"First it is a little grub, And then it is a nice yellow cocoon, And then the butterfly Eats its way out soon.
"They live on dew and honey, They do not have any hive, They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets, And to be as good as they are we should strive.
"I should like to be a beautiful butterfly, All yellow, and blue, and green, and red;But I should not like To have Dan put camphor on my poor little head." This unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and Demi was obliged to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was no punctuation whatever, and the little poet's breath gave out before he got to the end of some of the long lines.
"He will be a Shakespeare yet," said Aunt Jo, laughing as if she would die, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at the age of ten, and beginning gloomily,­ "I wish I had a quiet tomb, Beside a little rill;Where birds, and bees, and butterflies, Would sing upon the hill." "Come on, Tommy. If there is as much ink inside your paper as there is outside, it will be a long composition," said Mr. Bhaer, when Demi had been induced to tear himself from his poem and sit down.
"It isn't a composition, it's a letter. You see, I forgot all about its being my turn till after school, and then I didn't know what to have, and there wasn't time to read up; so I thought you wouldn't mind my taking a letter that I wrote to my Grandma. It's got something about birds in it, so I thought it would do."With this long excuse, Tommy plunged into a sea of ink and floundered through, pausing now and then to decipher one of his own flourishes.
"MY DEAR GRANDMA,­I hope you are well. Uncle James sent me a pocket rifle. It is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped like this­[Here Tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked like an intricate pump, or the inside of a small steam-engine]­44 are the sights; 6 is a false stock that fits in at A; 3 is the trigger, and 2 is the cock. It loads at the breech, and fires with great force and straightness. I am going out shooting squirrels soon. I shot several fine birds for the museum.
They had speckled breasts, and Dan liked them very much. He stuffed them tip-top, and they sit on the tree quite natural, only one looks a little tipsy. We had a Frenchman working here the other day, and Asia called his name so funnily that I will tell you about it. His name was Germain: first she called him Jerry, but we laughed at her, and she changed it to Jeremiah;but ridicule was the result, so it became Mr. Germany; but ridicule having been again resumed, it became Garrymon, which it has remained ever since.
I do not write often, I am so busy; but I think of you often, and sympathize with you, and sincerely hope you get on as well as can be expected without me.­Your affectionate grandson, "THOMAS BUCKMINSTER BANGS.
" P.S. ? If you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.
" N.B. ­Love to all, and a great deal to Aunt Almira. Does she make any nice plum-cakes now?
" P.S. ? Mrs. Bhaer sends her respects.
" P.S. ? And so would Mr. B, if he knew I was in act to write.
" N.B. ­Father is going to give me a watch on my birthday.
I am glad as at present I have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.
" P.S. ? I hope to see you soon. Don't you wish to send for me? T. B. B."As each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by the time he came to the sixth and last, Tommy was so exhausted that he was glad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.
"I hope the dear old lady will live through it," said Mr. Bhaer, under cover of the noise.
"We won't take any notice of the broad hint given in that last P.S. The letter will be quite as much as she can bear without a visit from Tommy,"answered Mrs. Jo, remembering that the old lady usually took to her bed after a visitation from her irrepressible grandson.
"Now, me," said Teddy, who had learned a bit of poetry, and was so eager to say it that he had been bobbing up and down during the reading, and could no longer be restrained.
"I'm afraid he will forget it if he waits; and I have had a deal of trouble teaching him," said his mother.
Teddy trotted to the rostrum, dropped a curtsey and nodded his head at the same time, as if anxious to suit every one; then, in his baby voice, and putting the emphasis on the wrong words, he said his verse all in one breath:­ "Little drops of water, Little drains of sand, Mate a might okum (ocean), And a peasant land.
"Little words of kindness, Pokin evvy day, Make a home a hebbin, And hep us on a way." Clapping his hands at the end, he made another double salutation, and then ran to hide his head in his mother's lap, quite overcome by the success of his "piece," for the applause was tremendous.
Dick and Dolly did not write, but were encouraged to observe the habits of animals and insects, and report what they saw. Dick liked this, and always had a great deal to say; so, when his name was called, he marched up, and, looking at the audience with his bright confiding eyes, told his little story so earnestly that no one smiled at his crooked body, because the "straight soul" shone through it beautifully.
"I've been watching dragonflies, and I read about them in Dan's book, and I'll try and tell you what I remember. There's lots of them flying round on the pond, all blue, with big eyes, and sort of lace wings, very pretty. I caught one, and looked at him, and I think he was the handsomest insect I ever saw. They catch littler creatures than they are to eat, and have a queer kind of hook thing that folds up when they ain't hunting.
