Library Collections: Document: Full Text

One day, somebody threw a flower into the little girl's hands. She was so delighted that the next day they brought her some more; and then others began to bring her fruit and toys and all sorts of pretty things. Finally they proposed that she should have a little basket which she could draw up and down from her window with a cord. And ever since then these kind friends who come in on the cars have kept the basket filled with all sorts of "goodies."

It is one of the few bright spots in poor little Annie's life, and I wish you could see her eyes sparkle as she draws up the mysterious basket. I don't know as we can class her among the little peddlers, but I couldn't lay down my pen till I had told you about her curious little "ped."

THE CHESTNUT ROASTERS.

How good the smoking chestnuts smell, as we turn the corner! Yes, this very east wind that blows little Katie "almost to pieces" is truly the best advertisement in the world for her great brown nuts.

Just see how nicely they are roasted. She has learned the secret of turning them at the right moment -- when they snap, you know -- and it is very seldom you will find a burnt one in the whole lot.

Some of the nuts she keeps in a little pile at one side of her tray, for a customer may come and call for some raw ones; but almost everybody likes the roasted nuts better, and so she reserves only a few in the raw state.

This little "roaster" of Katie's is an ingenious thing in its way. It looks like a miniature stove, has a grate above, and a sort of oven beneath that holds the charcoal. Sometimes, in the short afternoons when she stays out after dark, she fastens a torch to the roaster; and very picturesque the little stand looks, and the little vender, too, in the flickering, red light.

The smaller chestnuts were gathered by Katie's father and brothers, who walked a long distance to find them.

I wonder how many of my Wide Awake readers know what it is to go chestnutting.

Suppose, this bright afternoon, we try the fun ourselves. Up on the hill-side, where it is warm and dry, we shall find the best trees; and long before we reach them, the rich, russet leaves among the evergreens and the oaks will point out the way, like so many lighted candles.

How still the woods are! All the birds have flown, excepting the little pewit and the big black crow; for it is a long journey South, and the bob-o-links, the thrushes, and the finches, started weeks ago. Now and then a dead leaf drops to the ground with a crisp, rustling sound; and a moment ago I saw a red squirrel dart across the path. There he is coming back again now with his cheeks full of nuts.

And here is his mate, just peeping out of their home in the old hollow tree Dear me, if we only had teeth like the squirrels and could climb as fast as they, how easy it would be to gather our nuts. But here we are, right under the beautiful trees, and just see what a soft, dainty carpet the falling leaves have made.

Brown and green and gold -- what prettier combination of colors could we have? And here are tall straight trunks for pillars, and a bit of blue sky for our ceiling. Truly we are treading a king's palace to-day.

But what is the matter with Robbie? There he stands, shaking his little sun-burnt fingers, and crying, alternately.

O, I see now what it is. He has picked off the tree -- the foolish boy -- a couple of those great, prickly, "shut-up" burrs, and is trying to open them himself. Ah, little Robbie, you must not be in such a hurry; Jack Frost can do that work a great deal better than you, and these tight burrs were getting all ready for his magic touch to-night. You might as well throw them away at once; for, even if you manage to split open the burrs, the nuts inside will be green and unfit to eat.

Just see what Percy has picked up on the ground.

A dozen big ripe nuts that dropped off their ugly coverings long ago; and Beth holds in her hand a wide-open burr, with three nuts all cosily packed together inside, like little brown birds in their soft warm nest. For the inside of the burr, you see, is just as delicate and silky as the outside is rough and prickly. Isn't it wonderful, how much care is taken to protect and ripen one little nut?

Think of those beautiful spring days when the birds and the blossoms unfolded; when April showers and bright May sunshine bathed and kissed the long fragrant tassels till, one by one, they flew away, and left in their places tiny green balls on the old, weather-beaten tree.

You could scarcely see them at first, these wee little creatures- they were so very small and weak; but, day by day, the warm sun nourished them, and summer winds tenderly rocked them, till, by and by -- all over the tree -- these funny porcupine-looking burrs began to peer out in the sauciest manner possible. It seemed as if they knew how much time and care it had taken to make them, and what treasures they held inside; for tighter and tighter they clung to the tree, and no rude winds or rains could even peep in at their close-barred doors. It was no admittance to everybody till the little nuts inside were fully grown and fairly ripe. Then the poor old burrs didn't care -- Jack Frost and the cold north winds and the driving storms might come and break open the doors whenever they pleased -- the big brown nuts were now able to take care of themselves, and as for the burrs, why, they were so tired out that they just longed to lie down on the dead leaves, and go quietly to sleep.