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                        AMONG THE MEADOW PEOPLE

                                   BY
                        CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON


                      Illustrated by F. C. GORDON

                        NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION

                             [Illustration]


                                NEW YORK
                         E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
                      31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET




                  [Illustration: HAYING IN THE MEADOW]




                               COPYRIGHT
                           E. P. DUTTON & CO.
                                  1899

                               COPYRIGHT
                        CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON
                                  1901


                   The Knickerbocker Press, New York




CONTENTS.


                                                        PAGE
  INTRODUCTION                                             5
  THE BUTTERFLY THAT WENT CALLING                          7
  THE ROBINS BUILD A NEST                                 14
  THE SELFISH TENT-CATERPILLAR                            22
  THE LAZY SNAIL                                          31
  AN ANT THAT WORE WINGS                                  37
  THE CHEERFUL HARVESTMEN                                 42
  THE LITTLE SPIDER'S FIRST WEB                           50
  THE BEETLE WHO DID NOT LIKE CATERPILLARS                56
  THE YOUNG ROBIN WHO WAS AFRAID TO FLY                   61
  THE CRICKETS' SCHOOL                                    71
  THE CONTENTED EARTHWORMS                                76
  THE MEASURING WORM'S JOKE                               81
  A PUZZLED CICADA                                        87
  THE TREE FROG'S STORY                                   93
  THE DAY WHEN THE GRASS WAS CUT                         101
  THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE MEASURING WORM RUN A RACE      109
  MR. GREEN FROG AND HIS VISITORS                        114
  THE DIGNIFIED WALKING-STICKS                           120
  THE DAY OF THE GREAT STORM                             128
  THE STORY OF LILY-PAD ISLAND                           134
  THE GRASSHOPPER WHO WOULDN'T BE SCARED                 142
  THE EARTHWORM HALF-BROTHERS                            151
  A GOSSIPING FLY                                        156
  THE FROG-HOPPERS GO OUT INTO THE WORLD                 161
  THE MOSQUITO TRIES TO TEACH HIS NEIGHBORS              171
  THE FROG WHO THOUGHT HERSELF SICK                      177
  THE KATYDID'S QUARREL                                  183
  THE LAST PARTY OF THE SEASON                           188




INTRODUCTION.


Many of these stories of field life were written for the little ones of
my kindergarten, and they gave so much pleasure, and aroused such a new
interest in "the meadow people," that it has seemed wise to collect and
add to the original number and send them out to a larger circle of boys
and girls.

All mothers and teachers hear the cry for "just one more," and find that
there are times when the bewitching tales of animals, fairies, and
"really truly" children are all exhausted, and tired imagination will
not supply another. In selecting the tiny creatures of field and garden
for the characters in this book, I have remembered with pleasure the way
in which my loyal pupils befriended stray crickets and grasshoppers,
their intense appreciation of the new realm of fancy and observation,
and the eagerness and attention with which they sought Mother Nature,
the most wonderful and tireless of all story-tellers.

                                           CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON.

  Stanton, Michigan,
    April 8th, 1897.




[Illustration]

THE BUTTERFLY THAT WENT CALLING


As the warm August days came, Mr. Yellow Butterfly wriggled and pushed
in his snug little green chrysalis and wished he could get out to see
the world. He remembered the days when he was a hairy little
Caterpillar, crawling slowly over grass and leaves, and he remembered
how beautiful the sky and all the flowers were. Then he thought of the
new wings which had been growing from his back, and he tried to move
them, just to see how it would feel. He had only six legs since his
wings grew, and he missed all the sticky feet which he had to give up
when he began to change into a Butterfly.

The more he thought about it the more he squirmed, until suddenly he
heard a faint little sound, too faint for larger people to hear, and
found a tiny slit in the wall of his chrysalis. It was such a dainty
green chrysalis with white wrinkles, that it seemed almost a pity to
have it break. Still it had held him for eight days already and that was
as long as any of his family ever hung in the chrysalis, so it was quite
time for it to be torn open and left empty. Mr. Yellow Butterfly
belonged to the second brood that had hatched that year and he wanted to
be out while the days were still fine and hot. Now he crawled out of the
newly-opened doorway to take his first flight.

Poor Mr. Butterfly! He found his wings so wet and crinkled that they
wouldn't work at all, so he had to sit quietly in the sunshine all day
drying them. And just as they got big, and smooth, and dry, it grew
dark, and Mr. Butterfly had to crawl under a leaf to sleep.

The next morning, bright and early, he flew away to visit the flowers.
First he stopped to see the Daisies by the roadside. They were all
dancing in the wind, and their bright faces looked as cheerful as anyone
could wish. They were glad to see Mr. Butterfly, and wished him to stay
all day with them. He said; "You are very kind, but I really couldn't
think of doing it. You must excuse my saying it, but I am surprised to
think you will grow here. It is very dusty and dry, and then there is no
shade. I am sure I could have chosen a better place."

