Miss Elliot's Girls Part 9

"Can you imagine the scene that followed? The queen-mother and the young princes and princesses were left undisturbed in their apartments, but into every other house in the city, the rude soldiers rushed, searching for the poor babies. Many of them their nurses had hidden away, hoping that in the confusion their hiding-places would not be discovered; but the cunning fellows--old hands some of them at the business--seemed to know just where to look. Hundreds and hundreds of little ones were captured that day. The faithful attendants clasped and clung to them, suffering themselves to be torn in pieces before giving them up, but the sacrifice was in vain.

"The moon shone down that night upon a ghastly scene. The dead and dying strewed the ground, and the avenues leading to the city were choked with the slain. Hundreds of homes were made desolate, that only the night before were full of peaceful content.

"Meanwhile, the conquering army, laden with spoils, after another difficult and toilsome journey had reached their home. The captive babies were consigned to the care of slaves, procured long ago in a similar way, and who, apparently contented and happy, for they knew no other life, devoted all their energies to the service of their captors.

"Well, it is an old story. Ever since the world began the strong have oppressed the weak,--and ants or men, for greed or gold, will do their neighbors wrong."

"Well," said Mollie, as Miss Ruth laid down the last sheet of her ma.n.u.script, "if you hadn't told us beforehand that it was ants you were going to read about I should certainly have thought they were people.

Don't they act for all the world just like folks? and who would ever think such little creatures could be so wise!"

"What I want to know," said Susie, "is, If the ant-cities are underground, how can any one see what goes on in them?"

"That is easily managed," Miss Ruth answered.

"A nest is taken up with a quant.i.ty of the earth that surrounds it, then it is cut down from the top--as you would halve a loaf of bread--and the divided parts are placed in gla.s.s cases made purposely to receive them.

Of course, the little people are greatly disturbed for a time, and no wonder; but they soon grow accustomed to the new surroundings and go on with their every-day employments as if nothing had happened. The sides of the case make a fine firm wall for their city; they are furnished with plenty of food and building material, and soon they can be seen busy at work clearing their streets, building houses, feeding the babies, and quite contented and happy in their gla.s.s city. If, after months of separation, an ant from one half of the divided nest should be put into the other he would be recognized at once and welcomed with joy; but if a stranger were introduced he would be attacked and probably killed."

"We had a great time with the ants at our house last summer," said Eliza Jones: "little mites of red things, you know, and they _would_ get into the cake-chest and the sugar-bucket, and bothered ma so she had to keep all the sweet things on a table with its legs in basins of water. They couldn't get over that, you see."

"Why not?" Mollie asked. "Can't they swim?"

"Ours couldn't; lots of them fell in the water and were drowned."

"Ants are usually quite helpless in the water," Miss Ruth said, "though a French writer who has made the little folks a study, tells a story of six soldier ants who rescued their companions from drowning. He put his sugar-basin in a vessel of water, and several adventurous ants climbed to the ceiling and dropped into it. Four missed their aim and fell outside the bowl in the water. Their companions tried in vain to rescue them, then went away and presently returned accompanied by six grenadiers, stout fellows, who immediately swam to their relief, seized them with their pincers and brought them to land. Three were apparently dead, but the faithful fellows licked and rubbed them quite dry, rolling them over and over, stretching themselves on them, and in a truly skillful and scientific manner sought to bring back life to their benumbed bodies. Under this treatment three came to life, while one only partly restored was carefully borne away. 'I have seen it' is Du Pont de Nervours's comment on what he thinks may be considered a marvelous story, though it seems no more wonderful to me than many well-attested facts in the lives of the little people."

"It's all wonderful," Susie said. "It seems as though they must think and reason and plan just as we do. Don't you think so, Auntie?"

"Indeed I do, Susie. One who has long studied their ways ranks them next to man in the scale of intelligence, and says the brain of an ant--no larger perhaps than a fine grain of sand--must be the most wonderful particle of matter in the world."

"But they can't talk, Auntie?"

"I am not so sure of that. Their voices may be too fine and high-pitched for our great ears to hear. I fancy there is a deal of conversation carried on in the gra.s.s and the bushes and the trees, that we know nothing about."

