Alas, how uncertain is the future! A terrific storm arose when within a few days' sail of the American coast. The masts and rudder were carried away by the wind, and the hulk then drifted at the mercy of the waves.

The captain and several of the crew were washed overboard in the first encounter with the gale, and the lifeboat, which many of the pa.s.sengers took when it was believed the ship was sinking, was swamped, and all in it lost. A few others remained on the hulk, and stayed on deck in hopes to signal some pa.s.sing vessel which had outridden the storm. One by one these were swept overboard, or died from exposure. Silvio and Francesco were so small that they were not allowed on deck. When the storm commenced they were sleeping in the forecastle, in the berth of a kind old sailor who had given them the use of it. His dog was their sleeping companion by night and playfellow by day. These three were secured below during the storm, and were forgotten during the excitement and distress on board. The parents of the boys were swept overboard on the first night of the storm, and their brothers were lost in the lifeboat, and their old sailor friend died from exposure and over-exertion on the second day of the storm. Thus they were bereft of both kindred and friend, and, though they were unconscious of their situation, they were drifting upon the ocean on a wave-tossed bark, with no living companion but the sailor's dog.

Three days thus they drifted on the merciless ocean, wondering why they were left alone in the forecastle; and when they called for help all the reply was the dashing of the waves against the shattered ship.

Fortunately, a large steamer which had withstood the storm saw the shattered hulk drifting upon the waves, and sent men on board to rescue any who might be found alive. All had been swept away, and desolation reigned on deck. To their surprise, on opening the forecastle they found the two boys and the sailor's dog.

These helpless and homeless ones they took to the ship. Sad indeed were they when they began to realize that their parents and brothers were lost. They had no kindred or friends, and knew not a word of the language of the Americans who were upon the steamer. They shed many sad tears when the feelings of their loneliness settled upon them, and they wished themselves in their own country, where a language was spoken which they could understand.

There is always sunshine behind the clouds, and their shadows were dispelled by a kind gentleman upon the steamer, who said he would care for them and give them a home.

He commenced to teach them to speak English while on the voyage, and amused them with various sports and games. Silvio, being the eldest, learned quicker than his little brother, but as soon as he had learned he taught Francesco.

When the steamer landed the kind gentleman sent them to board for a while with a family from their own country who could speak both English and Italian, where they soon learned to talk in both languages.

Silvio was a good object-teacher, and gave his little brother lessons.

He would introduce some game or sport as a means of communicating instruction. It was pleasing to see them together. They would sit by the fire in the Italian's cottage, with the old sailor's dog, which the gentleman who had befriended the children said should not be taken from them, and Silvio would teach his brother.

They learned to play "cratch cradle," and when they did this the names of every thing used were learned. When one is learning a new language it is word by word; so in this game they learned to count, and to name the words, such as hand, finger, string, cross, and others that suggested themselves in the course of the game. Some children call this game "cat's cradle," but it should be "cratch cradle." A cratch is a cross-legged crib from which cattle are fed. It is also the shape of a cradle, or child's sleeping-crib, and, as the strings take this shape upon the fingers, the game has received that name.

These boys learned very rapidly, and the gentleman who had befriended them soon took them from the Italian's cottage, and sent them to the best schools in America. Both became distinguished scholars. Silvio is now a celebrated artist, and Francesco a musician whose vocal and instrumental acquirements have charmed the largest audiences, and received the highest praise of the world. Both have visited their native country, and have pursued their studies among their own countrymen, but they have never heard of any of their own kindred. The gentleman who befriended them still lives to see the good results of his kind deed, and they, in return, look upon him with feelings of love and grat.i.tude.

THE LITTLE MILKMAID.

"Please, Grandmother, I can milk Daisy."

"There, child! Nonsense!" said the old woman crossly. "Daisy would kick thee and thy pail over in no time. We should lose our milk, and happen have thee to nurse as well."

"But Daisy likes me, Granny," pleaded the would-be milkmaid. "I never throw stones at her or pull her tail; she would not kick me. I know how to milk, don't I, Grandfather?"

"Eh, bless her, so she do!" returned a feeble voice from the bed in the corner of the kitchen. "It's a brave little la.s.s, that it is! I'd sooner trust her than Tom, for all he's three years older."

Grandmother gave a reluctant consent, and forth went the little milkmaid, her bucket on her arm, and her dog Gypsy jumping about and inviting her to have a race with him. Play was a very good thing, and Susie dearly loved a romp, but this morning she shook her head, and told Gypsy he must wait until her task was safely over. She was very proud of Grandfather's confidence in her, and made up her mind to deserve it.

Susie looked like a part of the bright May morning as she tripped gayly down the pathway to the brook, brushing the dew off the gra.s.s and flowers with her bare little white feet, and singing a gay "good-morning" to the birds fluttering in and out of the bushes.

A kind little girl was Susie, loving all the living creatures about her moorland home, and loved by them. The birds knew better than to come within reach of Tom, but they hardly paused in their busy nest-building as Susie pa.s.sed by; only singing a little more gayly than before, which was their way of welcoming her, so Susie said.

Grandfather's cottage was built on the top of a steep field. At the bottom a bubbling, noisy little brook went tumbling and bustling merrily over the stones, filling the sweet, warm air with a cheery song of its own. A plank served as a bridge across the stream; and as Susie walked steadily over it she noticed a fat, motherly old duck nestling down amongst the ferns and dock-leaves on the bank. Mother Duck uttered a startled and indignant "Quack, quack," as Gypsy jumped over her head and dashed headlong into the cool, bright water.

"Ah, Mrs. Duck," cried Susie merrily, "I see now where your eggs go! I shall pay you a visit presently; I can't stop now, because I am going a-milking."

