Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Binney the Beaver

AND

OTHER STORIES.

BY LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY.

BOSTON:

HENRY A. YOUNG & CO.,

26 SCHOOL STREET.

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by

HENRY A. YOUNG & CO.,

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

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CONTENTS.

I.

BINNEY THE BEAVER.

Chapter I. The Nice Home

Chapter II. Idlers Driven Out

Chapter III. Bad Companions

Chapter IV. Disobedience Punished

Chapter V. Caught in a Trap

Chapter VI. Friends in London

Chapter VII. A Strange Companion

Chapter VIII. Died of a Broken Heart

II.

THE EXHIBITION IN THE BARN.

III.

THE MOTHER'S LEGACY.

BINNEY THE BEAVER

and

Other Stories

BINNEY THE BEAVER.

CHAPTER I.

THE NICE HOME.

BINNEY was a young beaver, who lived with several brothers and sisters, and a great many aunts, uncles, and cousins, in a beautiful pond by a stream which empties into the Missouri a long way off to the north-west.

This was not a natural pond. Some years before, two beavers, whose house had been destroyed by the Indians, set out on a journey to found a new town. They travelled along at their leisure, living upon the tender bark of the low and cotton-wood shoots, which they found in great abundance, and looking for a home. They found no place to suit them for a great many days. One stream was too swift, another too slow; another was subject to great freshets, as was plainly shown by the heaps of driftwood which lay piled on the banks, and the great logs in the bed of the stream.

At last, however, after travelling till they were tired and almost discouraged, they came one morning to the banks of a large and clear brook. Willows and cotton-wood grew all around it, there were no signs of men anywhere about, and just in the shadiest, pleasantest place there was a long reach of still water.

"This will suit very nicely," said Mr. Beaver. "I have not seen such a pleasant place since we left home."

"No place can ever be to me like that old home," said Mrs. Beaver, sighing. "I do not feel any courage at all about beginning to build in this new, strange stream."

"O, you must not be downhearted," returned Mr. Beaver, cheerily. "We shall soon have a family about us again, and every thing will be as pleasant as before our misfortunes commenced. See how handily those young cotton-woods grow for our dam. We can never be at a loss for food here, as you know was sometimes the case in our old home. We ought to be thankful also that it is early spring instead of fall. We have all the summer before us in which to work, and I can see no reason why we should not have a very nice, pleasant home before winter comes upon us."

Mrs. Beaver sighed again, but she reflected that there is no use in crying for what cannot be helped; and as she really loved her husband, she did not wish to discourage him by fretting, so she put on a cheerful face, and set to work with a good will.

It was indeed needful to keep up a stout heart, for the two beavers had a deal of hard work before them. Their first care was to build up a dam to shut in the water and make a pond. They began operations by cutting down a great many young trees about as thick as a man's wrist. Then they cut off the branches, and stripped them of their bark, which they piled away in heaps for food in winter. With these trees and branches they built their dam, sticking the ends down into the mud at the bottom of the stream, weaving them firmly together with smaller sticks, long grass, and reeds, and plastering them neatly over with mud, so that the dam, when done, was quite water-tight. It was about ten feet wide at the bottom, and sloped to two feet at the top, and was so long as to go clear across the stream, and a good way up on either bank. All this was done at night, for beavers prefer to work at night, and sleep or play in the daytime.

You may perhaps wonder how the two beavers contrived to do so much work, but they knew beforehand just what they wished to accomplish, and they had tools well adapted to their uses. Their sharp teeth were their saws and axes, wherewith to cut down the trees, and strip them of their bark, while their paws and their broad, flat tails served for hoes and trowels, to dig up the mud, and spread it for mortar. *

* Some say the beavers never use their tails for trowels.

When Mrs. Beaver saw how nicely the work went on, she was quite cured of her low spirits, and by fall she had almost forgotten that she had ever lived anywhere else.

By the time cold weather came they had quit, finished their dam, and had also built themselves a very nice house. It was made of branches piled up cross-ways, and mixed with mud and stones, with a roof in the shape of a dome, and it was so strong and tight that no rain or snow could get through it. In this house they made very neat little beds of dried grass, and here they lived very happily, sleeping and playing, and eating the nice bark and roots which they had stored up in the fall.

CHAPTER II.

