ON ARBOR DAY.
“Let’s plant a baby tree,” said Bob,
To little sister Bess;
“And then we’ll have a great big tree,
When we grow up, I guess.”
“O, yes,” cried Bess, “a sugar tree,
A maple-sugar tree;
To bear sweet sticks and hearts and rounds,
As thick as thick can be!”
“And I will plant an oak,” laughed Bob
(A “squirrel-tooth” had he),
“For cups and saucers for your dolls,
And nuts to crack for me!”
P. S. C.
“SORRY-BOY.”
Little “Sorry-Boy”—bless his tender heart!
In this world he truly does his part.
Every hot day “Sorry-Boy” comes out,
Pumps a great big cool wet shower about,
Makes a splendid splatter and a splash,
For the chicks and shaggy old dog Dash:
For such pitying acts there came
To this little boy his name!
M. D.
BABYLAND
PERCY’S DREAM.
On July third Percy’s mama went up to wake him.
He cried out when she kissed him, “Oh, mama, I was having a splendid dream! I had just put eighteen packs of fire-crackers in a barrel under your window, and set them off, and they were just going to bang!”
“Never mind,” said mama, laughing. “You will get all the bang you want to-morrow.”
About ten o’clock mama missed Percy.
There were “symptoms” of him everywhere; his little straw hat on the hall floor, his top in the dining-room, his cars in the parlor, his dog in the porch, his bicycle down by the front gate. But no Percy.
Finally she went upstairs, and there was Percy stretched out on his little brass bed, his eyes shut tight.
“Why, Percy,” said mama, as she bent over him, and he opened his eyes. “Are you sick?”
“No, Mama, but it’s a dreadful long time till to-morrow, and I was trying to piece out my dream so’s to hear the bang! Oh, I’m so sorry you woke me up this morning!”
L. E. Chittenden.