The Daisies smiled and nodded to each other, saying, "This is the kind
of place we were made for, that's all."

Mr. Butterfly shook his head very doubtfully, and then bade them a
polite "Good-morning," and flew away to call on the Cardinals.

The Cardinals are a very stately family, as everybody knows. They hold
their heads very high, and never make deep bows, even to the wind, but
for all that they are a very pleasant family to meet. They gave Mr.
Butterfly a dainty lunch of honey, and seemed much pleased when he told
them how beautiful the river looked in the sunlight.

"It is a delightful place to grow," said they.

"Ye-es," said Mr. Butterfly, "it is very pretty, still I do not think it
can be healthful. I really cannot understand why you flowers choose such
strange homes. Now, there are the Daisies, where I just called. They are
in a dusty, dry place, where there is no shade at all. I spoke to them
about it, and they acted quite uppish."

"But the Daisies always do choose such places," said the Cardinals.

"And your family," said Mr. Butterfly, "have lived so long in wet places
that it is a wonder you are alive. Your color is good, but to stand with
one's roots in water all the time! It is shocking."

"Cardinals and Butterflies live differently," said the flowers.
"Good-morning."

Mr. Butterfly left the river and flew over to the woods. He was very
much out of patience. He was so angry that his feelers quivered, and now
you know how angry he must have been. He knew that the Violets were a
very agreeable family, who never put on airs, so he went at once to
them.

He had barely said "Good-morning" to them when he began to explain what
had displeased him.

"To think," he said, "what notions some flowers have! Now, you have a
pleasant home here in the edge of the woods. I have been telling the
Daisies and the Cardinals that they should grow in such a place, but
they wouldn't listen to me. The Daisies were quite uppish about it, and
the Cardinals were very stiff."

"My dear friend," answered a Violet, "they could never live if they
moved up into our neighborhood. Every flower has his own place in this
world, and is happiest in that place. Everything has its own place and
its own work, and every flower that is wise will stay in the place for
which it was intended. You were exceedingly kind to want to help the
flowers, but suppose they had been telling you what to do. Suppose the
Cardinals had told you that flying around was not good for your health,
and that to be truly well you ought to grow planted with your legs in
the mud and water."

"Oh!" said Mr. Butterfly, "Oh! I never thought of that. Perhaps
Butterflies don't know everything."

"No," said the Violet, "they don't know everything, and you haven't been
out of your chrysalis very long. But those who are ready to learn can
always find someone to tell them. Won't you eat some honey?"

And Mr. Butterfly sipped honey and was happy.




[Illustration]

THE ROBINS BUILD A NEST.


When Mr. and Mrs. Robin built in the spring, they were not quite agreed
as to where the nest should be. Mr. Robin was a very decided bird, and
had made up his mind that the lowest crotch of a maple tree would be the
best place. He even went so far as to take three billfuls of mud there,
and stick in two blades of dry grass. Mrs. Robin wanted it on the end of
the second rail from the top of the split-rail fence. She said it was
high enough from the ground to be safe and dry, and not so high that a
little bird falling out of it would hurt himself very much. Then, too,
the top rail was broad at the end and would keep the rain off so well.

"And the nest will be just the color of the rails," said she, "so that
even a Red Squirrel could hardly see it." She disliked Red Squirrels,
and she had reason to, for she had been married before, and if it had
not been for a Red Squirrel, she might already have had children as
large as she was.

"I say that the tree is the place for it," said Mr. Robin, "and I wear
the brightest breast feathers." He said this because in bird families
the one who wears the brightest breast feathers thinks he has the right
to decide things.

Mrs. Robin was wise enough not to answer back when he spoke in this way.
She only shook her feathers, took ten quick running steps, tilted her
body forward, looked hard at the ground, and pulled out something for
supper. After that she fluttered around the maple tree crotch as though
she had never thought of any other place. Mr. Robin wished he had not
been quite so decided, or reminded her of his breast feathers. "After
all," thought he, "I don't know but the fence-rail would have done." He
thought this, but he didn't say it. It is not always easy for a Robin to
give up and let one with dull breast feathers know that he thinks
himself wrong.

That night they perched in the maple-tree and slept with their heads
under their wings. Long before the sun was in sight, when the first
beams were just touching the tops of the forest trees, they awakened,
bright-eyed and rested, preened their feathers, sang their morning song,
"Cheerily, cheerily, cheer-up," and flew off to find food. After
breakfast they began to work on the nest. Mrs. Robin stopped often to
look and peck at the bark. "It will take a great deal of mud," said she,
"to fill in that deep crotch until we reach a place wide enough for the
nest."

At another time she said: "My dear, I am afraid that the dry grass you
are bringing is too light-colored. It shows very plainly against the
maple bark. Can't you find some that is darker?"

