Frank and Fanny | Page 3

seen occasionally in the pastures and pine forests, in all parts of
our country, from Maine to Carolina, was the woodchuck, or
ground-hog, as it is sometimes called. It feeds, generally, upon clover
and other succulent vegetables, and hence it is often injurious to the
farmer. It is said to bring forth four or five young at a litter. Its gait is
awkward, and not rapid; but its extreme vigilance, and acute sense of
hearing, prevent it from being often captured. It forms deep and long
burrows in the earth, to which it flies upon the least alarm. It appears to
be sociable in its habits; for upon one occasion, we noticed some thirty
or forty burrows in a field of about five acres. These burrows contain
large excavations, in which they deposit stores of provisions. It
hybernates during the winter, having first carefully closed the entrance
of its burrow from within. It is susceptible of domestication, and is
remarkable for its cleanly habits. Its cheeks are susceptible of great
dilatation, and are used as receptacles for the food which it thus
transports to its burrow. The capture of the woodchuck, forms one of
the most exciting sports of boys, and it is very easily domesticated.
[Illustration: THE WOODCHUCK.]

The woods abounded in other wild animals, all small and harmless, but
extremely interesting to the children. In their frequent visits to the
woods, it was their delight to watch the animals and birds, and observe
their motions, habits, and modes of life. But they were not fond of
disturbing them; and when they deviated from their rule in this respect,
on one remarkable occasion, as we shall now relate, it gave them
occasion for much sorrow.
CHAPTER II.
THE YOUNG CHICKADEE.
One Saturday afternoon, the children found in the woods, a grape vine,
larger than any that they had before discovered. One end clasped a
decayed tree, and as they bore their weight upon the vine, to try its
strength, they were startled by a hoarse cry above them. Looking up,
they saw two brown birds, beating the air with their wings, and
screaming, "tshe daigh, daigh, daigh; tshe daigh, daigh, daigh!" At the
same time, from amidst the green foliage which twined about the dead
tree, they heard a feeble, plaintive cry from several little throats,
"te-derry, te-derry." Frank and Fanny were much amused. They had
never seen a bird's nest so low before, and they had been forbidden to
climb the trees; but now Frank saw, that by placing one large stone
upon another, he could reach up, so as to look into the nest. He did so,
and found there were six little birds in it. But Fanny begged him to get
down, the poor parent birds were so distressed. So he went and stood
by her, upon the turf, where she was kneeling, and they both watched
the frighted mother bird, as she fluttered back to her nest. The other
still flapped the air with his wings, and by his angry notes, brought
another bird to the scene. This one looked so plump and dignified,
perched upon the bough of an adjoining tree, that Fanny guessed he
was the grandpapa.
[Illustration: THE CHICKADEE.]
They became so interested in the birds, that they forgot how rapidly the
time was passing, and it was nearly sundown when they started to go

home. They skipped lightly over the soft, green grass of the meadows,
stopping now and then, to look at some curious insect, and then
walking on slowly with their arms around each other.
[Illustration: FRANK AND FANNY IN THE WOODS.]
Frank was very fond of his sister, seldom leaving her for any other
playmate. He remembered his dying mother's charge. She had called
both children to her bed side, before her death, and placing Fanny's
hand in Frank's, had said, "My son, in a few hours you and Fanny will
be motherless; promise me that you will try to fill my place; that you
will cherish and love your sister, with all the care and tenderness of
which you are capable; and Fanny, my little darling, you must
remember mamma, and try never to be peevish and fretful, so that
Frank will love to be with you, and take care of you; and both of you
must always be the same good and obedient children to your
grand-parents, that you have ever been;" and Frank promised, through
his sobs, that he would never neglect his gentle little sister. He had kept
his promise faithfully. More than a year had now passed away, and
very seldom had Fanny known what it was to have her brother cross, or
unkind to her.
Frank was now ten years old, and Fanny seven. In all the village, there
were not two happier, or