Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Happy holidays
 Title Page
 Little mother - A fairy flower...
 Home - The swallows' nest
 Princess Pearl
 Young Mr. and Mrs. Crow
 A jolly ride
 Fruit and flowers
 Dolly's barber
 The golden rule
 Killy's costume
 The dandelion puffs
 A grumble
 Slumber song
 Multiplication is vexation
 Good advice
 Dol and Don
 The governess
 Georgie's Penny
 Granny's bridesmaids
 In mischief
 Baby's hour
 The little white bird
 Without a moment's delay
 The two little bears
 A Christmas guest
 Two little friends - A little...
 Back Cover

Group Title: Happy holidays : : a volume of pictures and stories
Title: Happy holidays
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00083797/00001
 Material Information
Title: Happy holidays a volume of pictures and stories
Alternate Title: Happy holiday stories
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Nister, Ernest ( Publisher, Printer , Author )
Bennett, Harriett M ( Illustrator )
Lucas, Seymour ( Illustrator )
Maguire, Helena, 1860-1909 ( Illustrator )
Weatherly, Frederic Edward, 1848-1929 ( Author )
Glasgow, Geraldine R ( Author )
Molesworth, Olive ( Author )
Brown, Maggie ( Author )
E.P. Dutton (Firm) ( Publisher )
Publisher: Ernest Nister
E.P. Dutton & Co.
Place of Publication: London
New York
Publication Date: [1895?]
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
Germany -- Bavaria
Statement of Responsibility: illustrated by Harriett M. Bennett, Mrs. Seymour Lucas, Helena Maguire, etc. ; written by F.E. Weatherly, Geraldine R. Glasgow, Olive Molesworth, Maggie Brown, E. Nesbit, etc.
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00083797
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223769
notis - ALG4021
oclc - 231756611

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
    Half Title
        Page 4
    Happy holidays
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Title Page
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    Little mother - A fairy flower wedding
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Home - The swallows' nest
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    Princess Pearl
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    Young Mr. and Mrs. Crow
        Page 21
        Page 22
    A jolly ride
        Page 23
    Fruit and flowers
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
    Dolly's barber
        Page 29
    The golden rule
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Killy's costume
        Page 37
        Page 38
    The dandelion puffs
        Page 39
        Page 40
    A grumble
        Page 41
    Slumber song
        Page 42
    Multiplication is vexation
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Good advice
        Page 46
    Dol and Don
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The governess
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    Georgie's Penny
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    Granny's bridesmaids
        Page 61
        Page 62
    In mischief
        Page 63
    Baby's hour
        Page 64
    The little white bird
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Without a moment's delay
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    The two little bears
        Page 77
        Page 78
    A Christmas guest
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Two little friends - A little soldier
        Page 81
    Back Cover
        Page 82
Full Text

acP Y


bld app.

e/LI(,S and talks when the songbirds sing,
Carols to tell of coming Spring.
Summer Holidays, gladsome days
Spent in the golden sunshine rays.
Autumn hours, when the leaves of brown
From bough and branch come rustling down.
Fireside holidays, when the rain
Patters and beats at the window pane.
Laugh, my little folks, laugh and sing,
Whatever the changing seasons bring;
Summer or winter, rain or sun,
They're Happy Holidays everyone.
Clifton Bingham.

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T' T was very dull. Dorothy went and looked
S out of window, but that only made her
feel more miserable still, for the rain-
S ,.'l i.'' \i drops were streaming down the panes of glass
so thick and fast she could hardly see out,
and what there was to see was all blurred
Sand wretched-people hurrying under dripping
umbrellas; mud, fog, and gas lamps mistily
Shining. Dorothy crept back to the fire, and
Crouched down by the fender, and wished
i I Martha would come and light the lamp.
i: i' But Martha didn't come. She was upstairs,
S'. helping Mother with Baby, for Baby was very
ill. Dorothy was very sorry Baby was ill, but
S ", then it was rather aggravating his getting
bronchitis, just in the Christmas' holidays too,
and when Father had been called away suddenly
on business abroad. Poor Dorothy felt herself rather injured.
It grew darker, and darker! Now all the room was in shadow save for the fire-
light, glancing here and there on the polished furniture. Outside it was quite, quite
night, and the rain poured down steadily. Dorothy could hear it trickle, trickle down
the pipe somewhere. It seemed to make her feel more miserable still.
Who was that ringing? Yes, it was the front bell. There it came again-and
again. Martha must be deaf not to hear it. Dorothy ran out into the hall and
listened. No, there was no one in the kitchen. Martha must be upstairs with Mother
and poor Baby, and Cook must be out. Oh i there it was again-"ring! ring! ring!"
Perhaps she had better open the door and see who it was?
It was rather an undertaking, that of opening the front door. Dorothy had to
stand on tip-toe to reach the latch, and before it was undone she was rather out of
breath. But at last she managed it, and there, on the step, stood a boy, in a shiny
mackintosh cape, streaming with wet, and with a parcel in his hand.
"Please," he said, in a squeaky voice, "does a little girl named Dorothy live here ?"

"Yes," said Dorothy, "that's me. I live here."
"Oh! that's all right," he said, in a tone of relief. "Here's a parcel for you."
"A parcel," gasped Dorothy; "a parcel-for me? I-I-think it must be a
mistake.. Where does it come from ?"
"Oh! it isn't a mistake," said the boy, nodding. "It is all right. It's from the
Story Shop, and it's got your name wrote outside. Here it is," and he pushed a
square packet into Dorothy's arms, and then ran down the steps, whistling.
Dorothy stood a minute quite stiff with surprise. Then as the rain came beating
in at the door, she thought she had better shut it. Then she looked at her parcel.
It had her name outside in large letters-she could read it quite easily. It was a
brown-paper parcel, it was rather wet, and it felt hard. Perhaps she might as well
look inside.
Dorothy went slowly into the dining-room. The lamp wasn't lighted yet, but
the fire had blazed up and made a beautiful bright light. She sat down on the
hearthrug, and untied her parcel.
Inside was a nice interesting-looking book, with a picture on the cover. Dorothy
gave a cry of joy. "Oh, what a lovely book !" she said aloud, though she was all
alone; "and what a lot of
beautiful stories-'The Golden
Rule,' 'Fruit and Flowers,' 'Remi-
niscences of a Doll,' 'Multipli- _
cation is Vexation.' Ah what .
happy holidays I shall have
after all, with this book to read." .:
Dorothy settled herself more
comfortably on the hearth-rug. .
She began to read the first story,
and in two minutes had forgotten
the rain, the bronchitisy Baby,
the dulness, and the neglect of
She was far, far away in
Storyland and the land where ,
all the well-known figures in
Nursery Rhymes live, where all '
good boys and girls love to . -- .
be, where it is always warm, '
always beautiful, and never-no,
never dull!





Little MVotb~er.

~:~. ,


"'' ~


Tiiffle j2otfier.

F you please I'm little mother.
I've a family of ten;
There's three dollies, and a puppy,
SAnd five chickens, and a hen.

.^ Every morn I feed my chickies;
Wash and dress my dollies three;
Take my puppy for a scamper-
So I'm quite a busy bee.

If I didn't love them dearly-
Hen and chicks and dollies too-
I should think it dreadful trouble,
But I love them all-I do.
Clifton Bingham.

I H FPairy [Flower wedding.

\I HE Blue-bells are ringing the wedding chimes.
< I Through the woods the guests are pouring, to the fairy wishing-well.
I For a wood-fairy is going to marry a flower-fairy. And slow
old snails hurried along, leaving a silver path for the bride to traverse;
while glow-worms took up their stations, at irregular intervals, to light
the happy couple on their way; and bats spread out their wings, and made a canopy
for the invited guests; and fire-flies flew here and there, gleaming with a thousand
coloured lights.
The guests streamed in, and took their places, round the old moss-covered well
in the wood. The "Buttercup" sat next to the stately "Ladyfern," whilst dainty
"Sheep-parsley" gossiped with "Harts'-tongues," and "Heather" and "Ragged-Robin"
sat in the porch with the white "Star of Bethlehem," and the "Pimpernelle" seated
herself on the "Goose-grass," and the "Daisy" and the "Cuckoo-flower" stood hand-
in-hand, behind the wild red "Sorrel."
Hark! a burst of fairy music, and the tall Field-grasses wave their green banners,

and the "Dog Violets" bark for joy,
and chase the pale "Primroses" to the
edge of the fountain.
The "Blue-bells" and the "Hare-
bells" ring merrily, and form up into
two long lines, through which the
bride and bridegroom pass, and the
T ic-.- "Lords and Ladies" follow in the
procession. And the bride steps fear-
lessly with her lord, looking proudly
S in his handsome face, smiling brightly
,. on all around her, while he doffs his
S. ""Acorn" helmet, and bows graciously
right and left.
He is the chief of the fairies who
guard forest and fruit trees. His face
is bronzed and sun-burnt, like a "Beech"
nut, his dreamy eyes are as black as "Sloes," and his lips as red as "Cherries."
His long scarlet stockings are woven from the skin of "Hawthorn" berries, his doublet
and hose are made of "Copper Beech"-leaves, slashed with crimson "Bramble," his
sharp pointed sword is "Pine-needle," and in his long tanned "Fungus"-leather boots,
"Knight-spurs" jingle.
But now all eyes are turned to the bride.
"Wild roses" nestle in her cheeks, the white "Hawthorn-blossom" is on her
breast and arms, sweet "Violets" shine in her eyes, and "Honey-suckle" clusters and
twines in her golden hair, all shining and glistening like straw.
Her blushing face is half hidden by the dainty veil of "Ladies' Lace,", and her
dress sparkles with the colours of the rainbow, woven into gossamer spiders' web,
draped with gauze wings. The "Fox-gloves" have sent her the. mittens. And the
bride and bridegroom kneel down together, and the setting sun and the rising moon
marry them-henceforth they are one.
Where the forest trees grow, there the wild flowers are loveliest, and wood and
field and meadow are never separated from them, and they kiss each other, and swear
to be faithful and true.
All the flowers and trees crowd round them, and wish them joy and happiness;
and two little blue flowers, go before, crying, "Speed well" and "Forget-us-not."
The fairy wedding is over, and the birds are singing, and the fountain is bubbling,
and the wood is full of beautiful flowers, and each one has a story to tell you.
Yoan H. Becker.

HEN I'm big, I'll be a sailor,
.Sailing o'er the ocean free,
S Seeing all the wondrous countries
Far across the bright blue sea I

But however far I wander,
And wherever I may roam,
I'll remember Mother always-
For where Mother is, is Home!
C. B.

STIfe swallows' Pesf.

.-. T was Spring-time, and little Alice had been out into the garden to
see if she could find a few violets-for Father's buttonhole.
She had picked quite a large bunch of them, and came dancing
-W into the house again, her cheeks aglow and her eyes sparkling. "Oh,
Mother," she cried, "the swallows are coming back-come and look. I
hkinow they are our swallows, for they are wheeling round and round the
pond just like they did last year. Do you think any of them will build
their nest under my window again?"
"I can't say, my dear," said Mother, "but I think it is very likely.
S Is the old nest there still ?"
"No, Mother. Don't you remember it was blown away in the great
storm, just before Christmas ?"
Very soon Alice's doubts were set at rest, for a pair of pretty little swallows,
after circling round the house for some time, evidently intent upon choosing a cosy
corner in which to.build, settled on Alice's window-sill, and shortly afterwards began
making a neat little home for themselves, out of mud, hay, and wool. The hay and
the wool were used to line the nest, and to keep snug and warm the five pretty
eggs which Mrs. Swallow placed there.
By-and-by the eggs cracked, and out came five wee heads, and five pairs of bright
black eyes gazed enquiringly into Alice's face, as she leant from her window to watch
them. What a comfortable home the mud nest was, and what a happy family were

the swallows! They thought themselves quite safe in their nest under the roof, but
alas, poor birdies! there was a terrible misfortune in store for them. One day two
boys were coming along the lane which ran past the back of Alice's home, and spied
the nest. They saw the old birds fly out to fetch food, and guessed there were young
birds in the nest.
From that moment they made up their minds to steal the nestlings if they possibly
could. Of course, they could not reach the nest, but they climbed the garden wall and,
with a long pole, managed to knock down the poor swallows' pretty home.
The parent birds were away, but the nestlings in their fright made such a
screaming and a squeaking, that Cook came running out to see what was the matter.
"You bad boys!" she cried, when she saw what they had done. "Oh! what will
Miss Alice say, and she so set on them birds!"
Alice did not say much, but she cried so bitterly that it was all Cook could do to
comfort her.
"See here, dearie," Cook said, fondling Alice's curls, "don't you cry no more, and
we'll see if we can't make them another nest."
"Oh! Cook, could we?" said Alice, brightening up at once. "Oh! do let us try."
So Cook got a small box and lined it with soft wool, and then placed the poor
little birdies in it, and set the box on Alice's window-sill. When the old birds came
home it was very sad to see theif grief on finding the nest, which they had taken so
much pains to build, broken and spoilt, but they had their babies still, and soon these
brave little birds determined to build themselves another nest.
Then what do you think happened? Why, another pair of swallows, who lived
next door, set to work to help them. First Alice's swallows would fly to the pond,
round which was an abundance of clay, and, bringing a piece of it in their bills,
would dab it on the wall; then their neighbours came with their load, and so on.
At last the house was all built up again, and with great difficulty the parent birds
helped their young ones into it.
Then there was a rejoicing. It seemed as though Mr. and Mrs. Swallow invited
all their friends to a merry-making, for such a twittering and chattering was never
heard. They all flew round and round the house, now swooping almost down to the
ground, and now soaring up into the sky. At last it grew dark, and then they all bade
each other good-night, and went home to bed.
No one ever attempted to disturb the swallows' nest again, so that the swallow
family lived there happily until the cold weather came, when, to Alice's regret, Mamma
and Papa Swallow and their five children, who were good big birds then, spread their
wings and flew away to warmer climes.
"Never mind, Alice," said her Mother; "they will come back again in the Spring."
And they did.


