ants pants. Storks and
flamingoes stood about, on one leg, motionless, as if absorbed in deep
contemplation. Pelicans, with their strange bills, and ducks of most
brilliant plumage waddled around and seemed to be entirely interested in
their eager audience.

In another enclosure, cranes and adjutant birds flapped their great
wings, and made long, hopping jumps, and then stood still, as if posing
for their pictures.

Marjorie proved herself specially quick in picking out each bird, from
its descriptive placard, and she learned the names, both English and
Latin, of many of them.

"You don't mind going to school this way, do you. Midget?" asked her
father.

"Not a bit! I love it. If I could learn all my lessons out of doors, and
with you to help teach me, I'd be willing to study all the time."

"Well, we must come here again some day," said Mr. Maynard, "and see if
you remember all these jawbreaker names. Now, let's visit the beavers."

The beaver pond was a strange sight, indeed. Originally there had been
many tall trees standing in the swampy enclosure, but now nearly all of
them lay flat in the water. The little busy beavers had gnawed around
and into the trunks, near the ground, until the tree toppled and fell
over.

"Why do they do it, Father?" asked King, greatly interested.

"They want to make bridges across the water," answered Mr. Maynard. "It
shows a wonderful sagacity, for they gnaw the trunk of the tree, at
first such a place, and in just such a way, that the tree will fall
exactly in the direction they want it to."

"They must scamper to get out of the way when a tree is about to fall,"
observed Mrs. Maynard.

"Indeed, they do," said her husband. "They are very clever, and most
patient and untiring workers. See, the trunks they have gnawed have been
protected by wire netting that visitors may see them. And some of the
standing trees are protected near the ground by wire netting that they
may not be upset at present."

"Now I know my beaver lesson," said Marjorie; "let's go on. Father, I
think I'll change that piece I spoke in school to 'How doth the busy
little beaver,' instead of bee!"

"They're equally busy creatures, my dear. You may take a lesson from
either or both."

"No, thank you. I don't want to work _all_ the time. I'll be a butterfly
sometimes, 'specially on Ourdays."

Marjorie jumped and fluttered about more like a grasshopper than
anything else, and, swinging by her father's han