THESE MY LITTLE ONES.
BY MONA NOEL PATON.
II.
When young Master Dreamer came out of the store, three radiant faces almost paid him for his self-denial.
"Oh, Nellie!" whispered Bill, trembling with delight.
"God bless him!" said Nellie.
"What shall we buy?" said Bill. "This will buy heaps."
"Billy," said Nell, "don't let us buy candies. They would soon be gone. Let us buy something to amuse Bab when we are away at school."
Poor Billy sighed. It was hard to leave the tempting window. But he was not selfish.
"Shall we buy a dog?" said he.
"No. Mother says they eat too much. Besides, it would run away."
"Rabbits?"
"No; we could not keep them in the room. What do you say to a bird?"
"The very thing!" cried Bill. "Let's go to the bird man's, and see what we can get."
Off they started, Bab trotting along bravely.
An hour later, as night was falling, up the dark stair of Nellie's home came three pairs of eager feet. Mother came to the door to meet the children.
"How late you are, dears!" she said. "I was beginning to be anxious about you."
"Mother! mother!—look! look!" was all the answer she received; and a poor rumpled pigeon was pressed so close to her face that she could hardly see it.
And then the tired mother heard the story of the wonderful afternoon—how kind the little gentleman had been, how grim and cross the bird man, at first ordering them away without listening to them, then refusing to sell them anything for a shilling, and finally giving them this darling pigeon that he thought was going to die, and giving them back their shilling too. There it was, smooth and shining, and Nellie held it out for mother to see.
Before one of the little ones would taste a bite of food, the pigeon had to be fed and warmed. A basket was filled with soft rags, and set near the fire, and in it the sick bird was placed. Then it was fed with delightful bread and milk, each child sparing a part of its own supper. Its bright eyes watched the children go to bed, and before they went there was a prayer softly breathed, in which the little gentleman was not forgotten, nor yet the rough bird man.
Long before it wanted to be, the next morning, the pigeon was awakened by tender caresses, and fed before they so much as looked at their own breakfast. Certainly it looked better. The shilling was put carefully away to buy its food. When Nellie and Bill, after a last loving glance, had gone to school, Bab sat down by it on the hearth.
"Oh, pigeon, pigeon," she whispered, "do live! I love you so! I do love you so! Oh, pigeon, live!"
The pigeon did live. It was drooping for just what the children gave it—a little love. Day by day it grew bigger and stronger. Soon it would hop all over the room, perch on Bab's head, and eat its dinner from her plate. When spring came, and the days grew warm, the window was always left open, only a little bit, lest Bab should fall out, but still enough to let the pigeon hop in and out at its own sweet will.
When summer came, though it was much nicer than winter, the close air of the court made poor Bab feel quite ill in the hot mornings. In the afternoons her brother and sister would take her far away on a long walk to the sweet grassy meadows outside the old city walls. They had found out now where their "little gentry" lived; and the great pleasure of the day was in returning from the meadow, and peeping in at the beautiful garden where the two happy children seemed to spend their whole time in play.
The grass in this garden was often quite white with daisies, and the poor children used to stretch through and try to gather a few, but they were almost always just out of their reach.
One very hot afternoon they were coming home through the square rather tired. There seemed to be something wrong with Bab. She was cross and languid. She cried when Nellie's hand could not reach the daisies.
"Hush, hush, dear; the little master will hear you," whispered Nellie, while Bill stretched in his arm, and succeeded at last in getting one of the coveted flowers. The little master had heard and seen. He came up to them, and asked, shyly,
"Do you want some daisies?"
"If you please, sir," said Bill and Nellie, in a breath.
In a moment the little fellow was down on his knees among the daisies gathering busily.
"I would 'ike to gaver some myse'f," said Bab to Nellie.
The little boy looked up and paused. His companions were at play not far distant. He looked half afraid.
"Nellie, me s'ould 'ike to gaver some myse'f," whimpered the tiny voice.
He hesitated no longer, but sprang up. "Come to the gate, and I'll let you in," he said, in a low voice; and then added, "but you must go out again as soon as she has got some."
The next minute Bab was down in the soft, sweet grass, gathering the daisies with both little hands.