Thc swzfllows, ls -i~i;' Ncst.

,.l ,,' .

....7P_ -'
..-- .. -"

."_2 CC.I I.


D EEP ',Pdown at the bottom of the
sea there is a fair city where
the mermaids dwell. Some
night, if you are very good, when all
.the world is sleeping, I will come for
you, and carry you away in my arms to see this city. The houses are built of rocks,
covered with green sea moss, the rooms are carpeted with soft sand, and the windows
are curtained with every variety of sea-weed. The gardens are planted with the most
wonderful flowers you ever saw, and the little mermaids and mermen sport all day
with gold and silver fishes, tiny crabs,'and baby lobsters.
You will think that no one could possibly be unhappy or discontented in such
a pretty home-yet there once lived a little mermaid who was very discontented with
her lot. She had one day floated to the surface of the sea, and had seen a group
of children playing on the beach. They made chains of flowers, and danced round and
round till they were tired; then they lay still and laughed and laughed, because-well,
simply because they were so happy. Their mother came and called them home, and
they ran to her and put their little arms round her, and she kissed them and said,
"Have my bairnies been happy ?" "Oh, so very happy," said the children. Then they
went away, and the little mermaid sighed and said, "I wish I were a little mortal, to
play all day in the bright sun." Then she sank down to her rocky home, and sat

thinking, thinking, thinking. The other little mermaids came flocking round her, and
asked her to come and play with them, but she shook her head sadly, and said she
was tired of playing with shells and crabs and lobsters.
Day after day she floated to the top of the sea, and each day the longing to be
a mortal grew in her breast, till at last she summoned up courage, and went to an
old witch mermaid, and asked her if she could possibly turn her into a little mortal.
"Ugh !" grunted the old witch, "and what do you want to be a mortal for ?"
"Because they are so happy," said the little one.
"Not so happy as you are down here," said the witch. "Still, you may have your
way, but remember, I can make you a mortal on one condition only:-If you are
happy all will go well, but if you are so unhappy as to weep, the spell will be broken,
and you will be doomed to return to the bottom of the sea and weep your life away."
The mermaid listened thoughtfully, and then said-
"Yes, I accept the conditions, for I am sure I shall never, never be unhappy if
only you will make me a mortal."
So the old witch took a handful of red sand, and flung it into her cauldron. A
dense smoke arose and surrounded the little mermaid, who speedily lost all consciousness.

When she came to herself again, she was lying in a gorgeous cradle, and a rosy-
cheeked maiden was bending over her.
"Well, little baby," she said, "so you've come at last. Do you hear the bells ringing
in your honour? Ah! it's well to be a King's daughter."
Then the rosy-cheeked maiden, who was called Alice, took her up in her arms,
and carried her into the next room, where a lovely lady lay. "I have brought the
baby to your Majesty," she said; "see what a lovely child she is." Then the King
came in, looking so happy. He bent down and kissed both the Queen and the baby.
"We were happy before," he said, "but God has been very good, and given us
still greater happiness. What shall we call our darling?"
"I think," said the Queen, "we will call her Pearl," and the baby lay and smiled,
and thought what a world of happiness it was.
Little Pearl grew and flourished-the idol of the King and Queen, and the pet or
the whole Court. Sweet-tempered and gracious to all, they all loved her, and vied with
each in trying to make her happy.
Sometimes she thought of the old days when she had been a little mermaid, and
once she said to the Queen: "Before I came to you, Mother, I was a little mermaid
and lived at the bottom of the sea." But the Queen laughed, and said, "Little Pearl,
little Pearl, you have been dreaming."
Then Pearl remembered the children she had seen playing long ago on the sea

beach, and said, "Mother dear, are there no little children to play with me?" And
the Queen answered: "There are many children in the land who will be only too
pleased and proud to play with the Queen's daughter. I will send for one to come and
play with you." And Pearl laughed, and clapped her hands.
The next day a pretty little girl came to Court, and Pearl was delighted. She
kissed her, and took her to see her toys, and said, "Choose what you will, dear little
girl, and you shall have it for your own." But the child said, "If I may choose what

I please, I would like to go home to my Mother. I was so happy at home, but the
Queen sent for me, and I was brought here, but I cannot be happy away from Mother,
even with you, Princess Pearl."
Then Alice, the Nurse, said crossly, "Thou art a wicked, ungrateful child, and dost
not deserve to live with my sweet Princess."
But little Pearl said: "Do not cry, little girl. Play with me a little while, and
to-morrow your Mother shall come and see you."

So the two children played together all day, and the next day- the child's Mother
came to Court, and little Esther was happy again. But the Mother could not often
come to visit her little girl, and so one day she begged the Queen to allow her to
take Esther home again, but the Queen said, "No; it pleases the Princess Pearl to

have little Esther here; therefore, she must stay--the Princess must not be made
But day after day Esther grew paler and paler, and not all the fine presents that
Pearl lavished upon her could make her forget her Mother. Then Pearl said, "Little


Esther, if you cannot be happy here with me, then you shall go home to your Mother;
but it will grieve me sadly to part with you."
"Then, indeed, she shall not go," said Alice. "Perchance a good whipping will
cure her sour looks," and therewith she fetched a stout whip and commenced to
belabour the trembling child.
For one second Pearl stood gazing in astonishment, and then, as little Esther
screamed in agony, she burst into tears.
Alas! the spell was broken! Pearl fell fainting to the ground.
They carried her into the stately castle, and fetched physicians from far and wide.
But these all shook their heads, and said they could do nothing for little Pearl, for
she was dead. The King and Queen stood weeping by her side.
"Alas !" they said, "she was too good and pure for earth. She has broken her
gentle heart over the sorrows of a poor peasant child."


But Pearl was not really dead: she was sitting in her old rocky home, weeping
her life away. The mermaids and mermen stood afar off, and gazed in wonder at
her. "Ah,". said they, "she has lived in the great world and learnt its sorrows-that is
why she sits and weeps."
The little fishes came swimming about her, trying to tempt her to play with them
once more, but the oysters came close up to her, and opened their shells in astonish-
ment, so that, as she wept, the tears rolled down her cheeks and fell into the oysters'
mouths and were swallowed up!
Then when little Pearl had wept herself away, the oysters shut up their shells
with a snap, and went away home to bed. They did not sleep very well, however,
for a fisherman came and put some of them into his basket, and took them to the
market to be sold.
The King's cook came to the market and bought the oysters, but when he opened
them he saw a beautiful strange seed in each shell. He did not know they were
the Princess's tears, but he thought them so pretty that he carried them to
the Queen.
When the Queen saw them she said-
"They are so lovely and so pure that they remind me of my little Pearl. I will
make a necklace of them, and wear them in memory of my lost darling."
And now, if anyone is very, very good and true, people say, "She is as pure as
a pearl," for nothing can be lovelier or purer than tears of pity shed for the sorrows
of others.
Lucy L. Wfeedon.


goung J2r. an j12r. CGow.

rT O very-well-brought-up young Crows, who had grown too big to live with
their Mamma, and too hungry to visit their great-uncles and aunts very often,
made up their minds that, as soon as ever the nice sweet Spring came round,
they would set up nest-keeping all on their own account.
So when St. Valentine's Day arrived, they flew here and they flew there. They
poked their busy bills into the fork of a tree, and tapped it, and cast their dark bright
eyes around the tree's root, and tapped it. The fact was, they were a too particular
couple of Crows.
At last, after a great deal of searching, and prying, and tapping, and peeping, they
found a tree which suited Mr. Crow completely, and Mrs. Crow, well, perhaps three-
"You see, Mr. Crow," said his mate, "we must not be too hasty in our selection
of a site. There's the wind to be considered, and the dust to be considered, and
several other odds and ends, which you, Mr. Crow, know little or nothing about."
"Well, when I lived at home with my Mamma---" began Mr. C.
But Mrs. C. interrupted him-
"If there's one thing that annoys me more than another, my pet, it is those
stupid stories you tell, which usually begin, 'When I lived at home with my Mamma'!
But I've made up my mind"-here the lady bird danced a quaint little hornpipe, to

~P1 I L

show that really she had made up her mind-"and we will build our nest on that
bonny bough! Now, may I trouble you to pass a few straws, please ?"
Poor Mr. Crow was so surprised that affairs had been so quickly settled, that he
blinked twice, and then nearly toppled over.
"Hallo, there!" cried some Crows perched up aloft, "what are you doing?"
"Foundationing !" answered Mrs. Crow quite grandly.
"Be off!" cried an old lady Crow, with a terrible gruff voice.
"Madam," piped Mr. Crow, in a regular tiff, "do you know that you are addressing
my better-much better half?"
"Be off!" cried the old lady Crow again. "Away with you! We want no silly
young couples here. Why, this is the very best and finest tree in the rookery, and
tenanted by the wisest and most venerable birds !"
"Do you know, when I lived at home with my Mamma- volunteered Mr.
Crow. But the old lady Crow interrupted him with-
"Nonsense! See, all the crows are laughing at you !"
"Except grand-dad in the corner there," struck in another elderly female Crow,
"and I see he is smiling all round his beak and half way down his back!"
Then you should have seen the tussle which followed, for as fast as the nice
and particular young couple tried to build a nest-and they did try hard-all the old
crow couples, uniting together, very quickly pulled it to pieces. There were sticks
flying here, and straws flying there; and the wool they
had gathered tickled their beaks, while the dust that they
raised got down their throats-till, good gracious me!
whatht a fuss and a scene there was, to be sure!
At length, thoroughly tired and beaten, young Mr.
and Mrs. Crow flew away, and alighted on a bramble-bush.
"'Pears to me," said
Li. iL -Mr. Crow, blinking sideways,
S "'pears to me, my love, we've
been 'snubbed 1"
1/ Mrs. Crow waited awhile.
But as her mate said nothing
about "when he lived at
home with his Mamma," she
sighed and said-
"Any place will do to
build in now, darling."
S. -"Well," said Mr. Crow,
shaking his head, "old couples

seem to think that young couples should not begin nest-keeping at the top of high
trees, but must work their way upwards. So suppose we build our nest just where
we can, eh?"
"Oh, very well, my dear," said she; "a middle-class tree will do for me; in a
stick-and-mud nest quite happy I'll be. For trees keep on growing and growing, you
see; and some day (in this, I think you'll agree) we may yet live high up in the
world, Mr. C.!"
lMary Boyle.

[1 Jolly 4ide.

ERE we go round the Nursery floor,
Round the table, and past the door;
Jigetty jog, and joggetty gee-
That's the way for Marjy and me.

Here we go up, and here we go down,
All the day to Elfin Town;
And if Dolly won't ride, Dolly must drop,
For we can't bother to stay or stop.

What shall we see when we get there?
SKings and queens and palaces fair.
And what will the fairy people cry
As Marjy and I come riding by?

We'll see the folks ride up and down,
Some on gray and some on brown;
But there's not a horse in the world so wide,
Half as good as the one we ride.

For he can gallop and he can trot,
And as for whipping, he wants it not;
But he carries us up, and carries us down,
All the day to Elfin Town.
F. E. Weatherly.

jFruif and flowers.

i 4T X,_D9/VIOTHERP," said Meg, "did you hear what the minister said about
S the Fruit Show and the flowers? There's blackberries and such like."
"Well, they're not likely to come your way, child," said Mrs. Meadows
breathlessly. She was old, and the wind and rain tired her.
"You don't know," urged Meg, a little tremulously; "no one don't know. There's a
place--ever such a way off. Oh, Grannie, what if I could pay a bit towards the rent ?"
"Rent ain't so easy come by," said her Grandmother, and she sighed.
It was always the dream of Meg's life to pay something towards the rent; so she
held her heavy umbrella lower, and walked alonm
the wet footpath, saying the minister's wo:li :-:.I
and over to herself.

