Among the Night People

People

by Clara Dillingham Pierson
Ê * * * ÊÊÊÊÊ
Table of Contents
The Black Spanish Chickens
The Wigglers Become Mosquitoes
The Naughty Raccoon Children
The Timid Little Ground Hog
The Young Raccoons Go to a Party
The Skunks and the Oven-Bird's Nest
The Lazy Cut-Worms
The Night-Moth's Party
The Lonely Old Bachelor Muskrat
The Greedy Red Fox
The Unfortunate Fireflies
The Kittens Come to the Forest
The Inquisitive Weasels

The Thrifty Deer-Mouse
The Humming-Bird and the Hawk-Moth
* * *
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,Ñwho 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 that I have written. I do not say that
he has written any himself, but you can see that he has been very
careful what I wrote, and I have learned a great deal from him that I
never knew before. He is a very good and clever Cat, and if you like
these stories I am sure it must be partly because he had a paw in the
writing of them.
Your friend,ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ
CLARA D. PIERSON.
STANTON, MICHIGAN,
April 15th, 1901.
THE BLACK SPANISH CHICKENS
WHEN the Speckled Hen wanted to sit there was no use in trying to
talk her out of the idea, for she was a very set Hen. So, after the
farmer's wife had worked and worked, and barred her out of first one
nesting-place and then another, she gave up to the Speckled Hen and
fixed her a fine nest and put thirteen eggs into it. They were Black
Spanish eggs, but the Speckled Hen did not know that. The Hens that
had laid them could not bear to sit, so, unless some other Hen did the
work which they left undone, there would have been no Black Spanish
Chickens. This is always their way, and people have grown used to it.
Now nobody thinks of asking a Black Spanish Hen to sit, although it
does not seem right that a Hen should be unwilling to bring up chickens.
Supposing nobody had been willing to bring her up?
Still, the Black Spanish Hens talk very reasonably about it. "We will
lay plenty of eggs," they say, "but some of the common Hens must
hatch them." They do their share of the farmyard work, only they insist
on choosing what that share shall be.
When the Speckled Hen came off the nest with eleven Black Chickens
(two of the eggs did not hatch), she was not altogether happy. "I wanted
them to be speckled," said she, "and not one of the whole brood is."

That was why she grew so restless and