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Page 38
Ned appeared to understand his master, for he looked a little ashamed of
himself, and let his pointed ears fall back again to their old places.
"Now, my little fellows," said Farmer Jones, "take up a handful of that
sweet new hay, and call him to the bars."
"I'm afraid," returned Neddy. "He'll bite me."
"Not he. Why the old horse wouldn't harm a hair of your head. He was only
trying to frighten you as a punishment for the stroke you gave him. Come.
Now's your time to make friends."
Neddy, thus encouraged, gathered a handful of the sweet new hay that was
scattered around, and going up to the fence, held it out and called to the
horse--
"Here! Ned, Ned, Ned!"
The horse shook his head, and stood still.
"Come along, you old vagabond!" said Farmer Jones, in a voice of reproof.
"Don't you see the lad's sorry for the cut he gave you? Now walk up to the
bars, and forgive the little fellow, as a sensible horse ought to do."
Ned no longer hesitated, but went up to the bars, where Neddy, half
trembling, awaited him, and took the sweet morsel of hay from the child's
hand. Jane, encouraged by this evidence of docility, put her hand on the
animal's neck, and stroked his long head gently with her hand, while Neddy
gathered handful after handful of hay, and stood close by the mouth of the
old horse, as he ate it with the air of one who enjoyed himself.
After that, the children could cross the field again as freely as before,
and if Ned noticed them at all, it was in a manner so good natured as not
to cause them the slightest uneasiness.
THE FREED BUTTERFLY.
Yes, go, little butterfly,
Fan the warm air
With your soft silken pinions,
So brilliant and fair;
A poor, fluttering prisoner
No longer you'll be;
There! Out of the window!
You are free--you are free!
Go, rest on the bosom
Of some favorite flower;
Go, sport in the sunlight
Your brief little hour;
For your day, at the longest,
Is scarcely a span:
Then go and enjoy it;
Be gay while you can.
As for me, I have something
More useful to do:
I must work, I must learn--
Though I play sometimes, too.
All your days with the blossoms,
Bright thing, _you_ may spend;
They will close with the summer,
_Mine_ never shall end.
JULIA AND HER BIRDS.
Little Julia Cornish, a young friend of mine, is very fond of birds. It is
no strange thing, I am aware, for children to love birds. Indeed, I do not
see how any body can help loving the dear little things, especially those
that fill the air with their music. But Julia was unusually fond of them,
and her fondness showed itself in a great many ways. She did not shut them
up in cages. But she was so kind to those that had their liberty, that many
of them became quite as tame as if they had always lived in a cage.
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