"Where are you going, Meg?" said the s.:ho.-.1l-
mistress. "Your lessons to-day are disgrace iul, aid .
you have not proved your sum. I must '
keep you in."
It was Wednesday afternoon, and
the day was warm and beautiful.
Meg's brown eyes were full of
tears, and her lip was trembling. i.
"Please," she said, with a
hot clasp on the teacher's skirt,
"not to-day. I'll be better
afterwards, but I have a deal
on my mind."
"Indeed," said the teacher,
with a quick look at her, "I
think you have always some-
thing on your mind, Meg."
"It's the Show to-morrow,"
said Meg breathlessly, "and I've .. .
brought a basket, and I know --
a field with blackberries--and --
the rent's due Saturday."

"I see," said the school-mistress very gently. "Go, dear, I am glad you should
get the blackberries."
So Meg flew away, with her hair streaming, to a bit of grass lane, between two
farms, where the blackberries caught the early sunshine, and had ripened splendidly.
Meg did not waste a moment. One by one she picked the large, ripe fruit, and
set them solemnly in the basket, lined with red and yellow leaves. The grass was
very wet, and the briars scratched her, but, by-and-by, as she scrambled on, she was
conscious of some one else scrambling on the other side of the hedge. First she
saw a boot-a good, strong, rich boot-and then a blue wing, and a pair of very
blue eyes, peeping at her.
"Why, Miss Helen!" said Meg faintly.
"Yes, it's me," said Miss Helen. "I'm picking blackberries for the prize-I didn't
know that anyone else knew of this place. Let me see yours. Oh, what beauties!
But mine are just as good. I have to be home by five, so I can't talk any longer,"
she cried, as she sprang back through the hedge.
It was no use trying-as Granny said, Meg had no luck. "What did Miss Helen
want with the prize?" she said to herself bitterly, as she hurried blindly on.
There was a singing in her ears, and a dizzy feeling in her head, but still she
carefully picked the largest berries, and laid them on the leaves, and, by-and-by, at
a gap in the hedge, she pushed her way through, and jumped down. Close at her
feet was a basket of splendid berries, and far down the field, Miss Helen, with a
hooked stick, was pulling the branches down. Meg looked at the sudden temptation
at her feet. She did not hesitate a moment, but, with a little whisk of her skirt, the
basket toppled over, and she was back on her own side of the hedge again, picking
away as fast as she could, with a very white face and trembling hands. It was quite
five minutes before she heard Miss Helen's voice again, and then, for a minute, her
heart stood still, till she saw the blue wing forcing its way through the hedge.
Miss Helen was holding out the empty basket, talking and gasping and pushing
all at once.
"Meg, look here, it has upset-all my blackberries! Oh, these tiresome prickles!
And I haven't another minute. They were such beauties-isn't it disappointing?"
Meg's frightened eyes were on Miss Helen's empty basket.
"Isn't it disappointing?" said Miss Helen again, impatiently. "I picked them so
carefully. I have been here a whole hour, and no one knows. Very likely Nurse is
dragging the pond by this time; the boys will be furious, and all for nothing. I
must go; I aren't stay a moment longer. Well, it gives you the prize, Meg, any way."
The blue eyes cleared a little, and the blue wing left off trembling.
"It was my own fault. I just hustled it down any way, and of course it tilted
over. Anyhow, I'm glad it's you, Meg. Good-bye!"

Helen and the empty basket ran across the muddy field, and disappeared in the
lane, and Meg, with cheeks grown suddenly red, picked furiously, until the berries
were piled almost up to the handle, and it was growing late and dark.
"Yes, they are fine berries," said her Grandmother, peering at them through her
spectacles. "They must have given you a deal of trouble picking, and I'm sure you
deserve the prize."
Meg said nothing.
"Why, what's the matter, child ?" said Mrs. Meadows, looking up from the basket
on her knee. "You've had no tea, and you're wonderful white. Set the berries on
one side, and eat a bit of something before you go to bed."
But Meg could not eat-not with that condemning basket set before her! She took
it up hastily, and pushed it far back into the cupboard, and then she hurried over
her tea, and went to bed. She felt certain everything would seem better in the
morning !
And so it did! The sun shone, and she was very hungry,
and the blackberries were certainly beautiful, with their trim- / -"
ming of red and yellow leaves; and, after all, as
Meg kept saying to herself, Miss Helen haid .. ..
need of the prize, and she wouldn't miss
it a mite. But, all the same, when she
stood amongst the crowd of children in the '. .
tent, and saw the great red figure 1 '' -
across the handle of her basket, she shrank .' '
away in a kind of terror. But there was no '.
going back! The minister had put on ..
his spectacles, and the other children t .- L
behind were pushing her forward; and
then, in a kind of hush, she heard her .
own name-.
"Margaret Meadows." "a
She made one step forward, ,.
and then she stopped. She tried
to speak, but it seemed as if no : '. a '
sound would come-and then a --' .
voice said, "She is fainting-give /' 'j .' -
her air."
"No, no, no !" cried out Meg,
in a strange voice. "I really
haven't no right to it;

.: .. it's Miss Helen's by
."*" -' rights."
There was a mur-
.i mur of voices, and
Sthe dense crowd of
children drew back,
Sand left Meg standing
alone in the middle
of the tent. The tears
S. b, were streaming down
S- her face, but she felt
o ad brave now, and
u "She and me, we
was picking in the
same field," she said, in a trembling
voice, "and. tipped it over. They was the same as mine."
Again dead silence, and Meg felt a tiny tug at her sleeve. One of the children
was clinging to her, and whispering.
"Oh, Meg, not before folks," she said.
Meg stared at her. What did the folks matter ?-all these fine ladies and gentle-
men, who had never seen her before, and would never see her again. Granny will
never forgive me-that was all that mattered.
"Tut, tut !" said the minister, "what does it all mean, eh, Helen ? Here's the five
shillings, Margaret, and I feel certain you will make good use of them."
Meg looked round at the blank, unresponsive faces, and shook her head, and
folded her hands behind her. She wanted to make them understand how wicked she
had been, but her voice trembled so that she could hardly speak. Then the silence
grew terrible, and she stretched out her hands, and said, "Grandmother," in a frightened
And then a wonderful thing happened. The ladies and gentlemen parted, and Miss
Helen ran forward, and Grandmother came hobbling in on her black stick, right in
front of everyone, with her face just the same as usual, and her knotted hands
trembling; and she came right up to Meg, and put her arm round her, and hid her
face from everyone in the folds of her thin shawl.
"I think, sir," she said, in her cracked old voice, "that what Meg means to say
is, that she hasn't won the prize fair, and she don't deserve it; and if you'll give me
room, ladies and gentlemen, I'll take her home."
"Stop a bit, Mrs. Meadows," said the minister. "Helen seems to know all about

it, and the half is Margaret's anyway." He came bustling to the front, and put the silver
piece in Mrs. Meadows' hand; then he just touched Meg's hair, and said, "Poor
Margaret," in a very kind voice; and the crowd began to melt away, and Meg and
her Grandmother were left alone.
When they were safe at home, and the door was shut, Meg knelt before the
cold hearth, and lifted her miserable brown eyes to the old woman's face.
"I'm-I'm-ashamed, Granny," she said.
"Ah, it's a terrible feeling-is shame," said her Grandmother.
"I thought I was all alone, with those hundreds of eyes on me," said Meg
brokenly; "and then you came, Gran, just through all the grand folks, and hid
me from them, and spoke up for me-you as was always so proud like, and so
honest-and-and me so bad!"
"I know, you see," said Granny gently, and stroking Meg's hair tenderly. "The
gentry, they don't know all the bitterness of it to a young thing. You set your
heart on it, and then it don't come no nearer, and the wicked thoughts come with a
rush. No; it takes a deal of wisdom to understand all about it, but I've been that
way myself, child."
There is only one little :hi- t .:i
add to the story of poor Meg's temn'-
tation, but it is a pleasant thi0.', --- .-- '
we find that last words
sometimes are. % X
When Meg was just
starting to school next ...
morning, she was surprised
to see a little note slipped
under the door, in a dainty
envelope with a crest. Out-
side there was written in
a straggling hand, "With
Helen's love," and inside
was a receipt for a
month's rent. a
As Helen said next day -
in the school-room-- ''
"Paying people's rent
is very pleasant. I wish I
could do it oftener."
Geraldine R. Glasgow.


1Dolly's ar6e .

A. dY, Barber, cut my Dolly's hair,
But please to take the greatest care;
I fear I've treated her most sadly,
It does want cutting very badly.

But then she's had a cold, you know,
And so I thought I'd let it grow;

But now her cold has gone away,
And she must have it cut to-day,

Because to-morrow, if it's fine weather,
We're going out to tea together.
Clifton Bingham.

Toe foldeoq Iule.

0 7 nearly half an hour Maggie had bcn pushing the
/ shabby perambulator up and down the wide parade-
W ground in the centre of the camp, for the drums and
fifes were playing tattoo, and Freddy liked to look at
the red coats and the smart bandsmen. Now it was
.7 /. all over and he was fretful, and Maggie's tired little
Voice went droning on at some funny little words she
had set to the tune of the "March Past":-
"Freddy's got to go to bed-
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
S 4 ', First some milk, and then some bread,
Whilst the men are drinking beer.

? 8- Freddy's bed is nice and clean,
-:IL .But his legs are very queer.
He can't sit in the canteen,
He can't never have no beer."
Her feet were very tired, and she stood first on one leg, and then on the
other, to rest them. A great many of the soldiers' wives were sitting on their
doorsteps, with babies on their laps, and here and there a parrot, in a bright cage,
talked, like the rest, at the top of his voice. In the doorway of the hut where
Maggie's Mother lived, a lady was standing, and Maggie saw that "Tuck," the puppy,
had caught the braid of her skirt in his teeth, and was unravelling it.
She stopped the perambulator with a jerk.
"You lie still a minute, Freddy," she said, "and be a good boy against I come
back. There's that bad dog of yours taking the trimming off the lady's dress, and
he's biting at the little lady's shoes. Oh, you may laugh, you bad boy, but it ain't
nothing to laugh at, I can tell you."
She shook up his hard little pillow with one hand, and ran the perambulator
back, until one wheel was wedged on to an empty doorstep. Then she dashed across
the deserted parade-ground, with her lank hair flying from under her battered hat,
and her scanty cotton skirt flapping.
She touched the lady on the arm.
"Please, ma'am, Tuck's eating off the young lady's shoes," she said. "And he's
got a tangle of braid off your dress."

She knelt down, and took the puppy in her arms, giving it some futile slaps.
"Now be'ave yourself, Tuck, or you won't get no supper. Tell the lady you're
sorry-oh, you ain't sorry, ain't you?-don't you know how to be'ave yourself to the
Colonel's lady?"



- .f~

She kept giving it little reproachful taps, as she rose to her feet, and
curtsied to the Colonel's lady. Her Mother had run in for a needle, and was
kneeling on the steps stitching up the tangled braid. The little girl, whose long
brown legs and bronze shoes had attracted the puppy, came over and patted it

-- z::.-

"This is Maggie, ma'am," said Maggie's Mother from her knees.
"Yes, I know." The lady had a kind voice, and she looked compassionately
at the meagre frame, and thin white face, in which the dark eyes seemed so
pathetically large. "I think she looks as if a little change would do her good,
don't you?"
Maggie pricked up her ears, and stared more than ever; but at that moment
there came across the parade-ground a shrill angry cry that roused her.
"Lor', Mother, I was forgetting Freddy," she said. "I'll run and give him
another turn. He's that tired wi' sitting, and he don't seem so happy to-night, may
be the puppy'll amuse him."
She dropped another prim little curtsy, and ran hastily away, the thin cotton
skirt outlining very distinctly the thinner legs it covered.
The lady looked after her thoughtfully. The angry cries had ceased, and she
was bending over the perambulator with a sort of premature tenderness in every
line of her body. Freddy had folded his arms round the puppy, and the pathetic
little voice was once again droning out its monotonous chant:-
"Freddy's got to go to bed-
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
She broke off abruptly.
"There, the lady's gone, and the little lady, and Mother's sitting' waiting' for us.
Lor', how my poor legs do ache-but it ain't nothing' when you're used to it."'
She smiled her odd little wistful smile into Freddy's tired face, and covered the
whining puppy with his guilt.
"No, you ain't going to get any supper, not if you cry ever so. I don't hold
wi' spoiling children, nor puppies neither, and when it comes to eating the clothes
off the very back of the Colonel's lady, there ain't nothing bad enough for you, and
I don't know whatever'll happen to you."
She took the puppy out, with a determined shake, and set it down on the
,doorstep. Then she put her small arms round Freddy and lifted him. He raised
his hands with difficulty, and clung to her, but his crippled legs hung uselessly
down. They were cramped with long sitting, and he whimpered as she rubbed
them gently, and carried him into the hut. Almost unconsciously her lips took up
the plaintive song where it had ended abruptly:-
"Freddy's bed is nice and clean,
But his legs are very queer."