"Master Dreamer" did not seem very comfortable, however, and watched his play-fellows cautiously. All at once two of them stopped their game, and came running up.
"Go out! go out!" cried Dreamer, eagerly, "or they'll hurt you."
But already the rude boys were upon them.
"Turn them out! turn them out!" they shouted, and one of them caught Bill by the shoulder, while the others began roughly to hustle Nellie and poor, wondering Bab. This our little gentleman could not stand. Wildly he hit out right and left, keeping between Nellie with Bab in her arms and her two cowardly assailants, until they and Bill were safe outside the gate. Then he shut it, and stood with his back against it.
The other boys were very indignant, and many a buffet poor Dreamer got.
The last the three children saw of him, as they turned out of the square, he was lying on the grass, crying bitterly, his little sister standing beside him, crying too.
"You baby!" sneered one of the boys, "blubbering because you got hit!"
"I'm not crying because I got hit," shouted Dreamer, springing up, his face all burning. "I'm crying to think that boys calling themselves gentlemen should have behaved in such a way to those poor children."
"Cads have no right in the garden."
"Then the sooner you get out the better," retorted the little champion, for which observation the enemy was upon him again.
Poor Bill and his sisters felt very sorrowful at the trouble they had brought their dear little friend into.
"Oh, mother!" they cried; "to think it was all for us!"
"Depend upon it, my darlings," said the wise mother, "that is his greatest comfort. He is all the happier for it now."
Something was very wrong indeed with little Bab next morning. When her mother bent over her to give her the parting kiss, she opened her eyes, stared wildly upward, and uttered a scream of terror.
"Go away! go away! You hit the little boy!"
Poor little Bab was very ill. Fever had broken out in the close court. Her mother sent Bill for the dispensary doctor, and Nellie to tell her employers that she could not work for them that day. When the doctor came, he confirmed her fears. Bab had the fever. Oh, the agony of the next few days! The once merry voice rang out full of trouble. Constantly one weary cry came from the dark, cracked lips:
"Why won't you let Bab in to gaver f'owers? Why are the great gates always shut? My daisies! my daisies!"
"Nellie," said Bill, one evening, "wouldn't it make Bab better if we should go to the square and ask him and the little lady to gather some daisies, and kiss them, and give them to us for Bab?"
Nellie thought it would. Early the next morning, which was Saturday, they set off without saying a word to their mother. They were so early that they had to wait a long time in the square before the boy appeared. At last the door of the house flew open, a hoop came bounding down the steps, and after it shot a boy, the baby behind him, in a new dress, with a doll clasped in her arms.
It was the baby who first noticed the waiting children.
"Dere's de children we gived de daisies to," she said, going up to the railing. "Does you want some flowers, now?" she asked, throwing down her doll and dropping on her knees to pick them.
"Where's de baby?" she demanded presently, pausing in her diligent task.
"She's very ill. That's why we came for flowers," said Nellie, sadly.
"Has her a sore froat?"
"No, it's the fever."
"Brozer, brozer, come quick and gazzer flowers. De ittle baby has dot de fever!"
Brozer came.
"Is she very ill?" he asked.
"Yes," said poor Bill, "she's near dead, and we thought perhaps if you would gather some flowers and kiss them, and wish Bab better, perhaps she would get better. For she does love you so!"
Suddenly Baby dropped the daisies on the grass, clasped her hands, and said, in a loud clear voice,
"O Dod! dear Dod! make Bab better, p'ease." And then with a satisfied nod, as if to say. "That's settled," she set to work again.
Dreamer gathered busily, and said never a word.
"Will that be enough?" he inquired, after a while, holding out a great ball of white stars.
"Oh, quite, quite. Now would you mind kissing it?" said Nell, eagerly.
"That will do no good."
"Oh yes, it will!" Nellie insisted, and so, blushing scarlet, he kissed the flowers, saying gravely, "May she soon be better!"
Baby did the same, crowding into Bill's hand the daisy heads she had plucked. Then, before he knew what she was about, she thrust her sunny face through the bars and kissed him on the lips.
"Take 'at to de baby," was all she had time to say, when her brother caught her in his arms and drew her back.
