Bee Content

“Listen to the mocking bird!” exclaimed Joyce, early the next morning. “It sounds as if he would burst his throat. Sometimes his song is loud, and then again he whistles softly, like our canary.”

As they listened, the bird whistled shrilly, like the cardinal; then he trilled like the canary, and chirped like the sparrow. He gave a call like the hen quail’s, and sang a song exactly like the song of the bluebird. Then he twittered like a number of smaller birds, sang the song of the robin, and came back to the whistle of the cardinal.

“Did you ever hear such a wonderful song?” cried Joyce. “I could listen to him all day long.”

“I like to hear him sing in the daytime, too,” laughed Grandma; “but during the night I don’t enjoy it so much. Last spring the mocking birds built their nest in the same tree where that little fellow is singing now; and such music, all night long, during the time when they were nesting! It was beautiful, but it kept me awake many an hour when I should have been sleeping. Mocking birds usually build their nests near houses, to protect themselves from robbers.”

“Robbers! What kind?” exclaimed Don.

“Sometimes larger birds; and sometimes cats, or snakes. You can always tell when a robber is about, by the fuss the old birds make. Last spring I heard a great commotion in that tree, and I went out to see what was the trouble. I looked about for quite a while before I discovered the nest; and all the time, the birds were darting here and there and giving their sharp little cries of distress. When at last I found the nest, I saw a big black snake crawling toward it. I got the garden rake and pulled him loose from the limb; and when he fell to the ground, I killed the cruel thief.”

Joyce stepped out into the yard, to get a better look at the little songster as he sat swinging at the top of the old apple tree. Just then he flew across the orchard and down to the creek, alighting among the willows along the bank.

That afternoon the children went to the creek, to see if there were any water lilies in bloom. As they neared the clump of willows, Don said, “Let’s be quiet, and see if we can find the mocking bird.” So they walked softly, and talked in whispers; but they did not catch a glimpse of the lovely songster. Suddenly Don stopped and pointed to a big green frog sitting on a lily pad in the middle of the creek.

“Oh-h-h!” exclaimed Joyce. Instantly there was a splash, and the frog was gone. There were splashes all around, as other frogs disappeared in the water.

The children hid behind the willows, and waited quietly for some time. Soon they saw a big green fellow swim toward the lily pad and climb up on it. Others began to swim about in the water, and a number of them came out along the bank.

Suddenly Joyce caught sight of something else, which made her forget the frogs. Just beyond the spot where the frog sat perched on a lily pad, there was a lovely water lily in bloom.

“Oh, Don,” she whispered, “do you think we can get it?”

“I’d rather have the frog than the lily,” answered Don.

“Yes, but you can’t get him, you know,” said Joyce. “Will you help me to get to the lily?”

Don nodded, and came out from behind the willows where he had been crouching. Instantly there was another splash, and Mr. Froggy was gone. In a moment there was not a frog to be seen anywhere.

To get the lily, the children had to cross the creek and then step out on an old log. The creek was so shallow that they knew there was no danger of drowning, even if they should fall into the water; so Joyce steadied the log with her hands, while Don stood on it and reached for the lily. It took him some time to get it, for it had a tough stem which was very hard to break. But Joyce was so pleased when he handed her the beautiful lily, that he felt repaid for all his trouble.

About three o’clock the children found some empty spools and went to the corner of the orchard, and sat down in the cool shade of the lilac bush. Soon they were blowing many-colored bubbles and flying them in the air.

Tabby, Grandma’s pretty Maltese cat, lay curled up in the shade. One of Don’s bubbles lit on her back, and then burst. By and by another lit on her nose, and burst immediately. The old cat jumped to her feet and began to sneeze. Then she sat down and washed her face with her paw, as if to say, “Thank you, I’d rather wash my face without any soap.”

That evening, as they sat on the porch, Joyce said a little sadly, “It will not be long now before we shall hear the noisy street cars again, instead of the katydids and whippoorwills. Only one more night after this, and we shall be home.”

“Yes,” added Don, “only two more stories about the bees.” He clambered up on to the arm of Grandma’s rocking chair, while Joyce sat down at her feet.

“We’re ready for our story, Grandma,” said Don.

“All right,” answered Grandma. “I shall tell you this time about a little bee called Bee Content. Its buzz is often heard among children at play, when things happen that no one can help. Some will not listen to it, and so they complain and make everyone about them miserable.

“Willie was a poor boy who lived on a farm. Although he had to work hard, helping his father, he always went about whistling or singing. His clothes were old and patched; and he did not have things to play with, as other boys have. But he did not mind being poor, because he had parents who loved him dearly.

“One day when Willie was working in the field, he looked up and saw a great cloud of dust. A team was running away. The horses were hitched to a buggy; and as they came rushing toward him, the thought flashed into Willie’s mind that he must try his best to stop them. A short distance down the road, there was a bridge. ‘If the horses should run into the railing,’ he thought, ‘they would tear the buggy to pieces, and perhaps hurt themselves.’

“The boy leaped over the fence, and braced himself; and as the horses came near, he grabbed one by the bridle and held on tightly. This was a very brave thing to do; for if he had missed catching hold, he might have been thrown under the horses’ hoofs and trampled to death. His weight swinging on the horse’s bridle soon stopped the team.

“Soon a man came running along the highway; and when he learned what Willie had done, he said, ‘You are a brave boy. What do I owe you for your trouble?’

“Willie smiled his friendly smile as he answered, ‘I did not stop the horses for pay, sir. I thought of the railing on the bridge; and I was afraid the horses would break the buggy, and hurt themselves.’

“Noticing that Willie’s clothes were badly worn, the gentleman said, ‘Will you not let me give you some money to buy clothes?’

“ ‘I have a better pair of shoes than these—and a better suit of clothes, for Sundays,’ answered Willie. ‘And these clothes are all right to work in.’

“ ‘But you will need some new books for school this fall,’ said the gentleman.

“ ‘I have some books that were given to me,’ replied the lad; ‘and Mother glued in the loose leaves, so that I can use them very well, thank you.’

“ ‘Wouldn’t you like to have a ball and bat?’

“ ‘I made a ball from some old wool that Mother gave me,’ answered Willie; ‘and I whittled out a bat which answers the purpose very well.’

“The gentleman laid his hand on Willie’s shoulder, saying kindly, ‘My boy, I understand now why you have that smile; for you have learned a secret which few people know—the secret of contentment. I shall have to call you The Contented Boy.’ And with that, he drove away.

“A few days later, a large box came to the village, addressed to Willie. The express agent sent word out to the farm, and Willie’s father drove in to the village to get it.

“When Willie opened the box, he found a large card lying on top on which were written the words: To the Contented Boy, From a Grateful Friend and Debtor. He knew then that the box had come from the man whose team he had stopped a few days before.

“It contained a new suit of clothes, some shirts, overalls, stockings, a warm cap and mittens, and a new baseball and bat. When he lifted out the overcoat he felt in the pockets and discovered a five-dollar bill.

“How pleased Willie was! As he went back to his work in the field, he whistled more cheerily than before.

“But that was not all. At Christmas time, a wonderful bicycle came from his new friend. You will believe me when I tell you that he was the happiest boy in the country.”

“That’s the best story you have told us yet,” said Don. “I think Willie was a brave boy.”

“And he deserved everything he got,” added Grandma; “for he had learned the secret of being content with a very little.”