IDLERS DRIVEN OUT.

IN the spring, Mr. Beaver took a very long journey, as beavers are used to do at that time of the year; and when he came home he found that his wife had a nice little family of five young ones, big enough to run about and help in the work of the house. That summer two more pairs of beavers came and set up housekeeping on the banks of the stream. They were very good-natured, helpful people, willing to do their share of all the work which was going on, and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver gave them a warm welcome, showing them where the best bark grew, and where the white lily roots were sweetest, for beavers are usually very polite and kind to one another.

The next year there were many young beavers frisking about the dam and in the water, and in the course of time the colony grew to be a very large one. They had not been disturbed by hunters or trappers; they always had plenty to eat; they were kind to one another, and upon the whole, they were very happy.

However, nobody gets through the world without some trouble, and the beavers had their share. One year three or four of the young beavers refused to work at the dam, or at bringing in bark and branches for food. They did not like rooting in the mud, they said, or gnawing at branches till their jaws ached. They were made perfect slaves of, and they would stand it no longer. And with that they set up their backs, and showed their teeth, and tried to look very grand and independent, but they only succeeded in looking cross. Their fathers and mothers talked to them kindly about their faults, and then tried punishing them, but all did no good. They were just as idle and naughty as before.

When the other beavers saw this, they called a council to consult as to what was to be done; and after talking the matter over, they agreed that unless the idle beavers came to their senses, and were willing to do their fair share of the work, they must be driven from the village, and live by themselves as they best could.

The idlers said they did not care; they could live well enough anywhere. So the old beavers drove them out of the village, and would not let them come back any more. They also warned the other young beavers to have nothing to do with them in any way, for they were wise enough to know how soon good manners are spoiled by bad company.

So these idlers went away and lived in the woods, not very far from the beaver dam. They were too lazy and stupid to build nice houses, so they just scratched holes in the ground to sleep in, and spent their whole time in doing nothing at all, which is just the hardest work in the world when one has too much of it.

It was about two years after the idlers were driven from the village that Binney was born. As soon as he was able to notice anything, he found himself lying on a nice bed of hay with three other little beavers just like himself. They all had bright black eyes, short stout legs, very long strong fore-feet, and hind-feet webbed like those of a goose, having long claws, with which they soon learned to comb their soft fur, and keep it in nice order. They had also broad, flat tails, shaped like a mason's trowel, and clothed with scales instead of hair. They were merry little things, and soon began to have fine games of play with the other little beavers in the town. With these little friends they swam in the pond, dived from the dam, and ran about the banks of the stream all day long.

But they soon found out that life was not to be all play. As soon as they were big enough, their mothers began to teach them to work. First they learned to bring grass and straw for the nest, holding the load under their chins with one paw, and walking with the other three. Then they were taught to dive for mud and moss at the bottom of the pond, and at last to gnaw down twigs and sticks for the dam.

At first Binney thought it would be a fine thing to work like a grown-up beaver, but he soon found out that work is not as easy as play. After a time he began to be idle, and would slip away from his work to play in the woods on the bank of the stream. His mother talked to him very kindly about his fault, and told him what would be the consequence of it—that he would be driven from the town, and forced to live in the woods, where he would often be cold and hungry, and where none of his friends and relations would visit him, or speak to him.

Binney promised to be more industrious, and for a time was very good; but he pretty soon forgot his loving mother's advice and grew idle again, and the others began to look coldly upon him, and to forbid their children to play with him, for it is thought very mean and disgraceful in a beaver to be idle.

One day he was hanging about in the woods, whither he had been sent for some birch twigs with which to mend the house. His was not a hard or disagreeable task, for the twigs were small and tender, and the bark was sweet and pleasant to the taste; but Binney had learned to hate the very name of work. Still he did not dare to return without the twigs which he had been sent for, as his father had been angry with him that very morning, and said he would punish him severely unless he did better.

So he was hanging about the woods, as I have said, feeling cross and low spirited, wishing that his work was done, and yet unable to make up his mind to go about it. All at once, as he walked along, he came upon a beaver whom he had never met before.

CHAPTER III.

BAD COMPANIONS.

THE beaver that Binney met in the woods did not look at all like Binney's friends in the village. His fur was ragged and dirty, and full of burrs and straws, as though it had not been combed in a long time. His eyes were partly closed, as if he were fast asleep, and he lounged along in a careless, lazy way, very different from the active, busy pace of the beavers in the town.

