The Louisa Alcott Reader Part 7

"I wonder if the shoes will let me stop and rest; it is so cool here, and I'm so tired," said Kitty, as she came to a cosey nook at the foot of a tree.

The words were hardly out of her mouth when her feet folded under her, and there she sat on a cus.h.i.+on of moss, like the queen of the wood on her throne. Something lighted with a b.u.mp close by her; and looking down she saw a large black cricket with a stiff tail, staring at her curiously.

"Bless my heart! I thought you were some relation of my cousin Gra.s.shopper's. You came down the hill with long leaps just like him; so I stopped to say, How d' ye do," said the cricket, in its creaky voice.

"I'm not a gra.s.shopper; but I have on fairy shoes to-day, and so do many things that I never did before," answered Kitty, much surprised to be able to understand what the cricket said.

"It is midsummer day, and fairies can play whatever pranks they like.

If you didn't have those shoes on, you couldn't understand what I say.

Hark, and hear those squirrels talk, and the birds, and the ants down here. Make the most of this chance; for at sunset your shoes will stop skipping, and the fun all be over."

While the cricket talked Kitty did hear all sorts of little voices, singing, laughing, chatting in the gayest way, and understood every word they said. The squirrels called to one another as they raced about,--

"Here's a nut, there's a nut; Hide it quick away, In a hole, under leaves, To eat some winter day.

Acorns sweet are plenty, We will have them all: Skip and scamper lively Till the last ones fall."

The birds were singing softly,--

"Rock a bye, babies, Your cradle hangs high; Soft down your pillow, Your curtain the sky.

Father will feed you, While mother will sing, And shelter our darlings With her warm wing."

And the ants were saying to one another as they hurried in and out of their little houses,--

"Work, neighbor, work!

Do not stop to play; Wander far and wide, Gather all you may.

We are never like Idle b.u.t.terflies, But like the busy bees, Industrious and wise."

"Ants always were dreadfully good, but b.u.t.terflies are ever so much prettier," said Kitty, listening to the little voices with wonder and pleasure.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!

Come down below,-- It's lovely and cool Out here in the pool; On a lily-pad float For a nice green boat.

Here we sit and sing In a pleasant ring; Or leap frog play, In the jolliest way.

Our games have begun, Come join in the fun."

"Dear me! what could I do over there in the mud with the queer green frogs?" laughed Kitty, as this song was croaked at her.

"No, no, come and fly Through the sunny sky, Or honey sip From the rose's lip, Or dance in the air, Like spirits fair.

Come away, come away; 'Tis our holiday."

A cloud of lovely yellow b.u.t.terflies flew up from a wild-rose bush, and went dancing away higher and higher, till they vanished in the light beyond the wood.

"That is better than leap-frog. I wish my skipping shoes would let me fly up somewhere, instead of carrying me on errands and where I ought to go all the time," said Kitty, watching the pretty things glitter as they flew.

Just at that minute a clock struck, and away went the shoes over the pool, the hill, the road, till they pranced in at the gate as the tea-bell rang. Kitty amused the family by telling what she had done and seen; but no one believed the Fairyland part, and her father said, laughing,--

"Go on, my dear, making up little stories, and by and by you may be as famous as Hans Christian Andersen, whose books you like so well."

"The sun will soon set, and then my fun will be over; so I must skip while I can," thought Kitty, and went waltzing round the lawn so prettily that all the family came to see her.

"She dances so well that she shall go to dancing-school," said her mother, pleased with the pretty antics of her little girl.

Kitty was delighted to hear that; for she had longed to go, and went on skipping as hard as she could, that she might learn some of the graceful steps the shoes took before the day was done.

"Come, dear, stop now, and run up to your bath and bed. It has been a long hot day, and you are tired; so get to sleep early, for Nursey wants to go out," said her mother, as the sun went down behind the hills with a last bright glimmer, like the wink of a great sleepy eye.

"Oh, please, a few minutes more," began Kitty, but was off like a flash; for the shoes trotted her upstairs so fast that she ran against old Nursey, and down she went, splas.h.i.+ng the water all over the floor, and scolding in such a funny way that it made Kitty laugh so that she could hardly pick her up again.

By the time she was ready to undress the sun was quite gone, and the shoes she took off were common ones again, for midsummer day was over.

But Kitty never forgot the little lessons she had learned: she tried to run willingly when spoken to; she remembered the pretty steps and danced like a fairy; and best of all, she always loved the innocent and interesting little creatures in the woods and fields, and whenever she was told she might go to play with them, she hurried away almost as quickly as if she still wore the skipping shoes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: So c.o.c.ky was brought in, and petted.]

