The Tramp was a brave little fellow and a good fighter; but he never would have driven the birds off, if Kitty hadn't helped him.

"I love all the birds," said Kitty, "but the Tramp is my very own bird."

So he and his mate built a nest and raised a family of birds in peace, and now Kitty and Charley call the old letter-box "The Tramp's Home."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A PAIR OF HORSES.--_From Rosa Bonheur's painting, "The Horse Fair."_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.--_From the sketch by Versp.r.o.nck, in the Louvre._]

THREE ROYAL CHILDREN.

Here is a picture of a little prince and two little princesses who lived about two hundred years ago. They were the children of Charles the First, king of England. I suppose they were very much like the boys and girls of nowadays. They played and studied and had their pets, just as children play and study now.

[Ill.u.s.tration: READY FOR THANKSGIVING.]

AN OSTRICH PLUME.

Matty Ellis had a new hat. It was a pretty white hat with a long, curly white plume, and it was very becoming to her.

"Yes, I like it," she said to aunt Sarah. "But Nanny Rich has a hat with two plumes."

"And I can tell you somebody who wears half a dozen or more," replied aunt Sarah, "and that somebody is the ostrich himself."

[Ill.u.s.tration: OSTRICH EGGS.]

Aunt Sarah tells Matty a great many interesting things, and she told her about ostriches. She told how they live in hot sandy countries like Africa.

They are so tall and have such long legs they can run as fast as, or faster than, a horse.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A PAIR OF OSTRICHES AT HOME.]

They have their nests in a hollow on the ground. The Hottentot likes ostrich eggs to eat. One ostrich egg is as big as sixteen hen's eggs.

So it makes a breakfast for a number of people. The Hottentot breaks a hole in the small end of the egg, stirs up the contents with a stick, and then sets it over the fire to cook. The sh.e.l.l is very thick and hard, and the heat of the fire will not break it.

There is somebody else who likes ostrich eggs too, and that somebody is a kind of fox. He comes when the ostrich is away and helps himself.

Sometimes the ostrich comes home and finds him at it.

Many other people like to wear ostrich plumes as well as Matty. So there is a large trade in them. The wild ostrich does not supply feathers enough for the market, so ostriches are now raised like turkeys and hens. This business is called "ostrich farming." The ostriches are kept in large yards, and the plumes are taken out every year.

Aunt Sarah told all this to Matty. "And so," said Matty, stroking the long white plume, "this feather has ridden on the back of an ostrich in Africa; I wish it could tell me what it has seen."

[Ill.u.s.tration: SOMEBODY ELSE WHO LIKES EGGS.]

WHO KILLED THE GOOSE?

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A DOG WRAPPED IN A QUILT.}]

It was the very nicest, whitest goose of the whole flock, and there it was--dead! Who had killed it? was the question. Everybody said it must have been Bose; and why? Because Bose liked to tease the geese.

Sometimes he jumped from behind a bush and frightened them. Sometimes when they were standing at their trough eating, he ran at them, just for the fun of seeing them run.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A DOG IN A BASKET.}]

"I don't think he meant to kill it," said the grandpa.

"Very likely not," said the father, "but I must teach him not to run at the geese. Come here, sir," he said to Bose.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A DOG WITH A BLANKET WRAPPED AROUND HIM.}]

Bose felt very badly. He crawled slowly along. He couldn't say, "I didn't do it; please don't whip me," as a little boy or girl can. He could only look up to his master with soft, begging eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly; and of all the family Bose best loves Patsy. They are always playing together.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A DOG SITTING.}]

"Oh, please don't whip Bose," cried Patsy. "I don't believe he did it.

n.o.body saw him do it," and she begged so hard her father said he would only tie Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped.

Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, "I don't believe he did it. I wouldn't kill a goose." Patsy opened her eyes and found herself in a room full of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie wrapped in an eider down quilt.

"Very good reason why; you couldn't," barked another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A FLUFFY DOG.}]

"Raw goose, faugh!" said a dainty doggie, who had a blanket pinned carefully around him. "I like my poultry well picked and cooked."

"That's so. So do I," rejoined a fierce sc.r.a.p of a dog. He wore a collar and little silver locket, and c.o.c.ked his ears.

"People are always saying dogs do things," said a tousled terrier, whose hair had tumbled over his eyes, so he couldn't see a thing. "The cat ate the cream the other day and cook said I did it. I hate cooks."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A DOG LYING DOWN.}]

A grave-looking dog opened his mouth and spoke. He must have been a lawyer among dogs. Patsy thought he looked like Judge Drake. He spoke slowly. "If Bose had never chased the geese even in play, his master would never have suspected him. A great deal depends on a dog's character. But I don't think he killed the goose."