She put him gently in his Mother's arms, and stooped over him, with a very
bright smile.
"He's wore out, Mother-the lady stayed so long."

"I am afraid you are tired too, dear."
"I'm never tired, Mother."
"Well, go and get a breath of air outside, love, and I'll get Freddy to bed
as quick as I can-for I've a message to you from the lady."

Freddy was fretful, and
lap, and into his corner of


did not want to get out of his Mother's comfortable
the large, low bed, that nearly filled the back room of
the hut. However, at last he fell asleep,
'. and l-.e id him gently down, without
1 .:iturbi-tn him, and then came out, and
s t. be-.ide lIMaggie on the step.
T The child laid her tired
f 7 head on her Mother's knee,
and shut her eyes. In a
minute she was half asleep,
S/' till the quiet voice roused her.
S ."Wake up, Maggie, I
l have something to tell you.
The Colonel's lady knows of'
S : place by the seaside, some-
.vhere-where poor children's
-L/ aken in for a bit, and made
strong. She wants
Syou to get your
things ready by
/* next Friday, and the
Colonel'll pay your
S .. way out of the

\\ i "Me, Mother!"
--.,//y ,/ said Maggie. She
was wide awake now, sitting up, with her keen, dark eyes fixed on her Mother's face..
"Yes, love, you; you've not had a bit of a change, dear, in all these three
years, and Freddy's very wearing."
She sighed, and lowered her voice, and put out her hand to draw Maggie back
on to her knee, but Maggie still sat upright, staring at her.
"Now, there'd be some sense in it if it was Freddy," she said.
Mrs. Lappin looked at her anxiously.

"You won't make a trouble about it, Maggie," she said; "the lady's taken a
deal of trouble. It's a nice sea, with shells, and such things-and you always were
one for the sea."
"When I was a baby, Mother," said Maggie contemptuously. "Where's the good
of shells to me now? No, I won't make no trouble; I'm going to bed now.
Kiss me, Mother."
"You're tired, love-shall I put you into bed as if you was a baby?"
"No; you wait for Father, and sit with him here a bit. I'll manage well enough
by myself."
She slipped into the grey room where Freddy tossed uneasily under the sheet,
and when she had said her prayers, she leant over him, and kissed him with passionate
Maggie rose at dawn next morning, and dragged her weary legs to the officers'
quarters, where the parlour-maid was taking in the milk. All the upstairs blinds
were down, but, through the open door, she could hear a child laughing, and little
snatches of song. She would not go into the kitchen, as the maid suggested, but
she sat down upon the doorstep, to wait till the mistress should come downstairs.
It was warm and sunny, and the air was drowsy, so she was almost asleep again
when a voice roused her.
"Who is it? Oh, I see-Maggie. Your Mother has told you? Go and break-
fast in the kitchen first, and we will talk about the seaside afterwards."
Maggie had stumbled to her feet, and her heart was beating with low thumps,
but she had to speak.
"If you please, ma'am," she said, "it's about that; I couldn't go to the seaside,
not if it was ever so. There's no one to do a stroke of work at home but Mother
and me-I couldn't be spared."
"But it will make you strong, Maggie."
"I'm as strong as I want," said Maggie; "I don't never ail nothing."
The Colonel's wife felt the thin arm she defiantly stretched out, and smiled.
"I don't care for the sea," went on Maggie, her words tumbling on one another
in her eagerness. "It keeps on so-night and day; you can't never rest for it."
"But the shells, Maggie?"
The Colonel's daughter was dancing down the stairs with the same brown stockings
that Maggie had so admired the night before. She came and pushed her curly brown
head under her mother's arm.
"Doris loves the shells, don't you, Doris?" said the Colonel's wife. "And here
is a little girl who does not want to go to the sea."
"Oh-h-h!" said Doris.
"No, I don't want to-not a mite," said Maggie quickly; "but Freddy loves

ic. and, at the Home, I daresay, they would just as
r ict !ve one as another."
S"But, Maggie," said the lady gently, "it would
do ,:, ,-u more good than Freddy-you are thin and
pale, and you are always tired. It would be
.F Freddy's turn next year."
"And who's to say he'll be here next year,"
Vc-Lid Maggie thickly. "It don't mean nothing to
lne--I hate the sea, but Freddy's wanted to
C.) all his life."
S- "You really hate the sea, Maggie?"
"Yes, I do," said Maggie, with a rcd
flush on her thin cheeks.
There was a moment's silence, then
Mrs. Resgrave said gently:
"Well, what do you want me to
say, Maggie ?"
Maggie's eyes filled with tears.
"I want you to let Freddy go, ma'am,
*-V. ,, .'': "-i instead of me. He's such a poor little
chap, and he's that heavy to drag about,
I can't get him far; and I'd love to think
he was by the sea, with shells and things, to satisfy him."
"Well, go and get your breakfast, child, and I will think it over."
"Mother," said Doris, as she skipped into the dining-room, clinging to her mother's
dress, "how funny of Maggie not to like the sea!"
"I am not quite sure that she doesn't, Doris," said her mother.
"But it is very wicked to tell stories," said Doris, with wide eyes, "and she
said she didn't."
"It is always wrong to tell stories, Doris," said her mother, "but there is a
golden rule, which I think Maggie is learning by heart, and when people are very
young, and very ignorant, they do not always walk in the narrow road. It is
a golden rule called Love, Doris, and it makes even a camp-hut a very happy
"But, Mother," said Doris, "couldn't Maggie come with us, even if Freddy goes
to the seaside? It wouldn't be very dear, would it, if we told Nurse not to give
us supper, and if we only had puddings once a week, just on Sundays, for Philip's
sake-he likes Sunday puddings so much better than common ones?"
"Perhaps we could manage it without giving up the puddings, Doris. Eat your

breakfast now, and I will speak to Father, and we will go over and talk to Mrs.
Lappin again to-night."
Maggie, flushed and panting, burst into the hut an hour later, and flew into
her Mother's arms.
"It's all right, Mother-Freddy's to go, not me. The lady's put the other name
in the letter."
"Oh, Maggie!"
"Why, you didn't think I'd go !" said Maggie indignantly, "and him and you
left here. Just to think of the selfishness of it! But it'll be all right now. You're
going to the sea, Freddy, where there's sand, and shells, and crabs, and all sorts
of lovely things, and your poor legs'll get strong, darling, and you won't want to
be carried about no more."
"But I wonder the lady let you change, dear," said her Mother.
"Mother," said Maggie soberly, "I had to be a bad girl, and tell a story about
it. I told the lady I hated the sea, and I wouldn't go nigh it. Do you think God'll
forgive me, Mother, seeing I did it for Freddy?"
"I daresay He will, Meg, but it seems a pity, love. It seems as if it spoilt the
pleasure of it a 1.'it. fhl.-, n't .:, -. -. .-ii help me to dress
Freddy against t:h,: d ..m-, Fj.tleti lii I: with the regiment,
and he'll hear the L.imd il :,--t In.r. th'.- tep.
.. ..,,. ': ne R. Glasgow.

-Aiftfy' GCosfume.

CAC( O OT dress you, Kitty mine,
S In furbelows and flounces fine;
And as for dainty dancing-shoes,
They're not the things that you would use.

It would not do for you to wear
Feathers or flowers to deck your hair;
And neither fringe nor "bun," 'tis clear,
Would suit your beauty, Kitty dear.

Nor should I like to see you deck
With gaudy gems your fluffy neck;
And as for bracelets, fans, and rings-
You can despise such silly things.
But just a knot of ribbon blue,
With my best love, I've got for you,
And two bob-cherries at each ear,
And you'll look charming, Kitty dear.

For folk may criticise your dress,
But, Kitty, I'll not love you less.
Whate'er it be, however you go,
You are the dearest Kit I know.
F. Weatherly.

1111cr thc Mistl'ztoc.

a~ oi ,
C '" ~.

.,ir ^_ TW e Dandeliori j uffs.

Slay sparkling on the grass, hanging from the
tender green leaves like glittering jewels in a
royal diadem.
S f'- A blackbird was whistling in the thick
"' branches of an elm-tree, and on the fallen trunk of one
-- its tall dead companions, a robin sat, thinking-he was so
very still. And fairies coming late home from their moon-
-hllit revels, returned their red caps, and hung them up
I"" ._ ntlv, ii straight lines, on the green fox-glove stems from whom
...-tl,- h1ad borrowed them, collected the dew-jewels, and fastened
tlihem in their gossamer coats, and hid them under wild-rose
"' bu-h i-., aid then disappeared themselves, leaving a toadstool to
a r'rk their residence.
'" And tinlnd brown hares forsook their bracken shelter and ran
S'. home to their burrows, deep in the earth. Young thrushes twittered
-"" in their nests, begging the old birds to teach them to fly.
Away they hurry, flapping their tiny wings; beautifully clumsy-like a little
child learning to walk; falling as often, but never disheartened; screaming madly in
the sunshine, laughing merrily at their own awkwardness.
How well they succeed, all, but one-and the others shout for her to make
haste-and she hurries after them, half running, half flying.
"Back to the nest, children!"-"Back to the nest!"-"Hide yourselves!"-and
the old birds cry and beat their wings, driving the young ones before them, into
the hollow where buttercups and speedwell grow,-and the tall "sheep-parsley"
shelters them, as they bury their heads in the dark leaves.
"Are you all here?" and the mother bird hovers over them, scanning them
"Yes, 'all," comes back in breathless whispers.
"Why are you all so frightened? Why should we hide? I will see what
is the matter," pipes the eldest, and boldest flier: so he shoots his little black
head out of cover. He can see nothing to alarm them; the blackbird has left off
whistling, and the robin has vanished, but there is nothing to be afraid of; high
up in the sky he can see a little black speck; so he watches it fascinated, while his
little heart beats "thump, thump," in his little body.

Suddenly there grew, out from nowhere, a black cloud, between him and the
sunshine, and he hears the mother calling wildly to him-"Where is the little sister
bird ?"-crying plaintively, "Come, come, my little one; we wait for you"-and
running restlessly to and fro, seeking her. And the black cloud hangs over them,
and the bold little bird cannot take his gaze from it, as the little sister bird
flutters helplessly towards them, with wide-open staring eyes. Then a sharp, terrified
scream rings through the morning air, and some white blood-stained feathers fall
slowly to earth.
And then the little bird can see nothing but father and mother mixed .up with
the cloud. Now whirling furiously round and round, now high, now low, struggling,
panting, striking desperately with their hard bills, fighting for dear life and the dead
little one.
And when he looks again, the ground is strewn with feathers, and the black
cloud is gone.
"Brave old birds!"-it was well and nobly fought.
But their wounds were many and sore, and their hearts are bursting with grief.
The little one lies, on a soft patch of turf, in a little pool of its own life's blood,
and a strange flower with long, jagged green leaves is shielding it from the hot
rays of the morning sun, shaking the cool dew on its closed dull eyes, fearlessly
lifting its own little bright golden face to catch each beam of light.
And the fairies rush out of their hiding-places, waving their bright swords of
sharp, shining pine needles, vowing vengeance on the cruel hawk who had killed
their minstrel, the little singing thrush.
And the mother bird cries softly, smoothing out the ruffled plumage, and the
little ones gather round her with awe-stricken faces, and the fairies stand round
them all, building a little arbour of sweet grasses, and then they vanished again,
bidding the strange flower keep guard, for, they said to each other, "He is as brave
as a lion and as glorious as the mid-day sun."
So the golden flower watched by the poor dead singing-bird, shielding his
mangled body from the burning heat, while the blackbird whistled, and the robin
hopped about for sympathy; and the old birds cried in inconsolable sorrow, till the
shadows grew long, and the sun sank to rest in his rosy cloud bed.
And the fairies trooped out again, with their glow-worm torches, and covered
the dead songster with dazzling jewels; and kind spiders wove her winding-sheet;
and the nightingale sang the funeral dirge, while the evening star looked down; and
the brave little flower hung his golden head, and cried that he might not watch
any longer, because the sun had kissed him good night, and had tied on his green
night-cap, and he couldn't open his eyes-"they were asleep."
Ancd the full moon shore bright and clear in heaven, and smiled on him, and

,said so kindly, "My
child, the fairies have
rightly said you were
as brave as a lion, \ ..
and as fearless as the .
day. The good sun ":.
has made you golden :j- <. ," ..-' "
and beautiful, and I will _
make you round and
silvery-so that you
may also watch with
me, through the night, -- -
with a hundred watchful eyes,-that will never sleep."
And immediately, a pale round silvery globe of the




most delicate seeds formed

themselves on the green stalk, where the golden blossom had drooped, and a tiny
yellow bud raised his head, and stood beside his valiant brother, waiting for the
morning sun to kiss his eyes open.
And the fairies joined hands, and danced round them-the new flower and the
'old-and called them the "Dandy Lions"-because they were so dainty, and so strong,
and so pretty.
And so they grew together always-the "Sun blossom" and the "Moon flower
puff," for ever the loving faithful guard of forest, of field, and meadow.
Joan Becker.