"Oh, Baby! Baby! you silly, silly girl," he cried. "You may have caught the fever," he exclaimed, his eyes full of fear. And then, moved by a strange wild hope that he might be able to take the infection from her, he kissed her slowly.
"Please, sir," said Nellie, "the doctor says it isn't infectious."
His face cleared.
"Thank you," he said. "Come again when little Bab is better." And so they parted.
When again they crept softly up the rickety stair, their sister lay upon the bed, her tiny hands folded, her eyes closed, her lips parted in a smile. By her side sat the worn-out mother, her head on Bab's pillow. Both were fast asleep.
They laid the flowers on the bed, and very gently Bill just touched Bab's face and gave her the baby's kiss.
They seated themselves on the window-sill beside the pigeon, which had been a little bit neglected in their anxiety, and waited a long, long time. An hour must have passed, and Nellie was the only watcher, for Bill too fell asleep. At last Bab stirred a little. Slowly her wee hands moved until they touched the daisies.
"Who sent 'em?" she whispered.
"The little master," said Nellie, "and the baby, and they asked God to let you stay and get well, and He said yes."
"'Es," said Bab, "Dod said 'es."
From that hour she began to grow stronger. Every day Nellie and Bill went to the garden again, and Dreamer and his sister gathered daisies and sent them to Bab.
"It was us!" suddenly shouted Baby. "Us was werry nice!" remarked the little lady, with great satisfaction.
But Donald was crying.
Auntie laid her hand on his head.
"You were right, dear, when you said you were sure the pigeon came for something. He came to you with a message from the God of little children, who says, 'Whatsoever ye have done unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto Me.'"
[SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS.]
The following story is another example of the truth that is stranger than fiction:
During a voyage made by the bark Gladstone from London to Sydney, in Australia, on the 22d of October, while the vessel was in latitude forty-two degrees south, and longitude ninety degrees east, a seaman fell overboard from the starboard gangway. The bark was scudding along with a rough sea and moderate wind, but on the alarm of "Man overboard" being given, she was rounded to, and the starboard life-boat was lowered, manned by the chief officer and four men.
A search for the unfortunate man was made, but owing to the roughness of the sea he could not be discovered, but the boat steered to the spot where he was last seen. Here they found him floating, but exhausted, clinging for bare life to the legs and wings of a huge albatross.
The bird had swooped down on the man while the latter was struggling with the waves, and attempted to peck him with his powerful beak. Twice the bird attacked his prey unsuccessfully, being beaten off by the desperate sailor battling with two enemies—the water and the albatross—both greedy and insatiable. For the third time the huge white form of the bird hovered over the seaman preparatory to a final swoop.
The bird, eager for its meal, fanned its victim with its wide-spread wings. Suddenly it occurred to him that the huge form so close to his face might become his involuntary rescuer. Quick as thought he reached up and seized the bird, which he proceeded to strangle with all his might. The huge creature struggled with wings and paddles to free itself.
In the contest the sailor was beaten black and blue, and cruelly lacerated, but he held his own, and slowly the bird quivered and died. The carcass floated lightly on the waves, its feathers forming a support for the exhausted man, who had so narrowly escaped a lingering death.
But another danger awaited him. He was not much of a swimmer, and the excitement of the extraordinary conflict began to tell upon him. He was faint and grew giddy. But with one arm around the albatross's body under the wings, and a hand clutching the bird's feet, the sailor awaited his chance of rescue. Presently he heard his comrades shout from the boat, and in a few minutes more was safe on board the bark, though a good deal shaken and exhausted.
[PREPARING FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.]
BY A. W. ROBERTS.
Fourth of July is coming, boys, and we must do something to celebrate the anniversary of the glorious Declaration of Independence.
Let us see if we can not plan something that will be better and pleasanter than setting off fire-crackers, firing pistols, guns, and toy cannons. All these things make a hideous racket, which annoys sick and delicate persons, to say nothing of the serious accidents that have so often turned the great national holiday into a day of pain and sorrow for many a boy who started out in the morning to have a good time, and ended before night with bandaged hands and aching heads. It will be much better for you to be content with seeing the public display of fire-works which will take place in almost every village, managed by men who are used to handling these dangerous articles, than to run the risk of losing an eye or a hand in the reckless use of explosive toys.
