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  [Illustration: _Frontispiece_   COLLIE CHASED HIM AWAY   _Page 138_]




                         AMONG THE NIGHT PEOPLE

                                   BY
                        CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON
        Author of "Among the Meadow People," "Pond People," etc.

                      Illustrated by F. C. GORDON

                             [Illustration]

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



                            COPYRIGHT, 1902
                                   by
                           E. P. DUTTON & CO.


                   The Knickerbocker Press, New York




TO

RACHEL W. PIERSON

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED




[Illustration]

CONTENTS


                                                        PAGE
  THE BLACK SPANISH CHICKENS                               1
  THE WIGGLERS BECOME MOSQUITOES                          15
  THE NAUGHTY RACCOON CHILDREN                            30
  THE TIMID LITTLE GROUND HOG                             43
  THE YOUNG RACCOONS GO TO A PARTY                        55
  THE SKUNKS AND THE OVEN-BIRD'S NEST                     68
  THE LAZY CUT-WORMS                                      82
  THE NIGHT-MOTH'S PARTY                                  94
  THE LONELY OLD BACHELOR MUSKRAT                        110
  THE GREEDY RED FOX                                     131
  THE UNFORTUNATE FIREFLIES                              148
  THE KITTENS COME TO THE FOREST                         160
  THE INQUISITIVE WEASELS                                176
  THE THRIFTY DEER-MOUSE                                 190
  THE HUMMING-BIRD AND THE HAWK-MOTH                     208




[Illustration]

ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                        PAGE
  THEY WERE FREE TO GO WHERE THEY CHOSE                    6
  KNOCKED HIS BROTHER DOWN                                40
  HE STARTED OFF FOR A NIGHT'S RAMBLE                     72
  THEY LIVED IN THE FOREST AFTER THAT                    109
  THE MARSH SEEMED SO EMPTY AND LONELY                   127
  COLLIE CHASED HIM AWAY                  _Frontispiece_ 138
  TWINKLING WITH HUNDREDS OF TINY LIGHTS                 157
  IN WINTER THEY TURNED WHITE                            178
  THE MICE MAKE WINTER THEIR PLAYTIME                    195
  THE HUMMING-BIRD AND THE HAWK-MOTH                     218




[Illustration]


MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS:--You can never guess how much I have enjoyed
writing these stories of the night-time, and I must tell you how I first
came to think of doing so. I once knew a girl--and she was not a very
little girl, either,--who was afraid of the dark. And I have known three
boys who were as brave as could be by daylight, but who would not run on
an errand alone after the lamps were lighted. They never seemed to think
what a beautiful, restful, growing time the night is for plants and
animals, and even for themselves. I thought that if they knew more of
what happens between sunset and sunrise they would love the night as
well as I.

It may be that you will never see Bats flying freely, or find the Owls
flapping silently among the trees without touching even a twig. Perhaps
while these things are happening you must be snugly tucked in bed. But
that is no reason why you should not be told what they do while you are
dreaming. Before this, you know, I have told you more of what is done by
daylight in meadow, forest, farmyard, and pond. It would be a very queer
world if we could not know about things without seeing them for
ourselves, and you may like to think, when you are going to sleep, that
hundreds and thousands of tiny out-of-door people are turning, and
stretching, and going to find their food. In the morning, when you are
dressing in your sunshiny rooms, they are cuddling down for a good day's
rest.

I think I ought to tell you that I have not been alone when writing
these stories. I have often been in the meadow and the forest at night,
and have seen and heard many interesting things, but my good Cat,
Silvertip, has known far more than I of the night-doings of the
out-of-door people. He has been beside me at my desk, and although at
times he has shut his eyes and taken Cat-naps while I wrote, there have
been many other times when he has taken the pen right out of my hand. He
has even tried running the typewriter with his dainty white paws, and he
has gone over every story I have written. I do not say that he has
written any himself, but you can