"Hollo, young one!" cried he, as he caught sight of Binney. "Who are you, and what are you about here?"

Binney was not used to being addressed in this rude way, for beavers are usually very polite to each other, and at first he did not know what to reply.

"Can't you speak?" said the newcomer. "Do you live in the town, hey?"

"Yes," said Binney, finding his voice at last; "I was sent out here for some birch twigs."

The stranger began to laugh in a very rude way. "O, sent for twigs, were you! If I were a smart young fellow like you, I would be above being sent here and there, and working like a slave for all the town. I would take to the woods; and live by myself, and for myself! That's what I would do."

"But my mother says the wood-beavers often go cold and hungry, and that no decent beaver would speak to them," said Binney.

"What's that you say?" said the stranger, turning fiercely upon Binney. "Do you know, young one, I have a great mind to bite your head off? How dare you come here and be saucy to me?"

Binney was much alarmed, for the stranger looked very big and savage.

"Please, sir, I did not mean to be saucy," he said, humbly. "I did not know that you were a wood-beaver."

"You are a fool!" said the wood-beaver roughly. "The wood-beavers are much better off than such poor sneaks as you. I would not go into their town—no, not to have the whole of it. But you dare not say your life is your own, you are so afraid of your ma-a!", and he drawled out the word, and laughed in a very disagreeable manner.

Binney felt very much vexed, and so he ought to have been; but it was not in the right way. Instead of being angry at the wood-beaver for speaking so disrespectfully of his kind friends, he was vexed to think he should be laughed at, and that the wood-beaver should suppose he was afraid to do wrong.

"I am not a slave either!" said he. "And I won't work unless I please."

"O yes, that is all well enough to say now," replied the wood-beaver; "but you dare not go over to the other stream with me, to save your life."

"How far is it?" asked Binney.

"O, not very far! Just beyond these woods, and across a meadow. There are plenty of lily roots there, and nice red raspberries besides; but they will never do you any good, because you are afraid to go after them."

"I am not at all afraid," said Binney. "I will go this minute, if you will only show me the way."

"Come along with me then," said the wood-beaver. "Now you show some spirit. I should not wonder if you turned out a fine fellow after all."

Binney was just silly enough to be vastly pleased at being flattered by his companion, and they walked along together through the woods, talking as they went.

It was a long walk, and Binney was very tired before they reached the place; but he dared not say so, for fear the wood-beaver should laugh at him. At last, however, they reached the meadow, where they were joined by several other wood-beavers, as ragged, dirty, and ill-bred as his guide, who stared at Binney in a very rude manner, saying "Hollo! What young one is this dressed up so very fine?"

"It is one of the town-beavers," said Binney's friend; "he wanted to see a little of life, so I brought him along."

"Yes, to be a spy upon us, and then run home and tell tales," said a very large and rough looking fellow. "Better bite his head off, and stop his tattling once for all."

"You shall do no such thing," said Binney's friend. "We were all town-beavers once, and he is as good as the rest. Never mind, Binney, he shall not hurt you; you shall live with us, and learn to be free and bold as we are."

Binney did not like the prospects of living with the wood-beavers; but he thought they would be going home presently, and then he could slip away and run home to the village. I am sorry to say he began to think what sort of a story he should tell to excuse himself to his father, for like most idlers, he had already learned to make false excuses. But he made a sad mistake, as you will see by and by.

CHAPTER IV.

DISOBEDIENCE PUNISHED.

THE beavers played all day long about the pond, and in the meadow. Binney knew very well how to dive for the lily roots, and when his companions found this out they kept him busy enough. It was, "Binney, just get me a piece, there is a good fellow;" and "Binney, just take one more dive for me, and I will do as much for you some day," till Binney was almost tired out, and began to think he might a good deal better have got his twigs and gone home.

As the sun began to sink low in the sky he grew uneasy, and hinted to his new friend that they might as well be turning homeward.

"We are going to stay here to-night," said the wood-beaver, stretching himself and yawning. "One place is as much home as another to us. I say, Binney, just pull that burr out of my ear, will you?"

Binney pulled out the burr, and then said, trying very hard to speak bravely, "Well, I must go home at any rate, so good night, and thank you."