There are many pleasant ways in which you can celebrate the Fourth without any danger. There is no reason why you shouldn't have a supply of lanterns for one thing, and make the woods and lawns and the inside and outside of your houses just as bright as possible. I am going to have a great illumination. My lanterns were all finished up a week ago, and now I am going to tell you just how I made them, so that if you like you can have as many and as great a variety as are now piled up in one corner of my room all ready for the evening of the glorious Fourth.
Fig. 1.
My first lantern (Fig. 1) is made out of a Chicago corned-beef can, of which I procured a number from our grocery man. Having thoroughly washed them out with hot water and soda, I took them to a friendly tinsmith, who cut out from the sides the squares, circles, and ellipses. Over these I pasted red, white, and blue tissue-paper, while, to make the lantern still more luminous, holes were punched through the tin sides in various designs. This lantern can be either suspended with wires, or stood on window-sills, balconies, etc.
Fig. 2.
My next lantern (Fig. 2) is an imitation of the Chinese "bucket" lantern. The top consists of a strip of pasteboard one inch in breadth, the ends of which are sewed together, thus forming a circle, with a diameter of about seven inches. The bottom consists of a circular piece of pasteboard. The body of the lantern is composed of one piece of tissue-paper, either red, white, or blue in color, which is pasted to the top band and to the circular bottom piece. The lantern is suspended by means of three pieces of stout thread or fine wire as shown in the illustration.
Fig. 3.
Fig. 3 is a folding lantern made of three pieces of pasteboard of uniform size, on which designs in stars, shields, squares, and circles are drawn previous to cutting them out with a chisel and scissors. The small circles or holes shown in the illustration are burned through the pasteboard with a red-hot wire or poker. Red, white, and blue tissue-paper is pasted on the inside to produce the colored effects. The sides of pasteboard are fastened together on the inside with strips of silk, muslin, or calico by means of glue. The bottom of the lantern consists of a triangular piece of pasteboard, A, which is fastened to the bottom of the middle square, B, also by means of a strip of silk. At the corners, C, C, C, C, C, small holes are made with a very coarse darning-needle. The three square sides of pasteboard when brought together form a triangle equal to that of the bottom piece, B. Fine wire or coarse thread is then passed through the holes, C, C, C, C, C, and tied. The result is a very light and showy lantern of triangular form, which can be suspended by fine wire or thread. The advantage of this lantern over others is that after using it it can be untied, folded together, and packed away until the next Fourth arrives. The can lantern can also be used for many years by re-covering it with tissue-paper when necessary, thus saving expense and trouble.
In making designs for lanterns always have them bold and strong. The effects will then be satisfactory, whereas fine and finicky work on a lantern is all lost when viewed from a short distance.
Fig. 4.
What bothered me most in my lantern venture was to obtain holders for the candles that would not take fire when the candles burned down, and thus endanger the wood-work round about. At last I hit upon three styles of home-made fire-proof candle-holders. The first is shown in Fig. 4. It consists of a raw potato cut into square slices three-quarters of an inch thick. These are bevelled at the sides as shown in the figure. Half-way through the centre of the slice a hole is bored, into which the candle is inserted. This holder is fastened to the bottom of the lantern by means of pins, which are driven through the sides of the potato and into the pasteboard.
Fig. 5.
Fig. 5 consists of three thicknesses of tin-foil, formed on a piece of wood of the same diameter as that of the candle. To form the end of the holder the tin-foil is solidly twisted together to the extent of an inch. When using this holder a hole is bored into the bottom of the lantern, through which the twisted end of the holder is passed and clinched on the under side.
Fig. 6.
Fig. 6 is made of a strip of thin tin or sheet-lead, the ends of which, when brought together, form a circle. The two square projections on the bottom of the strip are passed into two slots in the bottom of the lantern, and bent back so as to fasten the holder securely. The price of adamantine candles in New York city that will burn three hours is three dollars per hundred. All the illuminating material above described is very inexpensive, and more effective than the imported Chinese lanterns. The fun of making them, the lessons learned in utilizing and putting together various materials, the combining of colors in various designs, more than repay one for all the trouble.
Fig. 7.