"How funny! What did you mean, Auntie, when you said the queen laid off all her flounces and furbelows."

"I was rather fancifully describing her wings, dear, which she takes off herself when she enters the nest, having no further use for them. There are three kinds of ants in every nest: perfect males and females, and the workers. There are many different races of ants, from the great white ant of Africa--a terror to the natives, though in some respects his good friend--down to the little red-and-yellow meadow ants so common among us. The ants I have told you about, the Rufians and the Fuscans, are natives of America, and are found in New England. The big black ant so common here, sometimes called the jet ant, is a carpenter and a wood-carver. His great jaws bore through the hardest wood, and his pretty galleries and winding staircases penetrate through the beams and rafters of many an old mansion. Not long ago I accidentally killed a carpenter ant, and in a few minutes a comrade appeared who slowly, and apparently with great labor and fatigue, bore away the body. I felt as though I were looking on at a funeral.

"I wish I had time to tell you about the agricultural ant of Texas, and the umbrella ants of Florida, who cut bits of leaf from the orange-trees and march home with them in procession, holding each leaf in an upright position. Fancy how odd they must look! But we have talked long enough for this time about the little people, and I am sure you all agree with King Solomon that they are 'exceeding wise.'"

"I never will step on an ant-hill again if I can possibly help it," said Susie. "It's too bad to make those hard-working folks so much trouble.

"And I mean to put my ear close down to the ground," said Nellie Dimock, "and listen and listen, so as to hear the ants talk to each other."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE STORY OF OLD STAR.

"Say, Sam!" said Roy Tyler, as the two boys were driving old Brindle home from pasture the next evening, "don't you wish she'd tell us some stories about horses? I'm tired of hearing about cats and ants."

"Well, I don't know," Sammy answered; "'twas funny about old Robber Grim. There's just such an old cat round our barn, catchin' chickens and suckin' eggs. I've fired more rocks at that feller--hit him once in the hind leg an' he went off limpin'."

"Well, I want a horse story, and I know she'd just as soon tell one as not, if somebody would only ask her. Those girls will be wantin'

another cat story if we don't start something else. Girls always do like cats," said Roy, a little scornfully. "Say, Sam, you ask her, will you?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"Oh, I don't know. I tried to yesterday, but somehow I couldn't get it out."

"Well, I'll tell you what I will do," said good-natured Sammy. "You come round to-night after I get my ch.o.r.es done up, and we'll go together and have it over with."

"All right; I'll come," said Roy.

They found Miss Ruth alone, for it was Thursday night and the minister's family were at the prayer-meeting. The September evening was chilly, and she was sitting before an open fire.

"You do the talking," Roy whispered at the door, and accordingly Sammy, after fidgeting in his seat a little, opened the subject.

"Roy wants me to ask you," he began, and then stopped at a punch in the side from Roy's knuckles, and began again: "Me and Roy would like--if it wouldn't be too much trouble, and you'd just as soon as not--to have you tell us a horse story next time." Then in a loud whisper aside to Roy: "You _did_ ask me! You know you did."

"Well, you needn't put it all on me, if I did," Roy answered, in the same tone.

Miss Ruth appeared not to notice this by-play.

"A horse story," she said pleasantly; "yes, why not?"

"You see," Sammy continued, "we like to hear about cats well enough, and that ant battle was first-rate--I'd like to have seen it, I know; but Roy, he says the girls might be writin' notes askin' you to tell more cat stories and--and--well"--

"Yes, I see," she said; "too much of a good thing. Well, I will tell no more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"

"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.

"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse myself," continued Sam.

"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him, for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast, not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double Herbert's weight."

"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"

"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, s.h.a.ggy fellow, always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright little eyes."

"What color?" said Roy.

"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see for the s.h.a.g of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and making uncouth gambols, more like a big puppy than a small horse. To be sure he has a will of his own, and has more than once--just for fun--thrown his young master over his head; but he always stands stock still till the boy is on his back again, and as Herbert says: 'It is only a little way to fall from his back to the ground.'"

"How fast will he go?" Roy asked.