J3 Grum'fe.

IT seems a very funny thing
That when it's time to shut. my eyes,
The little stars should open theirs
All wide awake up in the skies.

I really think it is too bad
That I can't watch them at their play.
I wish they didn't go to bed
And do their sleeping through the day.
Mf. Hedderweick Browne.

/^^fe y P ^Umbet[ ^ong.
, : ,. iBX" ,i

S, \! Sleep the Ferryman comes at night,
With visage grave and grim,
To search for babes by candlelight,
Qf ]And bear them away with him,

SDown Dreamland Bay, in a cradle boat
As snug as snug can be,
Where silver star-fish gently float
Beneath a blue, blue sea.

He rows them first, as the big sun sets,
To the land where the poppies grow,
And at sight of these they quite forget
Their Mothers who love them so.

They give to Sleep a nod and a wink,
As much as if to say:
"I like you well; I rather think
I'll go with you all the way."

From Poppyland to Slumber-shore
Through wondrous sights -h y roam,
Then with the tide they turn once more,
And hoist the sail for home.

Now, why do they need a good-night kiss?
Is it the journey's far?
No; Sleep the Ferryman knows by this
Whose Baby-boy you are.
Lily Oakley.

JI2uffipicatiori is' Vcymiorl.

SI'" THL was very unhappy.
SOn a gay, golden June day
Sit did seem hard to be
l cooped up in a stuffy school-
':-- i i .room, among inky exercise-books
S -and torn atlases, with a long
multiplication sum to do-six
'- lines, most of them nines and
S- sevens. That was because she
i T was sentenced to be kept in for
'. -- not knowing such a stupid thing
Sas that seven times nine are
sixty-three. And she had the
-' llong sum to do as a punishment.
^' l 1ii\ 1- f' I Outside, the bees were humming,
Sand the others were having tea
on the lawn. Ethel knew how
Si sweetly the scent of stocks and
sweet-williams mixed, with the
scent of strawberries.
"It's too bad," she said.
Sl "Seven times nine indeed-what
can it matter? I shall never
Shave seven of anything nice, let
Alone seven times nine of it."
"Ugh-scrape-screw-youp,' said the slate-pencil. "What a very ignorant little
girl! Have you got a bit of ribbon?"
Ethel stared at it, and before she knew what she was doing she found herself
tying a dolly's sash round the slate-pencil.
"There's no time to wash our faces," it said. "But I feel a bit smarter now.
Come on!" and it took Ethel's hand, and then she saw the slate she had propped
up against the arithmetic-book had changed into a door. She and the slate-pencil
hurried through, and found themselves suddenly in a wood.
"It's very rude of you to drag me along like this," she said. "You're only
a slate-pencil."

"I can do sums though," said the slate-pencil sharply, "when I'm in proper
Ethel wished she hadn't spoken.
"You're not such a bad sort of little girl," the slate-pencil went on. "For one
thing, you never put me in your mouth when you're thinking. Perhaps that's
because you never think. Now, what do you suppose sums are for?"
"To do the housekeeping-books," said Ethel, "and you never want multiplication
for that-only addition."
"Well," said the slate-pencil, "I'm taking you to see some of the things multi-
plication is wanted for."
The next minute they were under a green arch, and all around them thousands
of tiny fairies, all dressed in green and gold and white, were hurrying about in
every direction.
"Just as though they had lost their lesson-books and were late for school,"
thought Ethel..
The Fairy Queen stood on a big mushroom in the middle, and called out
directions to everybody, in the sweetest voice in the world.
"Five thousand daisies on Ethel's lawn at home-say twenty-five petals in each
frill-how many petals ?"
"A hundred and twenty-five thousand," cried dozens of tiny voices.
"Then look out the frills and fit them on at once."
"Seventeen lilies in Ethel's garden-two dewdrops each-how many dew-drops ?"
"Thirty-four," cried everybody before Ethel had had time to murmur, "Twice
seven are fourteen."
"There are forty-seven rosebuds who don't know how to open. It will take
three fairies to each rosebud-how many is that ?"
"A hundred and forty-one," cried the slate-pencil, who couldn't restrain himself
another moment.
"Right!" cried the pretty Queen, looking kindly at him, and then she went
on giving her royal commands. There were flowers to be fed and glow-worms to
be lighted, and little birds by millions waiting to be taught their night songs.
"How busy the fairies are!" cried Ethel. "I wonder how they ever get their
work done."
"It's multiplication does it," said the slate-pencil, playing proudly with his sash.
"You can't do that sort of thing with addition, like butchers' bills."
"But, of course, it's easy for fairies," said Ethel.
"Oh, is it?" squeaked the slate-pencil. "You come and see-that's all.:'
So off they went to the fairy school. The fairy school-children sit on little
benches, made of green rushes fastened together with rose thorns instead of nails.

They write on rose-leaves, with daisy petals for pens, and they are never, never,
never kept in!
The fairy who was teaching them asked them questions, and they all seemed
to remember what they had been taught.
"Would you like to put a few questions to the class?" said the fairy politely,
and Ethel asked the first question that came into her head.
"What are they doing at home ?"

"Oh, that's easy," said the fairy, as all the little hands went up:-"Because
fairies can see everything that's going on all over the world."
"They're saving cake for Ethel," said all the class, and when they all spoke
together it was like the pattering of soft rain on green leaves.
"Plain cake?" said Ethel.
"Yes," said the head-mistress, Fairy Kindly. "Would you like it to be currant?"
"Oh, yes," said Ethel.

"Three pieces of cake for
SEthel," the fairy went on,
S "with fifty-six currants in each
I.. i -how many currants will that
-n -.7N .. be?"
: "One hundred and sixty-
'eight," cried the slate-pencil
t hastily, and one hundred and
r- ^\W I i sixty-eight fairies started off

.- "Thank you so much," said
S. -- --- Ethel. "I think I had better
S`' '- go home and do my sum now,"
.. -for the thought of the cake
had made her quite hungry.
i' "Make a curtsy, and come
.. I on, then," said the slate-pencil,
S''and the next moment she was
rubbing her eyes in surprise
at finding herself back in the
-' '! i l' school-room again.
The slate-pencil was lying
beside her, still wearing his
sash. He would not speak,
but she got him to help her with the sum; and as she worked very slowly, and
took great pains, she actually got it right the first time.
When the others gave her the cake they had saved for her it really was
currant-cake, and there were fifty-six currants in each piece too-for Ethel counted
E. Nesbit.

(ood JSdvice.

P OU' RS invited out.to tea, Dolly,
And you must be very good;
And don't forget your manners,
And do nothing wrong or rude.
Let folk see you're a lady,
Though you're only made of wood.

"Dof and Doll.

SNE bright afternoon in the middle of summer a girl of about eighteen
sat alone in a cool, shady drawing-room, reading a letter which had
just been brought in to her. As she read the end of it the door
opened and a lady came into the room.
"Oh, Mamma," the girl exclaimed, "it is all settled-we are to have Dot next
week; he'll arrive on Thursday. His mother says it will be a great help if we can
look after him during their removal, and that he is such a good, quiet little boy she
doesn't think he'll give us much trouble, and really, with Papa being ill, it is a good
thing she is not sending Don here, isn't it ?"
"Certainly," answered her mother, when she in her turn had read the letter.
"But how strange it is that two little brothers-twins, too !-should be so different
in character. From what Mildred says, Don gets more mischievous or naughty
every day, and she could hardly trust him with us unless his nurse came too. I am
really glad we are not to have 'the pickle' on our hands."
A day or two later Frances drove down to the station to meet her little cousin
Dot. The first thing she saw
as she walked on to the plat-
form was a very tall footman,
with an extremely red face,
holding a tiny boy in a sailor
suit firmly by the hand.
"That must be Dot," she
thought, as the little boy turned
a pair of great blue eyes towards
her. "But I hope there's'
nothing the matter-I'm afraid
he's been crying."
The footman looked very
relieved as she came up to
him, but kept a firm hold _
of his charge until Frances,
having made' sure that
the child was indeed her
little cousin, took his other "
hand in her own.
"I will drive him

home myself," she said, "and his luggage
can follow in the cart. I suppose," she
added to the footman, who stood by
wiping his forehead vigorously, "that .,
you can go back by the next train?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered eagerly,
and departed; and a minute or two later I r: i.. -
and her guest wNere trundling along the shady lanr,.-
at the best speed Frances' fat pony was eqlu:li tc'.
"What a quaint little chap he is," thIgh Iht lI- n I,
as she only got a solemn nod in answer to every
question she put to her tiny cousin. "I wonder why he-won't speak I trust he's
not home-sick already." Then aloud she added: "I hope you'll be very happy with
us, dear-though I'm afraid you'll be dull without your Mamma. You're her little
comfort, aren't you? She tells me she always calls you her 'little comfort.'"
For the first time her small companion opened his mouth.
"Did Mamma say that?" he asked slowly, in a solemn, surprised voice. "Did
Mamma say I was her little comfort ?"
"Why, yes, darling, of course she did; and lots of other things. You see I know
all about you, Dot. She told me how good you are to Baby, and-what are you
looking so frightened at?" she went on laughingly, as the child stared up at her
with an expression she could not quite understand.
"Nofink," he answered slowly, while his face grew redder and redder. "I was
finking; only-but-I'll be very happy with you because you're nice. I suppose
you are nice to me because Mamma said those things ?"
Frances again felt rather puzzled, but she had not time to answer, for just at that
moment they drove up to the front door of her home. She lifted Dot down from the
cart and gave him a kiss as she did so. Dot's arms were immediately flung round her neck.
"Dear Francie," he whispered, "please go on loving me and-and I'll be very good."
The next day Frances wrote to Dot's mother-her cousin Mildred-and told
her how pleased they all were with the little boy. Never, she said, had she known
such a dear loveable child, "though I'm afraid," she wrote, "that he has. not much to
amuse him. Still, he seems very bright and happy."
Dot meanwhile was growing more and more devoted to Frances, in whose care
he was almost entirely left; and though she, on her side, grew daily fonder of the
little boy, at times she felt that there was something she couldn't quite understand.
For one thing, Dot seemed not to care to speak of his home-or of any home things !
Two days after his arrival Frances asked him what message he would like her to
send to his mother, to whom she was then writing.

"And to Don," she added; "you want to send your love to Don, don't you?"
Dot had moved away from her as she spoke, and gave no answer to her question;
so Frances repeated it. Then, to her surprise, he turned a very red face towards
her, and she saw that tears were not far off.
"I don't want to send love to anybody," he muttered crossly, and nothing that
Frances could say would make him explain what was the matter, though a few minutes
later he ran up to her and said he was sorry for having answered so naughtily.
The next morning after breakfast a letter
came to Frances from Dot's mother. Sher and:
he were sitting together in the school-:.-.: n.
"See here, Dot," she exclaimed, before :
she opened it, "a letter from your Mamma!
Dot's face grew scarlet. He gave' .
a kind of gasp, and before France~s t
knew what he was after, he r usll.,:
up to her and pulled the envelopir-"
out of her hands. He v.:.il .
have torn it in pieces
had not Frances caught
him by the arm.
"My dear little boy,"
she said gravely, "what
on earth does this
mean ?"
Dot stood silent
before her, his chest
heaving up and down.
Frances felt too puzzled
to know what more to say. The
letter lay on the floor between them;
she stooped down and picked it up.
"Francie, Francie," cried Dot, running up to her again, "don't read the letter!
oh, don't read it! If you won't I'll tell you what I've done! I've only been
purtending to be good; I'm the naughty one-I'm Don! Dot got a cold and
couldn't leave Mamma, so she sent me instead. I was naughty about coming-
I kicked James hard the whole way in the train-I cried as loud as I could!
Then you were kind to me because you fought I was good-you fought I was
Don! So I purtended to be good, for you to love me, and now you won't love
me any more-oh-h-h 1"

Dot-Don rather-here burst into a loud wail, which, however, did not reach its
full force as it was smothered on Frances' shoulder.
"My darling little boy," she went on saying softly, and each time she said it
Don gave her such a hug his arms really grew tired.
When, later on, Frances read the letter, she understood how the mistake had
first arisen. The servant who had brought Don as far as the station had forgotten
to give a note from the children's mother which explained that, owing to his
having caught -a severe cold, Dot was unable to go to his cousin's, so she had-
in some feat and trembling it must be allowed-sent off Don in his stead.
Don stayed with Frances for another whole week, and during that time these two
had several long talks together. Don learnt to his surprise that the only thing Frances
thought he had done wrong was in not letting her know her mistake-not telling
her at once that he was Don.
"But I furtended to be good-that was naughty, wasn't it," said he uneasily.
"I felt all the time it was naughty to purtend."
"You pretended to be Dot, but I think you really tried," said Frances.
Don's face cleared. "Then being good was real!" he exclaimed delightedly.
"It's easier than I fought 1 I'll go on wif it always now."
"Yes, do," said Frances, smiling; "though now and then you'll find it will seem
difficult again."
"Will it?" said Don sadly. "Still," brightening up as he spoke, "I'll go on-for
Mamma will be so surprised if I turn into a comfit as well as Dot! Won't it be
nice, Francie ?"
".Very nice," said Francie, and Don gave her another hug.
Olive Molesworth.

