The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Troubles of Biddy: A Pretty Little Story
Title: The Troubles of Biddy: A Pretty Little Story
Author: Isabel C. Byrum
Illustrator: Margaret Evans Price
Release date: November 25, 2010 [eBook #34438]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Patrick Hopkins and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note
- Illustration captions in {brackets} have been added by the transcriber for reader convenience.
No. 25
A Pretty Little Story
by Isabel Byrum
DRAWINGS BY MARGARET EVANS PRICE
The Troubles
of Biddy
"I really am troubled and worried to death!
For months I have thought of a family, dear,
To gladden my heart, and to live with me here.
And all I can do is to sit here and fret—
I haven't a sign of an egg in my nest,
Though some I have laid are as good as the best.
But though she was bitten, she seemed not to fear;
She only said, 'Biddy, what are you about?'
And then through the doorway she simply passed out.
For surely to be a good mother I'd try;
Although I would see that they did as I said!"
And Biddy, in sorrow and grief hung her head.
She felt that with life she was ready to part;
But glancing about in her trouble and pain
She saw that her mistress was coming again;
Old Biddy thought quickly "she can't understand,"
And "what is she doing?" exclaimed in surprise;
For out of the nest Biddy felt herself rise.
She saw that the basket contained shining eggs;
And mistress with care placed them all in the nest
For Biddy to snuggle beneath her warm breast.
Her troubles had vanished, she felt she had none:
And, planning away in her little straw bed,
No thoughts of complaining came into her head.
And pictures of rapture were constantly drawn,
For, out on the lawn near a little old shed,
Were dishes and troughs where the chickens were fed.
The largest and neatest are what I shall choose."
But never a thought did this wise mother take
Of danger, or trouble, in St. Mary's lake.
And the bright downy heads her soft feathers stirred!
"But what is the matter with each little nose?"
She said in amazement, "And what ails their toes?"
I wonder whatever such strange things will cure?"
And Biddy once more was in trouble most deep;
For none of her children could really say peep.
One morning said Biddy, "I'll lead them just so;
I'll watch every minute lest danger arise:
For they'll not be safe when from under my eyes."
And ere Biddy knew it, they all had jumped out
Of the nest, and were darting about in the sun,
For bugs, and for grass blades, and simply for fun.
"I ought to be dusting my feathers and head;"
So off to the roadside she hastily went,
And there in the soft sand, a few moments spent.
It wasn't the sound of a young chicken's peep—
But the splashing of water and flutt'ring of wings—
And leaving the road side she screamed, "Of all things!"
Regardless of sickness, disease, and of cough.
"Oh dear," cried poor Biddy, "What now shall I do?
My children will drown and before my eyes too!"
They simply love water, and oh! aren't they dear?
I'll keep them all safe, so Biddy go 'way!
And let your poor children have freedom to play."
And off where the grass was the deepest they stayed
While Biddy would search for them, clucking for hours
Over the barnyard and in 'mong the flowers.
Where often poor Biddy for courage would fight;
And there, with her feathers above her young brood,
She tried to instruct them in ways to be good.
These ten naughty children were gathered to play,
When suddenly one of them, leading the band,
Said, "Come, let us travel," and there a trip planned.
Turning out now and then for a log or a stump,
And down the steep hill where the clover bloomed bright
The little band wandered in perfect delight.
She rushed in confusion and soon reached the spot;
"Oh children, be careful!" she screamed in alarm;
"In the lake I'm sure you will meet with some harm!"
Seemed all of no use, for they would not go home.
And Biddy exclaimed to herself in disgust,
"To stand this I cannot, and leave them I must!"
The wind sung most softly a sweet lula-by;
But Biddy had left her dear children alone:
She found they were ducklings, and such could not own.
The End