“Well, I heard Uncle tell about the Greece people, who had altars
and things, and so I wanted to be like them, only I hadn’t any live
creatures to sackerryfice, so we burnt up our toys.”
“Dear me, that is something like the bean story,” said Aunt Jo,
laughing again.
“Tell about it,” suggested Daisy, to change the subject.
“Once there was a poor woman who had three or four little
children, and she used to lock them up in her room when she went
out to work, to keep them safe. On day when she was going away
she said, ‘Now, my dears, don’t let baby fall out of window, don’t
play with the matches, and don’t put beans up your noses.’ Now the
children had never dreamed of doing that last thing, but she put it
into their heads, and the minute she was gone, they ran and stuffed
their naughty little noses full of beans, just to see how it felt, and
she found them all crying when she came home.”
“Did it hurt?” asked Rob, with such intense interest that his mother
hastily added a warning sequel, lest a new edition of the bean story
should appear in her own family.
“Very much, as I know, for when my mother told me this story, I
was so silly that I went and tried it myself. I had no beans, so I
took some little pebbles, and poked several into my nose. I did not
like it at all, and wanted to take them out again very soon, but one
would not come, and I was so ashamed to tell what a goose I been
that I went for hours with the stone hurting me very much. At last
the pain got so bad I had to tell, and when my mother could not get
it out the doctor came. Then I was put in a chair and held tight,
Rob, while he used his ugly little pincers till the stone hopped out.
Dear me! how my wretched little nose did ache, and how people
laughed at me!” and Mrs. Jo shook her head in a dismal way, as if
the memory of her sufferings was too much for her.
Rob looked deeply impressed and I am glad to say took the
warning to heart. Demi proposed that they should bury poor
Annabella, and in the interest of the funeral Teddy forgot his
fright. Daisy was soon consoled by another batch of dolls from
Aunt Amy, and the Naughty Kitty-mouse seemed to be appeased
by the last offerings, for she tormented them no more.
“Brops” was the name of a new and absorbing play, invented by
Bangs. As this interesting animal is not to be found in any
Zoological Garden, unless Du Chaillu has recently brought one
from the wilds of Africa, I will mention a few of its peculiar habits
and traits, for the benefit of inquiring minds. The Brop is a winged
quadruped, with a human face of a youthful and merry aspect.
When it walks the earth it grunts, when it soars it gives a shrill
hoot, occasionally it goes erect, and talks good English. Its body is
usually covered with a substance much resembling a shawl,
sometimes red, sometimes blue, often plaid, and, strange to say,
they frequently change skins with one another. On their heads they
have a horn very like a stiff brown paper lamp-lighter. Wings of
the same substance flap upon their shoulders when they fly; this is
never very far from the ground, as they usually fall with violence if
they attempt any lofty flights. They browse over the earth, but can
sit up and eat like the squirrel. Their favorite nourishment is the
seed-cake; apples also are freely taken, and sometimes raw carrots
are nibbled when food is scarce. They live in dens, where they
have a sort of nest, much like a clothes-basket, in which the little
Brops play till their wings are grown. These singular animals
quarrel at times, and it is on these occasions that they burst into
human speech, call each other names, cry, scold, and sometimes
tear off horns and skin, declaring fiercely that they “won’t play.”