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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.