In a previous number of Young People something was told you about gas balloons. They involve the use of chemicals. To my mind, the hot-air balloon is a great deal better and less expensive to manage. Make your balloons after the manner described in the article in No. 136. Now comes the business of inflating them. There are some difficulties to contend with, but with a little care you will be successful. The following is the best method according to my experience. Secure a short piece of old stove-pipe, and place the lower end on two bricks (Fig. 7), a space being left between them which is to answer as a draught-hole. The back and sides are then built up with bricks to prevent its falling. A fire is kindled in the stove-pipe, which is then filled with charcoal to one-third of its depth. As soon as the bottom of the pipe becomes red-hot, the mouth of the balloon is held over the top of the pipe so as to allow the hot air and gas to pass into and inflate it.
Fig. 8.
In balloons bought at stores the fire-ball is fastened where the fine wires intersect one another at the mouth of the balloon (Fig. 8). When inflating the balloon by means of the stove-pipe, the fire-ball will have to be removed, as otherwise it would be destroyed when holding the mouth of the balloon over the top of the pipe. After removing the ball, fasten it on a thin wire hook so that the instant the balloon is inflated the fire-ball can be lit and hooked on to its position in the centre of the mouth of the balloon (Fig. 8). By this means the balloon will remain inflated at least one half-hour longer, and will travel many miles further than when relying entirely for a supply of hot air from the fire-ball alone.
When sending off a fire-balloon at night, the hook must be shortened up close to the mouth of the balloon, so that the entire body of the balloon is illuminated; for daylight effect the hook is made longer, as shown in the picture. The best material for making the fire-ball is cotton batting saturated with a solution of two-thirds alcohol and one-third turpentine. It is a good plan to attach a postal card on which your address is written, and a request to the finder of the balloon that he will mail the card back to you with a memorandum on it where and at what time the balloon arrived. In this way you will know exactly how many miles and at what rate of speed your balloon has travelled.
[GRANDFATHER KNITTING.]
BY S. S. CONANT.
Lie quietly, baby grandson, while mother dear is away;
Out in the beautiful meadow she's raking the new-mown hay.
It's long since I went with the mowers, because I am growing old,
And they leave me at home with my knitting, and give me baby to hold.
It seems but yesterday, baby, that I was strong and hale,
And not a comrade could lead me at swinging the scythe or flail;
To wrestle or dance I was always the first upon the ground,
And there was not a swifter runner in all the country round.
But now I am hardly able to totter across the floor:
And instead of mowing the meadow, I sun myself at the door.
When I remember my manhood, it's hard to be reconciled
To sit at home with my knitting, and tending a little child.
And yet we are comrades, baby: at the door of this life you lie,
And I at the door am waiting of life beyond the sky.
To a brave and hearty manhood your infant frame will grow,
And young again I shall waken in the Land to which I go!
A GREENWOOD SCENE.
Who so light of heart as we,
Dancing in the greenwood free,
Tripping, skipping, to and fro,
Laughing, gliding, heel and toe?
Mag and Robin, Jack and Nell,
Don't you think we polka well?
Merry Roger blows a horn,
And upon the breezes borne
Sounds the summons, "Come and share
Fun within the greenwood fair."
All the family are here:
Father, mother, baby dear.
Who so light of heart as we
Dancing 'neath the greenwood tree?
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
"Green gravel, green gravel, how green the grass grows!"
A ring of little boys and girls were singing this the other evening, their hands joined, and their faces flushed with the merry exercise. A lady who was looking at them said to the Postmistress:
"Dear me, that sight takes me a long way back into the past. Fifty years ago I used to sing that song with my little brothers and sisters, and we played just as those children do. It seems like yesterday."
Green gravel! The Postmistress understands why the grass is said to be green. It has been just as bright and soft as it now is every summer that she can remember, but she never saw green gravel. Did you?
Seargeant Bluffs, Iowa.
