fter chattering like magpies
for a time, take one of their number, and peck him severely, sometimes
even killing him.

Good-by, dear old "Nursery." Your little friend,

LEON K. DAVIS.

PRAIRIE DOGS.

HOW many of the bright-eyed boys and girls who read "The Nursery," or
hear it read, month after month, ever saw a prairie-dog village? Ah! I
see several little hands up. "The Nursery" has many readers in Western
Kansas; and there is the very place where prairie-dog villages are
found.

I will tell you about my first visit to one of them. As we were riding
over the beautiful green prairie, we came to a place dotted here and
there with hillocks about a foot high, and on each sat a funny little
yellow dog.

These little hills, which have a hole in the top for a door, are the
houses of the prairie-dogs. They would let us come quite close to them,
when, with a comical squeak, intended, I suppose, for a bark, down they
would go, head first, into the holes, giving their tails a "good-by"
shake.

The noise they make sounds exactly like the noise made by toy-animals
when you press them in your hands. Fifty prairie-dogs all barking
together could not be heard very far.

On a number of the hills sat solemn old owls, trying to look very wise.
Most of these owls sat perfectly still as we drove by; but I saw two or
three fly slowly away, as if half asleep. I wonder if these sober old
birds teach the little prairie-dogs any of their wisdom.

All the prairies in this part of Kansas are covered with a short, thick
grass, called "buffalo-grass," and the dogs live on its roots. These
roots are little bulbs, and make nice rich food for the funny little
fellows.

A gentleman who has lived here for many years tells me that all their
houses are connected underground by halls or passages, so that they can
travel a mile or so without coming to the top of the ground.

Wherever you see a prairie-dog village, there you will find good water
by digging a few feet. Sometimes boys capture these queer little dogs,
and they become quite tame and make cunning pets.

MARY MAXWELL RYAN.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE STREET-PLAYER.

UNDER my window I hear a sound,
The scrape of a fiddle, the clatter of feet;
And a curious crowd of boys and men
Has gathered there in the street.