^^1^y-and- Y.

S I came down the stair one day,
I met a little maiden gay;
S"Please come and play with me," said I.
t\ "I will," she answered, "by-and-by !"

"I'm very busy now, you see- So as I left her on the stair,
I'm playing with my doggies three; Still playing with her doggies there-
I'd like to come and play with you, "I hope, my little maid," said I,
But they will miss me if I do!" "'Twill very soon be by-and-by."


p rle


" (




' 0F

" TKNOW I shall hate her!" cried Jim.
I "Nasty thing 1" said Kate.
"Narlty fing!" repeated 'Baby George.
"I don't see why we should have a governess at all!" said Jim.
"It's a shame!" said Dolly.
"That it is," said Jim.
And Baby George repeated, "A samee"
"Well," said Dick, "I'll never do anything this Miss Tracy tells me-so .there
Come on, let's have a jolly good snowballing-she won't be here till to-night.

Aunt's got some people coming to lunch, but they won't interfere with us."
And the children were soon busy rolling their big snowball to make it even
bigger than before.
Their Mother and Father were in India, and the children had been three months
with their Aunt, getting more and more unmanageable'-learning nothing new and
forgetting everything they had learned-even their manners. So now they were to
have a governess-and she was coming that very evening.
But they soon forgot their troubles in the pleasure of their snow-play. "Come
on !" cried Jim, presently; "let's have a battle-only soft balls, Dick, because of the
girls. You and Kate and Baby against Dolly and me."
The forces divided, and the armies began to make ready their ammunition-piles of
small snowballs heaped in the convenient storage between the gnarled tree-roots.
Then they began the fight. Such pelting and running and dodging, such shouts of
laughter-the very lodge-keeper looked out to see what was going on, and went
back to her house-work with a "God bless their little hearts !"
At first the two sides seemed evenly matched-but Baby was rather a hin-
drance because you had to be so careful not to hit him, and he often threw a
snowball at one of his own side in mistake. Gradually Dick's side was being driven
back towards the trees, and Jim was .pursuing them with a shower of snowballs,
when suddenly a ball came flying from an unexpected quarter and caught him fairly
in the face.
He looked round. A very pretty young lady was standing by a tree, laughing
at him; when he turned she threw another snowball, and as it hit him on the
arm, cried, "Go on! go on!-I'm on Baby's side." And after a moment's pause
the fight went on.
But now indeed the chance of battle had changed. The new comer protected
Baby with her skirts, threw her balls well, and only laughed when she was hit.
At last the luncheon-bell rang.
"Oh, dear," cried Dolly, "what a pity! I suppose you're on your way to
have lunch with Aunty at one. Our dinner is afterwards at two. What's your name?"
"Amy," said the pretty young lady.
"You're a jolly good chap at a snow-fight, Miss Amy," said Jim, "will you
play with us again ?"
"Oh, yes, if you'll have me. And now, as you say, I must be going on."
The children brushed the snow off her jacket and walked with her to the
house. When Baby said he was tired she carried him on her back. The children
were as merry as grigs, and chattered all the way, telling their new friend all
their troubles-particularly the one about the governess, which now came back to
them with fresh force after their delightful game.




g'": l
, ,A^

A Good Shot.

t ~


"It's very hard for you, no doubt," said Miss Amy, "but just think what it
will be for your governess! And you're not going to do anything she tells you!
I am sorry for her. I wouldn't try to teach you for anything if you'd made up
your minds never to obey me."
"Oh, but we would obey you," said Dick; "you're such a good fellow."
"Yes," said Kate, "you're pretty like our own dear darling Mamma in India."
"I love oo,"- said Baby, holding on tight round her neck.
"I wish you hadn't come only to lunch," said Jim. "If you were going to be a visitor
you would sleep in the best room--and you could help us against the horrid governess."
"I'm afraid I couldn't do that," said Miss Amy gravely.
"Why ?" asked all the children at once.
"You.won't love me any more if I tell you," she said.
"Oh, yes, we will, whatever you say."
"Well, then," she answered slowly, "I couldn't help you to be naughty because
-I am the new governess !"
"You don't mean it?" cried the children, stopping short.
"But I do," she said.
There was silence a minute and Miss Amy looked a little anxious. They had got
close to the house now-the next minute Aunt Ellen put her head out of the front door.
"Whatever is this dreadful noise ?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh, it's only us !" answered Dick. "We're giving three cheers for the governess."
E. Nesbit.

eorgie's fennv.

OOD-BYE, Dorothy 1" called Mother.
"Good-bye, Georgie !" called Aunt Jeanie.
Georgie ran to the Nursery window, and
Sa\e.li his hand; but Dorothy curled herself up in the
Snii-.., air, and looked just as cross as a small girl can look.
"Come and play at something, Cousin
Dorothy," said Georgie.
Dorothy frowned.
"^ "Won't you show me your new doll ?" said
Dorothy shook her head.
"Mother promised to take me with her," she said.

"Well, but you have company," said Georgie, "and you ought to be polite to your
"I didn't want the company to come," said Dorothy; "I wanted to go out with
"You're a cross old thing," said Georgie, "and I wish the company hadn't come,"
and he thrust his hands into his pockets, and stared out of the window.
"It's just like a girl," he began, pulling his handkerchief out with a jerk.
Something rolled out of his pocket on to the floor.
Dorothy looked up.
"There," said Georgie, "now I've lost it. I quite forgot it was in my pocket."
"What was it?" asked Dorothy, uncurling herself from the chair.
"A penny," said Georgie.

Dorothy jumped down on to the floor.
"A penny!" she cried. "Why, Georgie, we'll go shopping."
"We will," said Georgie,
clapping his hands.
"Put on your hat," said
.: '..- IDorothy, "and I'll1 get mine.
-. 1 I wish I could wear my best
one, but I can't reach the
box, and I don't think I'll
ask Sarah to get it for me."
"Never mind your best hat," said Georgie; "girls always bother about their
clothes. Come on.
"Come quickly downstairs," said Dorothy; "Sarah is in the garden, so she won't see us."
Not until they were outside the front door did either of them remember the penny.
"I thought you had it," said Dorothy.
"Well, we can't get in again," said Georgie; "we must go without it, Dorothy. We'll
just tell the shop people that we left the money at home."
They trotted down the road quite happily.
Dorothy knew the way, and the shops were not very far from home.
"Shall we buy a toy or sweets ?" said Dorothy.
"I think a toy," said Georgie, "I want a rocking-horse very badly; but of course
we couldn't carry that."
"A rocking-horse," said Dorothy, laughing. "You can't buy a rocking-horse with a penny."
"Dorothy," said Georgie, pointing to the pavement, "look there! It is beginning
to rain, and I shall get my new coat wet."
"Boys sometimes bother about their clothes," said Dorothy slyly. "We will wait
under this arch until it stops."
But the shower was quite a sharp one, and the children quickly grew tired of waiting.
"I wish we had an umbrella," said Georgie.
"We'll borrow one," said Dorothy; "we'll ask the old lady at the china-shop to
lend us hers."
Georgie looked at Dorothy admiringly.
They both ran quickly from the arch to the shop, and Dorothy walked boldly in.
The old lady was standing behind the counter, and she smiled at Dorothy.
"What does you: Mamma want, Missie?" she said.
"Nothing, thank you," said Dorothy, "but I want an umbrella."
"An umbrella!" said the good old lady. "I don't sell umbrellas." g
"Of course not," said Dorothy, "I know that; but we don't want to buy on-' we
want you to lend us one."

The old lady looked rather astonished, but she went into the parlour behind the
shop, and brought out a very large, very old umbrella.
"We'll bring it back quite safely," said Dorothy; "thank you very much."


:/ ;

"1We shan't be long, you know," said Georgie.
Wten the children got outside the shop, they found that the
stopped, but Dorothy carefully put up the umbrella.

rain had almost

"I don't think we shall want it," said Georgie; "it's scarcely raining at all. Shall
we give it back to the old lay ?"
"Not until we've finished our shopping," said Dorothy.
So the children marched along under the big umbrella. Dorothy found it quite
as much as she could manage.
"Oh dear, it is so heavy," she sighed, after a few minutes.
"Well, put it. down," said Georgie; "the sun is shining."
"Perhaps I had better," said Dorothy.
But it was far more easily said than done, and although both the children tried
their hardest they could not move it.
"Well, we must keep it open," said Dorothy.
"We can't go into any shops, then," said Georgie. "I wish we'd never borrowed it."
"I can hold the umbrella and you can go into the shops, and then you can hold
the umbrella whilst I go into the shops," said Dorothy. "Here is the sweet-shop-
what shall we get ?"
"Chocolate," said Georgie.
"All right," said Dorothy; "take the umbrella and I'll go in and ask."
Georgie took the urpbrella, and Dorothy walked into the shop. There was a young
women behind the counter whom Dorothy did n t know.
"Have you any chocolate ?" said Dorothy.
"Yes, miss," said the girl; "chocolate plain, chocolate drops, chocolate almonds,
chocolate creams, chocolate cakes-which will you have ?"
Much to the astonishment of the girl, Dorothy ran out of the shop.
"Georgie, do you like chocolate creams ?" she said.
"No," said Georgie; "but it's my turn now; you take the umbrella, Dorothy."
Dorothy took the umbrella, and Georgie marched into the shop.
"I want some chocolate, please," said Georgie to the girl.
"So did the other one," said the girl. "How much money have you?"
"A penny," said Georgie, "only we shall have to-",
"Georgie t" called Dorothy. And Georgie ran out of the shop. fi
"Georgie," said Dorothy, "we must go home. I thought i ,
I saw Mother and Aunt Jcanie." ...A
The girl came to the shop-door.
"Look here," she said, "do you ., ..
want any chocolate ? I can't be bothered -
like this. I don't believe you've got '
any money."
"We can't shop now-we are going
home," said Dorothy.

"She is a cross girl," said Georgie, as
Sthe girl shut the shop-door with a bang.
"Well, never mind," said Dorothy.
Once more the two set out in
the sunshine, under the umbrella
that would not shut up.
They were quite pleased when
they reached the china-shop, and
were able to hand it back to the
old lady.
; i"Where have you been ?" said
''''/ Sarah as she let the children in at
.'.[4 the side-door. "Go upstairs at once."
S' Dorothy looked at Georgie and
S 'nodded, and the nod meant: "They
.. '. '. have come home: we shall get scolded."
"They must be in Mother's bed-
room," said Dorothy. "we'd better
Sgo and tell them all about it."
"No, don't tell,"' said
T.. s oGeorgie.
Sw.a e "I always tell Mother
everything," said Dorothy.
She began to speak as soon
Sas Georgie opened the bed-room
"Mother, we've been shopping: you don't mind my going out if I tell you,
and you were out."
Then she stopped, for Georgie was laughing.
The room was empty. Mother and Aunt Jeanie had not come home.
"But they will be back directly, and then we shall have to tell them," said Dorothy.
"Well, come and look for the penny," said Georgie.
They went back to the Nursery, and they searched every nook and corner, but
the penny was not to be found.
"I. am sorry I've lost it," said Georgie.
"Well, never mind," said Dorothy, "we went shopping; only I do wonder what
Mother will say.
M2aggie Brown.

?^ t ann s r5 iidesmaid .

ES, 'tis a charming picture
Of a time that's passed away-
A picture of Granny's sisters,
SOn Granny's wedding-lay.
See, from the painted window
Aslant comes a stream of light
On five little waiting fairies
Gowned in gossamer white.

Didn't they wear quaint bonnets I
But the tiny one's shy face
Has only its dainty framing
Of ribbon and filmy lace.
"Ah, what a pretty darling 1"
Folks must have whispered there-
"Never a sweeter angel
Strewed flowers than Baby Clare."

All of the group are scattered,
So long it is ago;
They are getting old, like Granny,
Except little Clare, you know.
She is walking in God's own garden,
And the years may pass away,
But she will be young and lovely
As on Gianny's wedding-day. t
Ellis Walton. -



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I 'Ilt l )i id'* Illzlid

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In j2iscliief.