"Heyday!" cried the largest of the wood-beavers. "Not quite so fast, my young friend. You are not going back to the town to tell tales, and bring all your friends to our feeding ground. Not if I know it."

"No, indeed!" cried all the wood-beavers. "You came of your own free will, and now you must stay. There is no such thing as going back."

Poor Binney! He begged and prayed, but the wood-beavers only laughed at him, and abused him, so that at last he dared say no more, but made up his mind, though with a heavy heart, to spend the night away from home. He could not help crying bitterly as he thought of his dear kind father and mother waiting and looking for him; of the nice warm house, the good supper, and frolics in the pond by moonlight with the good little beavers of the town.

"O, if I had only minded my father, and gone straight home," said he; "but if I once get back, I will never be so naughty again." He did not know that he was never to see his pleasant home nor his kind father any more.

The next day was spent by the wood-beavers in eating, sleeping, and fighting among themselves. Binney found himself a perfect slave. It was, "Binney do this," "Binney do that," "Binney come here this minute, or I'll bite your head off!" till the poor little beaver was tired off his feet. He could not get the least chance to put his fur in order, which added to his discomfort, for he had been brought up to very neat habits. Once he began to comb out his fur a little, but the other beavers found him out, and laughed at him so much that he did not try it again.

Things went on in this way for two or three weeks and Binney grew more and more homesick every day, but he could not run away. The wood-beavers thought it a fine thing to have a slave to wait upon them, and they kept a close watch upon all his motions. One day, however, as he was sitting in a very sorrowful mood behind an old stump, where he had crept for a little rest, his first acquaintance, who had several times taken his part, came and sat down by his side.

"Binney," said he, "do you want to go home?"

"O, don't I though?" cried Binney.

"Come along then," said his friend; "I am going into the woods again, and will show you the way; but we must set out this minute, before they miss us. I do think they abuse you, that is the truth."

"O, I am so glad," said Binney, giving a great skip. "Now I shall see my dear father and mother once more."

"Well, do not make such a great noise about it," said the wood-beaver so gruffly that Binney was scared, and walked along quite meekly and silently for a while, till his friend said in a milder tone, "So you like the thought of going home, hey!"

"Yes, indeed," said Binney.

"Work and all?"

"Why, as to that, I have had to work a great deal harder since I left home than ever I did before, and have had plenty of cuffs and bites into the bargain. And besides, if you will excuse me for saying so—"

"Say away," said his friend.

"I do really think that town-beavers have better times than wood-beavers. To be sure, they have to work sometimes when they don't like it, but then each one has his own special task, and no one crowds or imposes on another. They have plenty of time for fun, and when they do play, they enjoy it very much."

"You did not think so when you were sent after the birch twigs," said the wood-beaver.

"No," said Binney, with a deep sigh; "but I have learned a great deal since that time."

"Well, little one, I think upon the whole you are right," said the wood-beaver; "I do believe you are."

"If you think so, why don't you come back to the town yourself?" said Binney, rather timidly.

The wood-beaver sighed. "They would not let me, Binney. Don't you know it is the rule, that when a beaver is once driven away from the town, he can never come back again. Even if I could return, I am too old; I could not learn to work, and I should not know what to do with myself in respectable society. No, I have made my choice, and now I must abide by it. But you are young, and they will pardon you for running away. I advise you never to try it again, but to obey the laws, and live in peace. See, here is the brook."

"Is this our brook?" asked Binney. "It looks much larger."

"That is because we are low down," replied his friend. "We must follow up the stream till we come in sight of the dam, and then you can easily run home."

CHAPTER V.

CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

THE two beavers walked slowly along the bank till by and by they began to smell something very strong and sweet; at least so they thought, though I doubt whether any one but a beaver would have liked the perfume.

"What is that?" inquired Binney, snuffing the air.

"Let us go and see," said his guide.

So they walked toward the edge of the water, where they saw some green twigs stuck into the mud, from which the perfume seemed to proceed. Somehow or other Binney did not like the look of these green twigs. He had never seen any set in that way, and he suspected something—he did not quite know what. "See there! What track is this upon the bank?" said he.

"A bear's, of course," said the wood-beaver, without once looking at it. If he had done so, he would have seen that no bear ever made such a track; but he was in such a hurry to reach the green twigs that he could think of nothing else.