Mr. Robin hunted and hunted, but could find nothing which was darker. As
he flew past the fence, he noticed that it was almost the color of the
grass in his bill.

After a while, soft gray clouds began to cover the sky. "I wonder," said
Mrs. Robin, "if it will rain before we get this done. The mud is soft
enough now to work well, and this place is so open that the rain might
easily wash away all that we have done."

It did rain, however, and very soon. The great drops came down so hard
that one could only think of pebbles falling. Mr. and Mrs. Robin oiled
their feathers as quickly as they could, taking the oil from their back
pockets and putting it onto their feathers with their bills. This made
the finest kind of waterproof and was not at all heavy to wear. When the
rain was over they shook themselves and looked at their work.

"I believe," said Mrs. Robin to her husband, "that you are right in
saying that we might better give up this place and begin over again
somewhere else."

Now Mr. Robin could not remember having said that he thought anything of
the sort, and he looked very sharply at his wife, and cocked his black
head on one side until all the black and white streaks on his throat
showed. She did not seem to know that he was watching her as she hopped
around the partly built nest, poking it here and pushing it there, and
trying her hardest to make it look right. He thought she would say
something, but she didn't. Then he knew he must speak first. He flirted
his tail and tipped his head and drew some of his brown wing-feathers
through his bill. Then he held himself very straight and tall, and said,
"Well, if you do agree with me, I think you might much better stop
working here and begin in another place."

"It seems almost too bad," said she. "Of course there are other places,
but----"

By this time Mr. Robin knew exactly what to do. "Plenty of them," said
he. "Now don't fuss any longer with this. That place on the rail fence
is an excellent one. I wonder that no other birds have taken it." As he
spoke he flew ahead to the very spot which Mrs. Robin had first chosen.

She was a very wise bird, and knew far too much to say, "I told you so."
Saying that, you know, always makes things go wrong. She looked at the
rail fence, ran along the top of it, toeing in prettily as she ran,
looked around in a surprised way, and said, "Oh, _that_ place?"

"Yes, Mrs. Robin," said her husband, "_that_ place. Do you see anything
wrong about it?"

"No-o," she said. "I think I could make it do."

Before long another nest was half built, and Mrs. Robin was working away
in the happiest manner possible, stopping every little while to sing her
afternoon song: "Do you think what you do? Do you think what you do? Do
you thi-ink?"

Mr. Robin was also at work, and such billfuls of mud, such fine little
twigs, and such big wisps of dry grass as went into that home! Once Mr.
Robin was gone a long time, and when he came back he had a beautiful
piece of white cotton string dangling from his beak. That they put on
the outside. "Not that we care to show off," said they, "but somehow
that seemed to be the best place to put it."

Mr. Robin was very proud of his nest and of his wife. He never went far
away if he could help it. Once she heard him tell Mr. Goldfinch that,
"Mrs. Robin was very sweet about building where he chose, and that even
after he insisted on changing places from the tree to the fence she was
perfectly good-natured."

"Yes," said Mrs. Robin to Mrs. Goldfinch, "I was perfectly
good-natured." Then she gave a happy, chirpy little laugh, and Mrs.
Goldfinch laughed, too. They were perfectly contented birds, even if
they didn't wear the brightest breast feathers or insist on having
their own way. And Mrs. Robin had been married before.




[Illustration]

THE SELFISH TENT-CATERPILLAR.


One could hardly call the Tent-Caterpillars meadow people, for they did
not often leave their trees to crawl upon the ground. Yet the Apple-Tree
Tent-Caterpillars would not allow anybody to call them forest people.
"We live on apple and wild cherry trees," they said, "and you will
almost always find us in the orchards or on the roadside trees. There
are Forest Tent-Caterpillars, but please don't get us mixed with them.
We belong to another branch of the family, the Apple-Tree branch."

The Tree Frog said that he remembered perfectly well when the eggs were
laid on the wild cherry tree on the edge of the meadow. "It was early
last summer," he said, "and the Moth who laid them was a very agreeable
reddish-brown person, about as large as a common Yellow Butterfly. I
remember that she had two light yellow lines on each forewing. Another
Moth came with her, but did not stay. He was smaller than she, and had
the same markings. After he had gone, she asked me if we were ever
visited by the Yellow-Billed Cuckoos."

"Why did she ask that?" said the Garter Snake.

"Don't you know?" exclaimed the Tree Frog. And then he whispered
something to the Garter Snake.

The Garter Snake wriggled with surprise and cried, "Really?"

All through the fall and winter the many, many eggs which the
reddish-brown Moth had laid were kept snug and warm on the twig where
she had put them. They were placed in rows around the twig, and then
well covered to hold them together and keep them warm. The winter winds
had blown the twig to and fro, the cold rain had frozen over them, the
soft snowflakes had drifted down from the