper was ready.
Hetty looked dismayed over the baking,
the moment she tried the first one and it
acted as though it was bewitched. But the
girl with freckles said: “Never mind ; they
do act mean, sometimes, especially if you
aren’t used to ’em. Now I bake ours every
morning. I’ll do them, and you can carry
them in, piping hot.”
“ You’re a witch!’’ said papa, taking his
seventh cake; “ how do you manage? Have
you a machine out in the-kitchen that grinds
them out?”
Hetty laughed gleefully. “ Yes, sir,” she
said, “ I have; and it has freckles and a
turned-up nose, and is perfectly splendid,
know I shall love her dearly ; I do now; and
this very afternoon I thought I should never
like her a bit.”
The girl with freckles went Dome soon, af
ter the cakes were baked, and her mother
said to her: “Jane Briggs, what a queer girl
you are! as tired as you were, to go out to
the neighbors—strange ones at that—and
work for them over a hot stove till your
cheeks are as red as beets!”
Jane laughed, good-natured still. “ It
wasn’t bard work,” she said, “and the house
keeper is such a little thing, and looked so
lonesome. I thought maybe she was one of
the little ones that the Lord Jesus told us to
help, you know ; so I thought I’d try it."
“You are a queer girl!" said her mother.
And I think she was.
sing very well. Would you like to know
where they live? Get your map of Asia
and find the Himalaya Mountains, and then
look for Cape Comorin. This bird is found
throughout the whole district between, and
extends into the Burmese country, being
also found in the island of Ceylon, and in
the peninsula of Malacca.
The prevailing colors in the family are
rusty-red and green, softened and shaded by
ashy or dusky tints, and enlivened by white.
A number of different speciesof these Wren-
Warblers, build pretty and ingenious nests,
but none of them possess the art in such
perfection as does our Tailor-bird. India, as
you remember, is a country where the cotton
plant grows abundantly, so that there is no
difficulty in finding a soft and delicate ma
terial for the purpose ; but the bird does not
depend on cotton alone but uses as necessity
may require, wool, cocoa-nut fibre, and oth
er soft and downy materials. A pocket is
made in which the nest of the Tailor-bird is
so artfully concealed as to render it difficult
to find even after it baa once been seen dis
tinctly. Sometimes, when a large leaf can
be found, its two edges are fastened together
to form the pocket, but usually two leaves
are used as shown in the engraving. Occa
sionally, where the leaves are narrow, as in
the Oleander, as many as a dozen have been
found thus employed. If the bird can find
thread ready made, it does not fail to use it.
In case of necessity, it is however, able to
pluck cotton from the bush, and to spin it
into thread for itself—a most astonishing
fact, when we remember that its only tools
are its feet and its bill. How it can draw
out the cotton, and twist it, so as to secure
the proper degree of strength, is a marvel
MOTHERLESS JENNY.
THE INDIAN TA1L0K-BIKD.
THE INDIAN TAILOU-mitD.
(ORTHOTOMUS L0NG1CAUDA.)
found herself following directions, and was
presently in the kitchen bending over her
batter cakes. They behaved beautifully.
The soda gurgled and bubbled and foamed
the milk fairly over the sides of the bowl,
and the eggs made tho whole mass a lovely
cream-yellow.
In the midst of their work came a boy call
Here is a picture of the Indian Tailor-
Bird. It is one of a numerous group of spe*
cies, some of which are exceedingly small,
light and delicate, weighing very little more
than a nice kid glove. They vary from three
and a half to six and a half inches in length,
the latter taping the size of the bird here
represented/ This is a male bird, and with
its long tail, is about the length of our com
mon Song Sparrow. Tho feathers in the tail
of the female are not lengthened, so that
she is’ no larger than our common House-
Wren, which sings so delightfully for us
every season. The Tailor-Birds are not dis
tinguished as musicians, the voice in most
of thespecies being nothing but an oft re
peated chirp. They are said to utter, occa
sionally, melodious notes, but this is not
their usual habit, they being, apparently,
too busy in search of food, to spend time in
song. They are active, restless, little creat
ures, hopping and creeping about on low
plants, and frequenting orchards, prefering
districts where they can find an
lance of small insects. They are known
as When Warblers on account of their
habits. Like the Wrens they delight in tip
ping up their tails when they are pleased or
excited. We all know when a dog is glad
by the wagging of his tail, and we know it
iu these birds the same way. It is their way
of laughing. Merry and happy little things
they are too, if they do not know how to
which increases our wonder the more we
understand the nature of the labor required
But this is not all. This sewing bird pos
sesses the intelligence to perceive that its
work would come apart if it were not well
fastened. Itcomprehends the necessity of a
knot and straightway makes one. This seems
to me the most astonishing part of the whole
performance. With all our endowment of
sense, probably not one of us, when we first
began to sew, thought about a knot, and
when the idea was given us, we did not know
how to make one until we were shown. Who
teaches the Tailor-bird? With its sharp,
long, and slender bill, it pierces holes in the
leaves, and then passes the thread not only
through these holes, but through enough of
the mass of cotton to hold the nest in its
place. It then becomes a question which is
made first, the pocket or the nest, since the
cotton could not be sewed in fast with the
leaves if it were not there to sew.
