THE SINGING MOUSE
Have you ever heard of singing mice? There are such creatures, you must know, or you will not believe what my verses will tell you. Yes, indeed: it was only the other day that I heard of one that was kept in a little cage, like those used for squirrels, and sang so delightfully that her owner used to have her by his bedside to charm him to sleep. She was a wood-mouse. Wood-mice are the best singers. Whether the one about which you shall hear came from the woods or not, I cannot say; nor how she happened to be in my friend C.'s house: but there she certainly was; and this is the story of what she did there. I call it,
SERENADE
A certain friend William I have, who's so nice,
He's charming to every one,—even to mice.
You ask how I know it? Well, listen: I'll tell
Of something which proves it, that lately befell.
One night, when young William was snugly in bed,
A very queer notion came into his head.
He woke from his slumbers, quite sure that he heard
The musical warbling of some little bird.
He listened a moment: all silent, and then
The sweet little songster was singing again.
A lamp, dimly burning, gave light in the room:
Will raised his head softly, and peered through the gloom.
The door was wide open; and there, on the sill
(It's true, on my word: let them doubt it who will),
A mite of a mousie sat singing away
As sweetly as bobolink on a June day.
Erect on her haunches, her head in the air;
That Pussy might catch her she seemed not to care,
But sang till her sweet serenade was quite done;
Then ran away swiftly as mousie could run.
Now, said I not truly, that Willy's so nice,
He's charming to every one,—even to mice?
S. C. R.
OUR PONY
We have a pony whose name is Duke. He was very skittish when we first had him. There are four of us children who ride him,—Mamie, Winnie, Arthur, and myself. We have another little sister, Florence; but she is not old enough to ride, being only five years old.
Winnie is a nice little rider. Duke was Mamie's birthday present. We were all very much pleased when he came. We danced round him, and clapped our hands. Mamma wanted to surprise us: so, while we were at dinner, she had the pony brought up and put in the barn.
After dinner we went out to play; and Winnie saw the whip and the saddles, and then she suspected something. So she began looking around in the stalls. There she found the pony, and then came running in to mamma to ask if it was really ours. Mamma said, Yes.
Then we were very much pleased, and said we would ride him. Winnie rode him up to the house first; then Mamie wanted to ride, so she got on the boys' saddle. Duke would not stand still for her; and, when she got on, he went galloping down to the barn. Her hat flew off, and she was very much frightened. She kept calling out, "Stop him!" but he would not stop until he reached the barn. Duke was frightened too, because we shouted at him.
Mamie is thirteen, but is more afraid to ride than Winnie, who is only seven. Mamie asks if boys always ride better than girls. I say, "No! Look at Winnie." Once we tied Duke to the swing; and then he got his nose pulled by getting the rope twisted round it. Sometimes we have a good frolic with him in the pasture. He never kicks us.
Mamie loves to feed Duke; but she wants Arthur to hold him carefully by the bridle while she does it. As for Winnie, she loves to gallop over the hills and far away. Sometimes she lets me ride behind her. Duke seems to love the bold Winnie, and will do whatever she tells him to.
Tilden.