V.

c.o.c.kYLOO.

In the barnyard a gray hen sat on her nest, feeling very happy because it was time for her eggs to hatch, and she hoped to have a fine brood of chickens. Presently crack, crack, went the sh.e.l.ls, "Peep, peep!" cried the chicks; "Cluck, cluck!" called the hen; and out came ten downy little things one after the other, all ready to run and eat and scratch,--for chickens are not like babies, and don't have to be tended at all.

There were eight little hens and two little c.o.c.kerels, one black and one as white as snow, with yellow legs, bright eyes, and a tiny red comb on his head. This was c.o.c.kyloo, the good chick; but the black one was named Peck, and was a quarrelsome bad fowl, as we shall see.

Mrs. Partlet, the mamma, was very proud of her fine family; for the eight little daughters were all white and very pretty. She led them out into the farmyard, clucking and scratching busily; for all were hungry, and ran chirping round her to pick up the worms and seeds she found for them. c.o.c.ky soon began to help take care of his sisters; and when a nice corn or a fat bug was found, he would step back and let little Downy or s...o...b..ll have it. But Peck would run and push them away, and gobble up the food greedily. He chased them away from the pan where the meal was, and picked the down off their necks if they tried to get their share.

His mother scolded him when the little ones ran to hide under her wings; but he didn't care, and was very naughty. c.o.c.ky began to crow when he was very young, and had such a fine voice that people liked to hear his loud, clear "c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!" early in the morning; for he woke before the sun was up, and began his song. Peck used to grumble at being roused at dawn, for he was lazy; but the hens bustled up, and were glad to get out of the hen-house.

The father c.o.c.k had been killed by a dog; so they made c.o.c.ky king of the farmyard, and Peck was very jealous of him.

"I came out of the sh.e.l.l first, and I am the oldest; so I ought to be king," he said.

"But we don't like you, because you are selfish, cross, and lazy. We want c.o.c.ky; he is so lively, kind, and brave. He will make a splendid bird, and _he_ must be our king," answered the hens; and Peck had to mind, or they would have pulled every feather out of his little tail.

He resolved to do some harm to his good brother, and plagued him all he could. One day, when c.o.c.ky was swinging with three of his sisters on a bush that hung over the brook, Peck asked a stupid donkey feeding near to come and put his heavy foot on the bush. He did it, and crack went the branch, splash went the poor chicks into the water, and all were drowned but c.o.c.ky, who flew across and was saved. Poor little Hop, Chirp, and Downy went floating down the brook like b.a.l.l.s of white foam, and were never seen again. All the hens mourned for them, and put a black feather in their heads to show how sorry they were. Mamma Partlet was heart-broken to lose three darlings at once; but c.o.c.ky comforted her, and never told how it happened, because he was ashamed to have people know what a bad bird Peck was.

A b.u.t.terfly saw it all, and he told Granny c.o.c.kletop about it; and the hens were so angry that they turned Peck out of the barnyard, and he had to go and live in the woods alone. He said he didn't care; but he did, and was very unhappy, and used to go and peep into the pleasant field where the fowls scratched and talked together. He dared not show himself, for they would have driven him out. But kind c.o.c.ky saw him, and would run with some nice bit and creep through the fence into the wood, saying,--"Poor brother, I'm sorry for you, and I'll come and play with you, and tell you the news."

Now in this wood lived a fox, and he had been planning to eat Peck as soon as he was fat; for he missed the good corn and meal he used to have, and grew very thin living on gra.s.shoppers and berries. While he waited the sly fellow made friends with Peck, though the bird knew that foxes ate hens.

"I'm not afraid, and I don't believe old Granny c.o.c.kletop's tales. I can take care of myself, I guess," he said, and went on playing with the fox, who got him to tell all about the hen-house,--how the door was fastened, and where the plump chickens roosted, and what time they went to bed,--so that he could creep in and steal a good supper by and by.

Silly Peck never guessed what harm he was doing, and only laughed when c.o.c.ky said,--

"You will be sorry if you play with the fox. He is a bad fellow; so be careful and sleep on a high branch, and keep out of his way, as I do."

c.o.c.ky was fat and large, and the fox longed to eat him, but never could, because he wisely ran home whenever he saw the rogue hiding in the wood.

This made Peck angry, for he wanted his brother to stay and play; and so one day, when c.o.c.ky ran off in the midst of a nice game, Peck said to the fox,--