Binney followed slowly, and it was well that he did so, for in a moment more he heard his friend scream out with pain and fear. He ran to see what was the matter.

"O, I am caught! I am caught!" cried the poor wood-beaver, pulling with all his might to get away. But his paw was fast in the iron trap, and he could not get it out.

"It must be a trap, such as I have heard my great-grandmother tell of," said Binney, trembling; "and I dare say the strange track I saw was that of a man. What shall we do?"

"If you would gnaw this little thing off I could get my paw out," said the wood-beaver.

Binney gnawed with all his might, but in vain. He could not make even the least little mark on the iron of the trap.

"There, it is all of no use," said the wood-beaver, despairingly. "You had better run right home, and leave me to my fate, Binney! It serves me right for leading you astray in the first place. Keep on up the stream till you come to the dam, and be sure you tell every beaver you meet that there is a trapper about. Make haste, or he will come back and catch you."

"I cannot go, and leave you in this scrape," said Binney, crying bitterly. "It was as much my fault as yours. I would bite my own paw off rather than be caught. Beavers do so sometimes. Grandmamma told us so."

"I cannot get at it," replied his friend. "Run, Binney, I hear him coming!"

But before Binney could make up his mind what to do, two men burst through the bushes with guns in their bands. One of them gave the wood-beaver a knock on the head which killed him, while the other seized upon Binney, who, in his fright, did not know which way to run, and so stood still. O how he did kick and bite; but all was of no use. He could not get away.

"What is that? A young one?" asked one of the men.

"Yes, just what we want," replied the other. "Come, let us take him to the camp."

Binney gave himself up for lost, and expected every moment to be killed.

The man who held him, however, did not seem to wish to hurt him, and only laughed when Binney kicked and tried to bite. The men went along up the stream, treading quietly and making no noise, till they came within sight of the dam, when they stopped, and set their traps around.

You may guess how Binney felt when he saw his dear old home so near, with all his friends and relations playing about it, and yet could not even warn them of the cruel traps. But there was no help for it.

The men set their traps, as I have said, and then went away through the woods to a place at some distance, where they had a camp, and where some men were sitting around a fire.

"What have you there, Victor?" asked one of them.

"A young beaver, captain," said the man who held Binney. "Just such as the Englishman wants. He is old enough to feed, and not too old to tame."

The captain seemed much pleased, patted Binney's head, and offered him some bread; but the poor little beaver was far too sad and scared to care about eating. Binney was now fastened with a light chain to the stump of a tree, and a box was given him to run under.

For two or three days he would eat nothing; he spent his whole time gnawing at his chain; but he grew tired of that when he found it did no good. And by and by he grew tamer, and began to relish the bits of bread, and twigs, and the lumps of sugar which the men gave him; and would soon have grown fond of his captors if he had not seen them kill so many of his acquaintances. Every day they brought into the camp beavers which they had caught in their traps. Binney soon observed, however, that very few of the inmates of the village were taken in this way. Almost all the bodies were those of the lazy wood-beavers. As soon as they were brought in, the trappers skinned them, and dried the skins. The bodies were then thrown away or buried, for beaver meat is not very good to eat.

After a time the men found they had as many beaver skins as they wanted, so they broke up their camp and went away. Binney travelled many days and nights, now by land, and now by water; sometimes on horseback, or in a wagon; now on the cars, and again in a great ship over the ocean, till at last he arrived at the city of London.

CHAPTER VI.

FRIENDS IN LONDON.

WHEN Binney came to London, he was taken to the house of a gentleman who was very fond of animals. This gentleman was a very wise and good man, and he has written a number of charming books about animals, which you will read some day. Binney was taken into a room on the ground-floor, where sat a very nice and kind looking old lady, who was busy stoning raisins.

"A sailor has just brought this here little beast to my master, ma'am," said the servant. "Here is a letter which came along with it."

"I suppose it must be the beaver which Mr. B— expected from Canada," said the old lady, who was the housekeeper. "Poor thing! How dirty it is. Bring a basin of water, Thomas. I dare say it will like to drink."

Thomas brought a large basin full of clean water, and set it down on the stone hearth. Now Binney had not had any water to wash in for a long, long time, and seeing this fine bowl of clean water, he plunged into it head first, rolling about and grunting with delight.