The old duck looked after her with quite an air of understanding all about it, and gravely watched her run on towards the field where Daisy the cow stood waiting at the gate. Tom had forgotten all about milking-time, but Mistress Daisy had good reasons of her own for liking punctuality in such matters. So she poked her long white nose through the bars of the gate, and greeted Susie with a long, doleful complaint of the sad way in which she had been neglected that morning.

Perhaps it was Daisy's reproachful "Moo" which first made the little maid conscious that she had forgotten the milking-stool, but she now decided to do without it. The good old cow's temper must not be tried by any further delay, so down she knelt in the cool, dewy gra.s.s, and, carefully fixing the pail, began her task.

She found it not so easy as she expected, for milking requires practice, and some strength of fingers, and Susie had little of either. But Daisy was very good, and so the sweet, frothy milk rose higher and higher in the little pail, until at length the task was done. Daisy showed she thought so by suddenly beginning to walk away. The pail had a narrow escape then, but Susie got it safely out of the way, and began her homeward walk. Very steadily she carried the pail to the brook. There a surprise awaited her; while she had been milking some one had pulled away the plank, and thrown it down on the opposite bank. Wet feet are no hardship to little girls who wear no shoes and stockings. Susie soon tucked up her dress, and walked carefully through the bubbling stream, taking good heed of the stones at the bottom. She got across safely, and began to climb the steep, narrow path leading to the cottage. On either side the gra.s.s was long, sometimes almost meeting across the path. All in a moment her foot caught in some hidden trap, and down she fell! Alas for the poor little milkmaid! Her pail was upset, and the milk--the precious milk--ran hither and thither amongst the primroses and daisies, and finally trickled down into the brook.

"This comes of sending babies a-milking," said Grandmother, who had seen the disaster from the cottage door. "Come in," she added crossly, as the distressed little maid came slowly up the path. "Thou'rt a bad, careless la.s.s, and shall have no breakfast. Catch me sending thee a-milking again."

"Wait a bit, Grandmother," said the old man, in his feeble, quavering voice. "Did not I hear Tom say that he'd teach the little one to meddle with his job? You must go down the path and see for yourself if it is not one of his tricks. Something must have tripped the child up."

Grandmother could not refuse to go down the path, but she went unwillingly. Tom was her favorite, and she did not wish to find him out in the wrong. But when she came to the milk-dyed spot, and found the long gra.s.s tied together across the path, she could no longer deny that the child in fault was not little Susie. As she slowly wended her way back to the cottage, she felt not only angry with naughty, idle Tom, but grieved at her own lack of justice to the willing little milkmaid.

Tom's unkind and revengeful conduct did not this time go unpunished; but his grandmother's over-indulgence had sadly spoilt his character, and although she strove hard to remedy the evil, it is doubtful if he will ever learn to be as obedient and unselfish as his good little sister Susie.

MR. BOBOLINK.

"I wish I could catch a bobolink," said Samuel.

"Let us try to-morrow and see if we cannot catch one in a box trap,"

said his brother Robert.

"That will be real fun," said little Maggie. And so the three children talked the matter over, and made plans for the morrow.

"You must help me in the morning," said their father. "Samuel must drop the corn in the hills for the hired man to cover, Robert will drop the beans, and Maggie must put in the pumpkin-seed. We shall have it all done by ten o'clock, and then you can play the rest of the day. If a flock of bobolinks comes along you may be able to catch one, though they are very shy, and do not stop long in any one place."

The next morning the sun rose radiantly in the eastern sky, and climbed up among the golden clouds, and all the early birds joined in a glad song of welcome. The robin chanted from the lofty branches of the elm; the bluebird, with plumage brighter than the bluest sky, glided in and out among the apple-trees, and enlivened the scene by its occasional joyous song; the red linnet whistled and chattered in the shrubbery, and the sparrow chirped in the hedge. All around seemed full of life and joy.

The bobolink swung from the highest branches, and poured out his ecstatic feelings in thrilling song.

The children went to the fields amid all this morning music, and tried to translate the song of each bird into English.

The robin chanted, "Kill him! cure him! Kill him! cure him! Give him physic!"

Who he wanted treated in this manner they could not tell, but that seemed to be the language of his song.

The voice of the linnet or bluebird could not be interpreted easily, but the bobolink spoke very plainly, and seemed personal in his remarks, which were evidently intended for the eldest boy; for he said over and over again, "Samuel! Samuel!--Samuel, planting, planting. Samuel!

Samuel! planting for bobolink! bobolink!"

This chattering and singing were kept up all the forenoon, and the children resolved that when their play-time came in the afternoon they would set some traps and try to secure one of these saucy songsters, who had been talking so much to Samuel during the forenoon.

Soon as dinner was over the three hurried off to the sheep pasture, where, among the maple-trees, a large flock of bobolinks were evidently resting a day or two on their journey towards Canada, that they might feast on the scattered grains of an old wheat-field near by. The children took a few handfuls of wheat, which they scattered upon the ground; and, as Maggie could sew better than the boys, she strung some grains of wheat on a small thread. This was tied to a slender prop which held up the cover of the trap, which was made by putting four blocks together in the shape of a box. In it was a handful of wheat. When all was ready the children hid behind some shrubbery and watched and waited the result. They whispered to each other, and laid plans concerning what could be done with the bird after he was caught.

Samuel said, "Sell him. I read of bobolinks being sold at bird-stores in the city for two or three dollars each. We could get money enough to buy snap-crackers and fireworks for next Fourth of July."

"Oh! I wouldn't do that," said Robert.

"Nor I," said little Maggie. "I should rather go without any money for Fourth of July. Let's keep him, and put him in d.i.c.ky's old cage, and teach him to sing."

"Perhaps you are counting your game before 'tis caught," said Robert.

"There are no birds near your trap yet."