O NE morning Tommy's Father and his Aunt, who lived in Africa, were planting
seeds in the kitchen-garden, when Tommy appeared at the top of the steps,
with something held tightly in his arms.
"There's Tommy squeezing one of the puppies again," said his Aunt.
"Tommy, put that puppy down," his Father called out.
But he did not move.
"Put that puppy down," shouted his Father again.
There was a clatter, and out of his arms fell three little condensed tins In his
little mind there was an indistinct idea that grown-up people were rather stupid some-
times. Why should they call his cans a puppy, and why should he be told to drop them ?
All this excitement made Tommy forget he had meant to build a castle with the
tins, but he soon became tired of watching the seed-planting, so he wandered towards
the house again.
On his way he passed the Kaffir kitchen-maid, Christina.
"B'ack Kistina," he murmured to himself, looking at her dark face.
Then he went into the nur-
sery, but there were no stairs
to climb, as in Africa the houses
are only built with one storey.
"That you, Master
Tom ?" said Nurse from the -
next room. "Play quietly- ,' '
Baby is asleep." :' "
"Baby fellah s'eep," he j. .''' ...
echoed, and then he peeped
into the cot. I
"Baby fellah not .
back like Kistina," he '
said, gazing at him with ;
"I am going to the / '
kitchen for a minute, i :.r'"
putting her head in at
the door. "Keep, quiet

i till I get back." Tommy grew tired of playing with his tea-set,
and, presently, he took the brush out of the blacklead box,
which was standing in the fireplace, and began blacking his nails.
Suddenly an idea struck him. "Make Baby fellah back like
'-* Kistina," he whispered, with a chuckle; and, dragging the pot
to the side of the cot, he daubed large patches on his face,
and on the sheets and pillow too, I am sorry to say.
"Fun," said Tommy to himself.
Baby's roars brought Nurse flying from the kitchen, and his
Mother from the drawing-room, and, at their exclamations,
Daddy, who was passing, looked in to see what had happened.
SIt was a sight. Baby had a big smudge on each cheek
and one over his eye, and two or three on the top of his
bald head. Tommy was almost as black. He stood in the
middle of the room, the picture of guilt.
S"Velly solly, Daddy," he said cheerfully..
"That, I am afraid, does not meet the case."
Tommy looked puzzled.
"Make Baby fellah back like Kistina," he said.
Daddy suppressed a smile. "So I see."
Tommy eyed him doubtfully. "Whip Tommy?" he said at length.
"No, I shall not whip you this time," answered his Father.
"Corner, Daddy?" suggested Tommy, brightening.
"Yes, the corner will do. You must stay there for ten minutes."
At the end of five minutes: "Velly solly, Daddy," he said again.
"So am I; but there are five minutes more, for you to make up your mind in,
that you will never make Baby fellah black again."
At the end of the next five minutes he was in his Father's arms, and then, taking
his hand, trotted out cheerfully to see what fresh mischief he could get into.
L. Butt.

Biay' 6our.

OME away, my little man. She will rock you, oh so gently,

It is time to take your "nap." And you'll hold her by the hand
Climb up into your own cradle, While you drift away so softly
-Which is Mammy's warm snug lap. Into far-off "Sleepyland."

",.,,,' '--'.n. p:. -

T HETf- w:T \ias on:'e a little child called Lily,
Si she w\as so fair and graceful. Near her
home was a broad piece of water called
"Lake Beautiful," and it was her great delight to sail on this lake and pluck the water-
lilies. She would lean over the side of the boat and gaze into. the shining depths, and
listen to the mermaids singing down below, and she would long to be a mermaid too,
and have no tiresome lessons to learn, or nurse to come in at eight o'clock and put
her to bed, when she was so wide-awake.
One day Lily had been out on the lake, and when she returned home her arms
were full of beautiful water-lilies. These she gave to her Mother, all but one, which
she placed in a vase in her own room.
That night Lily could not sleep; there was a strange humming noise in the room,
as of a very small voice singing and talking, so at last Lily sat up and looked around
her. She noticed the noise proceeded from the direction of the vase, where she had
placed the water-lily, and, looking towards it, she saw, standing in the centre of the
flower, the most beautiful little fairy imaginable, dressed in white, and wearing a gold
crown studded with diamonds, and so bright were the rays that shot from the precious
stones that the whole room was illuminated. The fairy was singing a low chant, and

waving her exquisitely transparent wings to and fro, keeping time to her singing. This
was the song she sang: -

"Fair little maiden, away we'll flee
To the silvery lake. Oh! come with me,
And you shall learn how sweet to dwell,
Far under the waves, in the mermaids' cell."

Lily listened in astonishment, and when the fairy ceased singing she said: "Pretty
fairy, I should like to be a mermaid, but I do not think I can run away at night,
without saying good-bye to Mother."
But the fairy answered her, and said, "Did you not say to-day that you wished
you were a mermaid, with no tiresome lessons to learn ?"
"Yes," said Lily; "I did."
"Well, I overheard you," said the fairy, "and so I have come to fetch you away.
Your name is Lily, like mine; and if you will only come and dwell in our lake, we
will make you happy. Think how pleasant it will be never to have any lessons to
learn, but to play all day long with gold and silver fishes, or to float to the top of
the lake and talk to the water-lily fairies."
Lily thought it would be very pleasant indeed, but still she could not make up
her mind to leave her Mother; so the fairy lost patience, and said she would waste
no more time arguing, but would fly straight away home. She told the child to open
the window, which she did, and the fairy flew towards it, but, pausing a moment, she
said, "I give you one more chance. If to-morrow you should change your mind, come
to the lake, and when you have sailed right out to the middle, where the large patch
of lilies grows, stretch out your arms to them, and say :

"'Dear little fairies, I come to thee!
To the silverylake away I flee.
For I would learn how sweet to dwell,
Far under the waves, in the mermaids' cell.'

Then the lilies will take you in their arms and lull you to sleep, and when you awake
you will be a mermaid."
The fairy kissed her tiny hand to the child, and flew away through the open window.
The next day Lily's lessons were more trying than ever, or was it, perhaps, Lily
herself who was a trifle naughty ? Well, whichever way it was, at the end of the morning
her Mother said to her: "As my little girl has been so careless this morning she must
be punished. There will be no rowing on the bright lake this afternoon, for Lily must
stay in the school-room until her lesson is learned."
This made Lily very angry, and she stamped and cried with rage, and finally

'-; .. decided she would run away
and be a mermaid. So off she
S .ran at once, and, scrambling
into the old boat, floated out
into the middle of the lake.
Then she stretched out
her arms, and repeated the
lines the fairy had taught her.
And the lilies lifted their
stately white heads, and folded
their long green arms about
:.. her, and rocked her to sleep.
Si \, When she awoke she felt a
F. ;' little stiff and cramped, and,
S i looking down, found that her
t two pretty little feet had dis-
'appeared, and in place of them
she had a tail like a fish, all
covered with silver scales.
She felt a little inclined to cry at this, but, turning round, saw close behind
her a lovely little mermaid, with a crystal mirror in one hand and a golden comb in
the other. The mermaid smiled sweetly at Lily, and said-
"Now come with me, and we will go together to some quiet nook, and comb our
hair, and have a nice long talk."
"I would rather play," said Lily. "I hate to have my hair combed."
"Oh, you dirty creature!" said the mermaid, and Lily blushed, and felt ashamed
of herself, and added that she had forgotten to bring her comb with her.
"Well, you must have a comb if you are to live here, or else you be will con-
sidered no better than the fishes; so come with me to Grandmamma and we will
hear what she says."
They swam along, until they reached a grotto of mother-of-pearl, which Lily
and her friend entered.
Lily, who had expected to see a very old lady mermaid, was surprised to find
that Grandmamma looked very little older than her grandchild. She had forgotten,
you see, that mermaids never grow old.
"Well, Friskey, and what do you want with me?" said Grandmamma. "And
who's your friend ?"
"This is Lily, the new mermaid, who arrived yesterday, and she has forgotten
to bring her comb and glass."

"Oh, that's easily remedied," said Grandmamma. "I have a set to spare, and
will sell them to her for a couple of teeth."
"What!" screamed Lily, "give you my teeth! No! I'd rather go without the
comb and glass."
However, by dint of threats and persuasion, she at last consented, and allowed
Grandmamma and Friskey to draw two of her little back teeth, and in exchange
she was presented with a pretty little mirror, like her friend's, and a golden comb.
She swam away with depressed spirits, for, apart from the pain of having her teeth
drawn, she could not help wondering where she should put her new possessions
when she was not using them, her present costume having no pockets, and she
saw no signs of a dressing-table, like the pretty one in her -little room at home,
and on to which she loved to climb to peep at her little face in the looking-glass
which stood on it. For one whole hour Lily had to sit and comb her hair, whilst
she told her curious friend all about home, her Mother, and her friends. At last
they ceased combing, and the mermaid said, "Now we must go, for it is time for
our singing-class."
Now, that singing-class Lily did enjoy-not that she lierself sang much, but
the voices of the other mermaids were so sweet that it was a joy to listen to
them. When the singing was over, they all played "hide-and-seek." But it was
not nearly such fun as the games, at home. Lily was hampered with that glass
and comb, and managed to scratch one little mermaid with it as she tried to catch
her, and this angered the mermaid, and I am sorry to say she pinched Lily.
Altogether, she felt a mermaid's life was rather a mistake, and wished she could
go home.
As the days went by, Lily grew more and more discontented, and at last she
became so miserable that she made up her mind to try and escape, but looking
at her scaly tail, she felt she must get rid of that first or her Mother might not
know her again. So she floated up to the patch of water-lilies and told her troubles
to the fairies, and ended by begging to have her feet given her back again, for,
"Oh," she said, "I do so want to see my Mother-she is better than all the
mermaids in the world."
"It is all the fault of your name," said the Queen. "If you had been called
Mary Jane I should have left you alone; but, of course, I thought Lily by name,
Lily by nature. However, I will do the best I can under the circumstances.
I cannot make you into a child again, but if you are quite sure you can no longer
be happy as a mermaid, I will change you into a beautiful white bird, and then
you can fly to your Mother and live near her, and though she may not recognize
her little girl in you, still you can sing to her the sweet songs you have learnt
from the mermaids, and then she will learn to love you."

Oh! how Lily longed to throw her arms round her Mother's neck and ask to
be forgiven. As this could not be, she sadly thanked the fairies for their kindness,
and tried to comfort herself with the thought that, any way, she would see her Mother
"I will just say good-bye to Friskey, and then, dear Queen, please make me into
a little white bird."
She sank down to the bottom of the lake, and soon found Friskey, combing her
hair as usual.
"Friskey dear," she said, "I've come to say'good-bye. The Lily Queen has promised
to change me into a little white bird, and so I am going to fly away and look for

.-.... -.-. Mother. And, Friskey, will you have
my comb and glass as a keepsake?
N though I don't know what you will do
with them."
The tears stood in Friskey's eyes
as she kissed Lily, and said, "You are
a good little thing, and I hope you will
find your Mother."
o '"Then with a wave of her hand to Friskey, Lily
Floated away. When she reached the fairies once more, the
Queen spread her wings, and flew above her head. There,
poised in the air, she commenced to sing:-

"Little white birdie, fly home to thy nest!
Fly, little wand'rer, to Mother's soft breast;
In Mother's fond arms sweetly thou'lt rest.
Fly home, little birdie, fly home to thy nest!"

As the fairy sang the last line, Lily felt a curious faint sensation steal over her,
and then a delicious sense of freedom, and she commenced to fly upwards.
Oh! this was a thousand times more delightful than being a mermaid. She flew
round and round, just to try her wings, and then, bidding the fairies adieu, she spread
her wings towards the shore to find her Mother. Oh what pleasure it was to see
the old home again! She perched on her Mother's window-sill, and commenced to
sing one of the beautiful songs the mermaids had taught her; but to her astonishment,
no Mother came to listen to her song.
Then she flew to the nursery window. Her two little sisters were in the
room, in their white night-gowns, ready to go to bed. They looked very sad, but
smiled when they saw the pretty white bird, and clapped, their hands; so Lily
flew down to the table and let them stroke her soft plumage. But still there was
no sign of Mother. Then she flew into every room in the house, and at last
stopped by the cage of some little song-birds. "Dear birds," said she, "where is
my Mother?"
"We do not know your Mother, beautiful white bird; but the .Mother of the
house has been taken away to-day, and they have laid her in the churchyard."
Away flew the bird to the churchyard, but when she reached it, she could
not see her Mother. There was a newly-made grave, covered with some lovely
white lilies. "Ah," said the b:rd, "the lilies will tell me, for I am their name-
sake." So she said, "Dear lilies, have.you seen my Mother?" and the lilies knew
'her at once, and said: "This is your Mother's grave, but do not grieve, for she

is not here, but God gave her wings like yours, and she has flown away, -far, far
up into the sky. If you are not afraid to follow, you. may find her yet."
"I am afraid of nothing," said the bird, "if only I can find my Mother."
Away she flew up, up into the sky, and as she flew, her feathers changed
into pure, white robes, and she felt she was once more little Lily; only the wings
remained, and these seemed to grow larger and stronger, so that she no longer
felt the least weariness or fatigue, but soared above the soft and fleecy clouds till
she reached the blue region beyond; and then she heard faint echoes of most
exquisite singing, that seemed to make her heart rejoice and fill her whole being
with gladness.
On, on she flew, and now she hears her Mother's voice joining in the
heavenly song. Still higher soars the little one, and then-"Ah, Mother, Mother!"
and the little white bird is resting on her Mother's breast in Paradise.
Lucy L. lWeedon.