"Poor thing, how pleased it is with its bath," said the old lady, who was very neat herself, and a great admirer of cleanliness in others. "I have heard that beavers live mostly in the water. I wonder what it eats?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Thomas, who, to say the truth, did not know much about any thing except opening the door, and waiting upon the table. "I can't think why master wants so many animals about. Dirty things, always making a litter for me to clean up."

"As to that, Thomas, your master has a right to please himself," said the old lady. "I suppose, at any rate, a biscuit will do the creature no harm."

She opened a cupboard door as she spoke, and taking out a large sweet biscuit, she gave it to Binney, who had never before tasted anything so good. It was soon eaten, and Binney, after combing out his fur with his claws, lay down at the housekeeper's feet, and fell fast asleep.

By and by Mr. B— came home to his dinner, which he usually took quite late. As Thomas was clearing away the things, he said to his master:

"If you please, sir, the beaver have come, and brought you a letter from Canada."

"Ah!" said Mr. B—, smiling. "A letter of introduction, I suppose. Bring him up stairs, Thomas, and let us have a look at him."

Thomas made no reply, but went down to the housekeeper's room, where Binney lay at the kind old lady's feet. He had combed his fur out clean with his long claws, and looked and felt much better than when he arrived, so much so that he was rolling over and over before the fire, playing in his clumsy way, and grunting with pleasure. He had not felt so happy since he left his home in the north-west.

"Master says I am to bring this here beast up stairs; but how I am to bring him, I should like to know," said Thomas, sulkily. "I dare say he will bite me if I touch him. Here, beast! Come here, sir!"

But Thomas did not speak kindly, and Binney would not follow him.

"I will take him up myself," said the kind housekeeper, rising. "Come along, there is a good little fellow."

Binney was very ready to follow the old lady who had been so good to him, and he trotted along after her up the stairs, which were very low and easy, till he came to the drawing-room. It was a large, handsome room, nicely furnished, and had a thick, soft carpet upon the floor. Mr. B— sat before the bright fire, reading the paper; but he looked up as the housekeeper came in with Binney behind her.

"Ah, thank you, Mrs. Smith," said he. "So you have brought our new pet. How does he seem?"

"Well, sir, he seems a deal better than when he came," replied Mrs. Smith. "I have fed him, and given him some water to wash in, and he seems quite lively and playful like."

Just then something bounded from the top of a high bookcase, and came down on the floor. Binney looked at it in great surprise. He had never seen such a creature in all his travels. It was a little animal of a reddish gray color, about the size of a half-grown kitten, but much more active and graceful. Its face was white, its nose long and sharp, and its eyes extremely large and bright. Its feet were shaped much like a man's hands, and it had a very long furry tail. It was a white-fronted lemur, from the island of Madagascar, far away in the Indian Ocean.

"O ho, Mackey! So you have waked up," said Mr. B—. "You seem in fine spirits to-night. Here is a new playmate for you."

At that moment Mackey, for that was the lemur's name, caught sight of Binney, whom he had not noticed before. With one bound he sprang from the rug by the fire to the top of a high door, a distance of many yards, where he sat staring down at the newcomer as though he did not know what to make of him.

Binney, on his part, was as much astonished as the lemur. He had seen the squirrels in the woods make great leaps, but nothing compared to Mackey's.

By and by Mackey seemed to make up his mind that Binney was not dangerous, for he came down from his high post to the arm of his master's chair, and from that to his feet, where he sat very contentedly with his long furry tail wrapped round his neck and arms, like the boas which ladies used to wear some years ago. After staring at Binney for a while longer, he wrapped himself up still closer, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER VII.

A STRANGE COMPANION.

BINNEY and Mackey, the lemur, soon became great friends, and every day after dinner they had a good frolic in the drawing-room. Binney would come up to Mackey as he sat on his master's foot before the fire, and by all sorts of odd motions invite him to play. Mackey was very ready to accept the challenge, and in an instant would jump on Binney's back, or on his broad, flat tail, and off again to the tables and chairs, skipping and dancing, and making a hundred motions to Binney's one.

Binney would shuffle and prance in his clumsy way, run after Mackey with his mouth open, and slap his tail on the carpet till he made all ring again; but they never quarrelled in their play. They often had cake, nuts, and other dainties given them, which they always shared in the most amiable manner, and upon the whole they were very happy.