A mass of white cotton would be a conspic
uous object, and the purpose of a covering
of green leaves may be as much for conceal
ment as for support, though doubtless both
are intended.
These nests are built at all seasons of the
year, from May to November, and are placed
low down, on many different kinds of bush
es and trees. Occasionally, they are built in
the Guava,and sometimes in the Mango trees,
both of these being valuable fruits cultivat
ed in India.—Grace Anno Lewit, in Scattered
Seedt.
Send for the Soctuern World.
“Well, what do you think of our little
girl, Eben?”
Mrs. Rnthford asked the question just
as they were through dinner, and Jenny had
been excused from the table. They had
brought her to their pleasant home a month
before on probation, with a view of keeping
her as their own.
Eben laid down his knife and fork, pushed
back his plate, and looking through the open
door to catch afelimpse of pink gingham flit
ting around the corner, answered slowly:—
“Hike her right well; think, if you’re
suited, we’d best keep her. She is bright
and willing and truthful.”
“And a quiet little thing,” put in his wife.
“Yes; don’t know but I'd as lief she
would’nt be so quiet though; -I'll tell you
Sarah, I’m sortof longing fora child’slaugb,
rippling out at anything or nothing. I’d
like to see her dance about, and singing to
herself, chattering like a magpie, and all
that sort of thing. I’ve tried to please her.
I’ve told her stories, and taken her round on
the farm with me, and let her ride on Char
lie's back to the brook; and she likes it all
in a quiet sort of way. But she don’t seem
downright happy and merry, as it is a child’s
right to be.”
“Oh, well, I guess she’s contented enough;
plenty to eat and wear, and kindly treated.
I'd rather she'd be quiet than like Mrs.
Kerr’s little Neely over the way, climbing
trees and riding fences, and singing and
shouting from morning till night.”
Meantime, Jenny was sitting on a rock by
the brook, laving her bare, white feet, and
saying to herself:
“Now, if I thought she’d care anything
about them, I'd gather her some of those
blue flowers—they’re beauties,” looking at
the clusters of the iris. “ I’d as lief wade in
as not. But I suppose she’d say, ‘Yes, yes,
child very pretty, don’t clutter the floor
with them,’ and keep on tying up her cur
tains or 'ranging herclosets. Mamnm always
liked them so much. Oh, mammal” and
the little figure lay prone on the grass,
trembling and sobbipg.
“Mammal—0, mamma, I want you!
She’s kind to me, but there's nobody like
mamma.”
“Poor child! Poor child!"
It was Eben’s voice, but tender and gentle.
His strong arms lifted the quivering fords,
and laid her head,on his shoulder.
“ There, there, dear—don’t cry. Want to
go to the mill with me ? You shall have the
reins yourself, and drive, if you like.”
A few words from Eben that night set
Sarah thinking; and the new thoughts that
came to her were strengthened next day in a
neighbor's kitchen. She had "run in of an
errand," and found “Aunt Martha,” as she
was called in the neighbor parlance, making
pies. She stood by her moulding board,
with sleeves rolled up, and wide gingham
apron on, the picture of a healthy, hearty,
blithe old lady. Half a dozen pies, wi th rich
golden centres, stood by her side. Half a
dozen apple-pies were already browning in
the oven. She had a little crust left. She
rolled it out, spread it in a couple of saucers,
filled the centres round and plump with the
juicy sliced apples, and daintily trimmed
the edges.
“Do you make saucer-pies, auntie?” asked
Mrs. Ruthford in some surprise.
“Yes—every baking. Why not?” said
auntie.
Well, when the children are not at home
to eat them it seems hardly worth while. It
is easier to put all in one large pie, and tastes
just the same, you know."
“Oh, fea; but some child i
pen along of an errand or
saucer-pie is a great thing to-»*cb£
made them about every fortnight for fifteen
years, and always found use for them; It
more than pays for the work to see the little
folksso pleased. You know, dear,” the
old lady added gently, “the time that trifles
give great pleasure is so short, It passes by
before we are aware. Sometimes I think it
is only childhood that is content with daily
bread."
I’ll make a saucer-pie for Jebny next
time I bake," said Mrs. Ruthford to her
self, as she went home. "8trange l never
thought of it before. I’ll—let m6 See—I’ll
dress her dolly for her. It’s quite shabby.
And I'll keep her with me more; and tell
her stories at bedtime. May be it ie just the
little things mothers do that she wants to
chirk her up.”
The next morning Mrs. Rttthtord con
cluded it was time to have some pieS, and
she went to work with a will; When tho
baking was done, a dainty saucer-pie, sugar
ed on top, and plump with ripb, sweet ber
ries, stood on the dresser.