,WO little birdies fly home from the west,
Winging in haste to their cosy wee nest.

Two little butterflies fold their bright wings;
-' Soothing their slumbers a nightingale sings.
/ Lulla-lulla-by.

*t.I kTwo little violets droop in the glade,
S Modestly hiding their heads in the shade.

Two little bairnies are weary of play;
Sweet be their dreams at the close of the day.

Butterflies, violets, all pretty things,
Peacefully sleep when the nightingale sings.
M. 2M. Buchanan.



"H'itfiouf a j2nomenf'i Delay."

( J WISH something would happen to us, something out of a book," said Dick
J to Daphne. They had just come up from their morning dip, they were
partly dressed, and Daphne was rubbing Dick's hair dry for him, like the
good little sister she was.
"Never mind," she said. "Father will be home soon now. All sorts of things
are always happening to him, so he will have lots to tell us."
"That's jolly, of course," Dick said; "but it's not at all the same thing."
Dick and Daphne and Eddy and Dolly and Baby and Binkie were all staying
at the seaside with their Aunt, till Father should come home from beyond the
seas, where he had gone to make their fortunes.

:- '* '.^



Aunt Jane was kind in her way, but she had never had a baby of her very
own; so she did not understand everything, and thought lots of things wrong which
never seemed so to the children.
"She seems to think it as wicked to forget to brush your hair as it is to tell a
lie," Dick used to say.
"I wish Father would come now-this minute," said Daphne sadly, rubbing
Dick's head so hard that he could hardly hear what she said; and Binkie whined
a little, partly from sympathy, and partly because he was very wet and rather cold.
"It's no use wishing," said Dick. "Come on, Binkie," and he jumped up, and
ran down to the edge of the sea, and began to throw stones and sticks in for
Binkie, who brought them out now and then-just to oblige his master.
At last Dick threw a curious stone with seaweed growing on it. Away went
Binkie after it. The stone lodged on a bit of rock covered with sea-weed. Binkie
gave up the chase.
"What a jolly little rock," said Daphne. "Let's wade out and get on it."
"And we'll get back that funny stone with the sea-weed," said Dick.
So out they went. But when Dick put his hand down among the sea-weed
it touched something hard and round, and not at all like any stone. He picked
it up, and then, "Oh, Daff!" he cried; "here is an adventure-a real one"; for what
he had picked up was a large glass bottle that was lying on the soft sea-weed.
He had read tales enough to know what this meant.
It seemed long to the children before they had waded through the shallow
water to the beach, and sat down to examine their treasure. A piece of bladder
was tied over the top of the bottle. Dick got this off and prised out the cork
with his pocket-knife. Inside was a thin roll, also fastened up in bladder. They
got it out and opened it, with their hearts beating loudly. Inside there was
a paper.
"I knew there would be," cried Dick. "Oh! Daft, something has happened
-this is just like the books."
This is what was on the paper:-

"The passengers, crew, and officers of the 'Britomart' are wrecked on an island.
[Here followed some letters and figures the children could not understand.] There
is no food but what we saved from the ship, and we must starve if assistance
does not reach us before many weeks. Whoever finds this is earnestly entreated by
us all to take or send it, WITHOUT A MOMENT'S DELAY, to the Occidental Navigation.
Company, Fenchurch-street. Have pity!-there are women and children among us.
Any delay may cost their lives."

The children, white and wet-eyed, looked at each other.

"Oh, poor, foor things!" cried Daphne. "What shall we do?"
"I don't know," said Dick; "I must think. Daff, dear, you mustn't say a word
to anyone. We'll go home to dinner now-we must-and after dinner we'll see."
"Won't you tell Auntie?"
"No!" said Dick steadily. "She's so silly, she'd think we'd made it up."
So they went to find the others, who were building a sand-castle, and gloriously
enthroning Baby upon it.
That dinner was dreadful. Nevei had hashed mutton and rice pudding seemed
so dull.
"You don't seem well, Daphne," said her Aunt. "Perhaps you had better go
to bed after dinner. You may be sickening for something."
After that the rice pudding began to disappear at a great rate, Daphne explaining
between the mouthfuls that she was "quite all right."
After dinner Dick drew her into his bedroom, as they went up to put on
their hats for "the beach"-Aunt Jane's only idea of amusement.
"Daff," he said earnestly, "we must take this up to London." Daphne opened
her eyes very round and wide.
"To London?" she said.
"Yes. Now, don't be frightened. There's a train in half an hour. Get on your
best things, and we'll slip out, now that Aunt Jane's having her 'forty winks' after
dinner. She'll give us bread-and-water for a week afterwards-but never mind."
"But couldn't we send it by telegraph?" asked Daphne.
"There isn't any telegraph in Sandyside, stupid," said Dick, and, full of the
excitement of his adventure, he was very glad to be able to say it. "You know
what it said:-'without a moment's delay,'' he went on.
And Daphne, fired by the sight of his bravery, said, "Oh, Dick, it must be right!
Perhaps we are saving the lives of the ladies and the poor little children."
They broke open their money-boxes-there was plenty of money in them, for
they were saving up to buy a pony-and though the man looked rather curiously
at the two little figures who wanted "two half-returns to London, please," yet he
did not stop them; and presently the train steamed out of Sandyside Station, bearing
with it Dick and Daphne and the destinies of the ."crew, passengers, and officers
of the 'Britomart.'"
It seemed a long journey, and Daphne cried a little, but Dick cheered her
up as well as he could. But when they got to the big, crowded London station
even Dick hardly knew what to do.
"Let us get into a hansom," suggested Daphne; "that's what Father does when
he's in a hurry."
"And we are in a hurry-'not a moment's delay,'" said Dick, as they got in.


A4C &r

--~-4- ,
~ 4,-`si-n~~T~7;J r... P




J I .

., The halnom set them down at the doors o- a
l t!,e handsome building in Fenchurch-Street, which
Ssee med all swing-doors and glass plates.
STlhe clerks stared curiously at the children as
Dick stepped forward.
"Please," he said, "I want
to see the Occidental Navigation
S -- ."What! all of it ?" said the
clerk, laughing. But the anxiety
\ in the little face touched him.
-"What is it?" he asked.
Then Dick began his tale-
but at the name of the 'Britomart'
f the clerk came from behind his
Counter, and led the children
to an inner room.
S"News of the 'Brito-
Smart,' sir," he said, and
a white-haired gentleman
looked up quickly. Then
% the children-both half-
-a crying with fatigue and ex-
c. itement-told their story,
and showed the bottle and
letter. The old gentleman read the latter eagerly, and then he held out his hand.
"Upon my word, sir," he said to Dick, "you're a man. You've saved their
lives. One of our ships leaves dock to-night. If you'd waited to write, she would
have sailed before I got your letter; and I could not have chartered another to
start for several days."
"And if we'd telegraphed?" said Daphne timidly.
"If you'd telegraphed, my dear, I should have thought it was a hoax."
He touched his bell. "Here, Thompson, see these children home-wherever it
is-and explain to their people." And with that he hurried off to send help to
those shipwrecked folk-"without a moment's delay."
Thompson, the clerk who had first seen them, did take them home, and petted
and made much of them; and so won on Aunt Jane by his account of what they
had done, that there was never the slightest mention of bread-and-water.

* *

* *

Six weeks later Dick and Daphne were playing desert islands. They always
played it on the rock where they had found the bottle, and as there was only
just room for them to stand, it was not easy.
A voice hailed them from the shore.
"It is Father!" they cried, and the next minute they were hanging on his neck.
"Where did you get that gold watch, my boy?" said his father, later.
"From the Occidental Navigation Company," said Dick proudly, "and Daff has,
one too." Then he told his Father the story. His Father listened quietly, and then
he said, "If there had been 'a moment's delay' I should not have been here. Our
provisions were all gone."
"Then were you-- ?" cried the children.
"Yes," said he, holding them closer to him. "I was a passenger on board the
E. Nesbit.

Tfie Two Liffle Sears.

O C C& upon a time there were two little brown bears. One was a nice, good.
little bear; the other was a cross, surly little bear.
One day, when these two bears were out together, the cross little bear

said to his brother:
"Go to the baker's shop, and

buy two buns for our dinner, while I wait for
you in this field."
So the good little bear went, for he
always did what he was told. But as he
came out of the baker's shop, a rough little
boy ran up, and snatched the buns from him.
The little bear cried. He could not buy
any more buns, because he had spent all the
money he had. So he went back to his.
brother in the field.
"Where are the buns ?" snarled the cross
little bear.
"A naughty boy took them away from
me," replied the good little bear.
"Nonsense!" cried the cross bear; "do you
expect me to believe that? No! 'You have.

eaten both buns yourself.
Nasty, greedy little thing !"
And the cross little bear
boxed the good little bear's
S-. The good little bear
/' ,'. turned away, crying. He.
S" wandered out of the field,
Sand walked sadly along
I a road.
B Presently he met a
/pretty little girl, who held
in her hand a golden collar
and a golden chain.
"What a dear, wee,
bear!" exclaimed she. "You
sweet little thing! Will
Syou come and live with me,,
S '. .... and be my little bear?"
"Oh, yes," replied the
good little bear eagerly.
"I should like that very
much indeed."
Then the little girl fastened the golden collar around the little bear's neck,
and led him by the golden chain to her beautiful home.
Here he had cakes and sweets every day. He was petted and caressed, and was
very happy.
But the cross little bear, walking along another road, met a cross-looking man,
who held in his hand an iron collar and a heavy iron chain.
"Ahal" laughed the man, when he saw the bear. "This is just the fellow for
me I will take him and teach him to dance, so that I may get pennies."
Then the man put the iron collar around the cross little bear's neck, and led
him by the iron chain to his miserable home.
The poor bear had to go out every day to dance in the streets, and get
pennies for the cross man. This made him very tired. He got little food, but
plenty of kicks and blows.
So the nice little bear lived with the nice little girl, and the cross little bear
lived with the cross man.
E. D.

JR griBfmas fuesf.

SUSPOSI.2'(Q we were sitting,
. ~ One cosy Christmas night,
04 Close round the blazing fire,
And the lamps were burning bright.

\Vitl Mother in the middle,
And Baby on her knee,
And all of us as merry
And as happy as could be.

Suppose we heard a knocking,
Of some one at the gate,
Who prayed that they might enter,
Although it was so late;

Some beggar asking shelter,
Because the night was cold,
And want, and care, and trouble
Had made him very bold.

And we would cry, "Ah, Mother,
The beggar must not stay,
It is so nice and cosy,
And this. is Christmas Day!

"Tell them to give him something,
For he is wet with snow.
We do not want to see him;
Just tell him he must go!"

And supposing Mother hushed us,
Put Baby on the floor,
And went along the passage,
And opened wide the door;

And on the threshold standing,
In garments wet and thin,
Supposing there was really
The Christ-Child looking in!

Just think how we should wonder
His tender eyes to meet,
And pray of Him to enter,
And warm His shining feet!


It makes you very gentle
In speaking to the poor,
To think some day the Christ-Child
May stand outside your door.

It makes you very anxious
To give the poor your best;
To feel some day the Christ-Child
May be your Christmas guest.

And He may say to Mother:
"You loved my poor, you see,
And what you did to others,
Was always done to Me !"
Geraldine R. Glasgow.

Two Liffle Jriendi.

meant no harm-he never did, and he loved Dolly; so he
clambered up on the wall, and looked over.
"What are you doing, Dolly ?" he said.
Dolly was so busy she could hardly look up.
"I'm making my baby into a black child," she said. "I
found the stuff on the box Nurse does the fire-grate with,
and it's lovely."
"You might stop now," he said, "and come and sit up
here on the wall beside me."
"Oh, I'm too busy," Dolly said. "I'm pretending my baby doesn't want to be
black, and she's screaming, and making a dreadful fuss, but it's for her good-that's
what Nurse says to me."
"Oh, Nurses all say that," he said. "But I don't believe it's really true. If your
Nurse came this minute, I'd say to her, 'Nurse, you are not- .'"
"Miss. Dolly !" said Nurse's voice. "Wherever is that child? Oh, here you are,
missy, and messing with my blacklead! Well, I never! Into the fire your doll goes
as soon as ever we get home As to you, Master Dick, get off that wall directly."
"Yes," said Dick meekly.
"I tell you for your good," said Nurse. "You'll get a bad fall some day."
"I'm getting down," said Dick hurriedly. "Good-bye, Dolly."
Geraldine R. Glasgow.

Ji Iiffle Joldicq.

LITTL8 china soldier
J On a little bracket stands,
And he holds a little gun
In his little china hands.

But whether it is loaded
I really cannot say,
For he never pulls the trigger,
And I hope he never may.
M. H. Browne.

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