One day when Binney was left alone in his master's dressing-room, he thought he would try to build a dam. To be sure, he had no twigs, sticks nor stones with which to build; no mud nor moss for mortar, and there was no water to run over the dam when it was done; but he thought it would make things seem a little like home again. So to work he went in a corner of the room, and dragged together tongs and shovels, the hearth-broom and warming-pan, his master's canes and umbrellas, and a broom and dusting brush which Mary the housemaid had left behind her that morning. These things he piled up as well as he could, till he had made quite a high dam.

Just as he finished it, Mackey, who had been asleep on the mantel over the fire, waked up, and jumped down to see what his friend was about.

"I am building a dam," said Binney; "only there is no water."

"A dam!" said Mackey. "What is a dam? I never heard of such a thing."

"We always built dams at home," said Binney. "Where I used to live there was such a big one—O! as long as this house, and almost as high as this room. Its use is to set back the water in the brook, and make a pond, in which we build our houses."

"Are you going to build a house now?" asked Mackey.

"Yes, under that high bureau. Don't you want to help me? When it is all done, we will sit in it and tell our own histories."

"O what fun," cried Mackey, and he set to work at once, for lemurs, like monkeys, are very fond of imitating what they see any one else do. So the two friends dragged together boots and slippers, and all the small things they could find, with which they filled up the spaces between the legs of the bureau, and thus made a very nice little house.

"Now we ought to have some hay to put into it," said Binney, "but I don't know where to find any."

Mackey cast his great keen eyes round the room till they fell upon a tall press full of clean linen, which had been accidentally left open.

"I know, I know!" cried Mackey, clapping his tiny hands in great glee. "I know where there is plenty of nice hay."

And with one jump, he was on the top shelf of the press, where he found a great quantity of clean sheets, tablecloths, napkins, and towels. These he threw down to Binney, who dragged them into the house which they had made, till it was half full of the nice clean linen. When it was all done, they lay down in the midst of the nest, and began telling their stories. Binney told Mackey about the dam and they pond, the deep woods and the meadows, the tame and good beavers in the town and the wild beavers in the woods; but as you have heard all that before, I shall not repeat it. Then Mackey told his own story, as follows:

"I was born a great many thousand miles from London, in the island of Madagascar. There is never any cold weather in that island. Water never freezes as it does here, and there is no snow nor sleet; but it rains a great deal in one part of the year. Almost the whole island is covered with thick, deep woods, in which grow all sorts of curious and beautiful things. There are many large vines which run from tree to tree for long distances, making the nicest bridges in the world for us lemurs to run upon. There are tall, many-colored canes, which shoot up fifty or sixty feet without a leaf, and as smooth as if they had been varnished. There are palm trees like great green plumes, which bear the cocoanuts they sell here; other palms which bear dates, and others still with large broad leaves as long as this room. There are beautiful plants with leaves like green lace, which grow under the water, and others which grow upon the branches of tall trees, and bear lovely, wax-like flowers.

"There are bright colored birds, like bits of Mrs. Smith's cap ribbons, which live upon trees, and others which stay on the ground. Then you may see the loris, or slow-monkey, which sleeps nearly all day, and crawls about the trees at night so slowly that you can hardly see him move. You would think a snail could far outrun him any day, and yet he manages to catch game enough to live upon very nicely. No one would ever take him for my cousin."

"I should say not," remarked Binney. "Slowness is not one of your faults, Mackey."

"For all that, he is always kind and good-natured," resumed Mackey. "Nothing can put him out of temper, except being hurried. Then there are tigers and wildcats, and many other such creatures, besides poisonous snakes, whose bite would kill you in a few minutes, and huge serpents big enough to kill a deer, squeezing him to death, and swallowing him whole afterwards."

"Really and truly, Mackey? Or are you joking?" asked Binney.

"Really and truly, Binney. I have seen with my own eyes one of these serpents kill a huge goat and swallow him, and I know that they kill cows in the same way. After they have taken this big mouthful they lie asleep and stupid for three or four weeks before they want any more."

"It is a good thing that they do not want to eat very often," said Binney.

CHAPTER VIII.

DIED OF A BROKEN HEART.

"IN just such a place as I have described to you I was born," continued Mackey. "The first thing I remember clearly, I was hanging on my mother's back with both my arms round her neck, as she ran along one of the vines I have spoken of, which formed a bridge across a rapid roaring stream. My father was before us, and just as we reached the middle of the bridge, he stopped, and began shaking it in play. I screamed with terror, for I thought we should certainly fall, and my mother called on him to stop, telling me at the same time that there was no danger. When my father saw that I was really frightened, he ceased his play, and brought me a ripe date to comfort me.

"O, we used to have fine frolics in those woods. There were a great many of us, and we were all very friendly together. Now and then we young ones got into a quarrel, but we soon made friends again. We had plenty of fruit and nuts, nice tall trees to play and sleep in, and nothing to fear except the snakes and wildcats."

"I should think a wildcat would have had hard work to catch you," remarked Binney.

"Yes, if I saw him first; but then, you know, he might pounce upon me unawares. Well, in this way I lived for the first long happy year of my life. One unlucky day, however, I left my father and mother on a tree, and went away by myself into the woods for a ramble. I travelled along at leisure, now and then stopping to gather dates, or some other fruit, till I found myself upon the sea-shore, and then I thought I would go down to the beach and see what I could find there.

"I noticed a tall ship on the water, and some sailors in a boat near the shore; but I had seen them before, and did not feel any alarm, as I was quite sure of my ability to keep out of their way. I saw some broken biscuits lying under the tree, and I thought I would go down and examine them. I took a bit very cautiously at first, and finding it very nice, was proceeding to make a hearty meal, when all at once I found myself caught in a net, while at the same moment a sailor sprang from a thicket near by, and made me prisoner. O how I did scratch and bite, but it was of no use. I could not get away.

"The sailor was very much pleased with his prize. He carried me on board the ship, and gave me to the captain, who received me kindly, admired my fine fur and long bushy tail, and offered me all sorts of good things to eat. But you may guess I had not a great deal of appetite at that time. From the ship I could see the shore and the green woods, and I almost fancied I could hear my father and mother calling me.

"The next day the ship sailed away. I saw the woods sink lower and lower, and the land grow more and more dim and distant, till at last it faded away entirely, and nothing met my eyes but water, water in every direction. I was very sad at first, and almost thought my heart would break. But the captain and all the men were kind to me; I had plenty to eat and drink, and abundance of playmates, and I began to find out that running up and down the ropes was almost as good fun as climbing trees. Once I fell into the water. I gave myself up for lost at that time, for I cannot swim at all; but one of the men threw me a rope, which I caught, and he hauled me on board wrapped me up in a blanket to warm me. After that I was more careful.

"After a voyage of many months I came to this country, and the captain gave me to our master. I am very happy here. The days are cold and dark, and there are no pretty trees; but every one is kind to me, and now that I have you to play with, my dear, good old Binney, I am as contented as if I were at home in Madagascar."

So saying, Mackey put his little arms round Binney's neck, and gave him a good hug; and when Mrs. Smith came up to see what had become of her pets, she found them fast asleep together in the nest which they had made.

And now I come to the end of Binney's history; a very melancholy end, I am sorry to say. Mr. B— had occasion to leave town for a while, and thinking that a change would be good for Binney, who had grown fat and lazy from too much good living, he sent him to the Tower, where a number of wild animals were kept at that time. Cops, who had the charge of these animals, received Binney with pleasure, and treated him with the greatest possible kindness.

But the change was a sad one for poor Binney. He missed the liberty he had enjoyed in his master's house; he missed his merry little playmate, the lemur; and above all, he pined for his kind friend, Mrs. Smith. He grew thin and weak, moped about all day, and would take no food except a few raisins now and then. At last Mr. Cops grew so much alarmed about his health that he determined to carry him home again. But it was too late. The beaver's heart was broken. As soon as he saw his old friend, he gave a little cry of joy, crept to his favorite place under her chair, and died!

Mackey's destiny was not so mournful. His master thought he would be sorrowful without the society of his old friend, so he sent him to the Regent's Park gardens, where there are a great many wild animals of all descriptions. Here they gave him a nice house, and a pretty little wife of his own species, with whom he lived long and happily, and for all I know, he may be living yet.

THE EXHIBITION IN THE BARN.