My papa made me a present of Harper's Young People. I enjoy the stories very much, and especially the letters. My mamma taught me to sew my papers before reading them. I am a little girl eight years old. I go to school, and have four studies—arithmetic, geography, reading, and spelling. I have taken one term in music lessons. I am learning how to do fancy-work. The first work I did was a motto, and now I am making a toilet set for my room. It is made of white honeycomb canvas, and worked with blue worsted. I also do many little things to help my mamma. My pets are a canary-bird named Fritz, who sings very sweetly, a tabby cat, and a little baby brother, the sweetest of all. His name is Arthur. He has learned lots of cunning things. I will tell you some of them. He can tell all the animals on his blocks, and pat-i-cake, and knock at the door, and lift up the latch. He is a year and a half old.
Clara A. H.
Kiss Arthur for me, please. Tell mamma the Postmistress thinks little Clara must be a clever little helper.
Colorado Springs, Colorado.
We came here from Vermont because papa was sick, and we have been in Colorado about two years. We can see a good many mountains from this place. Pike's Peak is the highest, and Cameron's Cone is a mountain next to Pike's Peak. There is also a mountain called Mount Garfield, which was named for President Garfield soon after he was shot.
I have three little boats, and I sail them in the irrigating ditches. I haven't any pets, but am trying to tame some gophers which live under a little store-house on our grounds. They are something like chipmunks, but not so pretty. Sometimes we see and hear a robin, and it makes us very happy, because it seems like home; and when I am gathering flowers I now and then find a dandelion, and we are all glad to see it, for the same reason. We find beautiful flowers here; lupins are the most common just now, and there are some flowers much like the buttercups we used to see at home.
My birthday was the 5th of May. I was eight years old. I had some nice presents—Tom Brown's School-Days, and a scrap-book made by the directions in Harper's Young People No. 122, a beautiful two-bladed knife, and a birthday cake with nine candles on it—one for each year, and one to grow on. Mamma took me to Manitou for a birthday treat; and if I did not think it would make my letter too long, I would like to tell you about Manitou. It is right at the foot of Pike's Peak, and there are mineral springs there bubbling up out of stone basins, and wonderful cañons leading into the mountains in every direction, in which beautiful flowers grow, and there is a large cave with more than seventy rooms in it. We pass the famous "Garden of the Gods" in going there.
I made a cross-word enigma, which I send you. Please print my letter.
Edward Dana S.
I hope you will succeed in taming the gophers. What a delightful birthday you had! It will help you to be happy all the year. Perhaps some little reader may be puzzled to know what an irrigating ditch means. It is a ditch dug for the purpose of holding water which is brought to it from some river or lake. By means of little sluice-gates this water is turned over the meadows or pastures, which would otherwise be dry and parched. In parts of our country where the climate is dry, and rain seldom falls, or falls only in what is called the rainy season, farmers have to irrigate their ground in this way.
Plainfield, New Jersey.
I thought I would write you about our little chickens without a mother; she died when the chickens were ten days old. We put them in a big box with a feather duster, and brought them in by the fire; they all cuddled under the duster, and are doing beautifully, and are growing big and fat. If any boys or girls have young chickens that have lost their mother, they should put them in a warm place with a feather duster. I think Young People is lovely.
Josie L. M.
Savannah, Georgia.
I have a pony whose name is Dixie. He eats molasses candy, and follows me around the yard to get it. When a gate is shut tight, he can open it with his teeth. I am eight years old, and mamma is writing this for me, because I am just learning to write.
Albert R.
Morrison, Illinois.
I have just been reading some of the letters in Our Post-office Box, and it came into my head to write one myself, though I am not at all sure it will ever be published. I have always attended a private school until lately, when my dear teacher went to Wisconsin to live, so now I study at home. I enjoy the paper very much, especially the Jimmy Brown stories. Even papa likes to look at the pictures in it. I have no brothers or sisters, but I have a cousin, only a little older than I am, who lives next door to me, and we are almost like sisters. I do want some kind of pet so much, and none of us can think of any except papa, who says I might have a monkey, but I don't know about that. Can you think of some pet suitable for a little girl ten years old?
Kate E.
Some little girl of Kate's age may answer this question.
Inland, Ohio.
I thought I would write to you and tell you about my pets. I have a Scotch terrier by the name of Cap; he is very black. When he wants to get into the house he will stand on the porch and bark. Then if we do not let him in, he will go to the other door and bump against it. If we do not let him in then, he will go under the house or out to the barn. I have a canary-bird whose name is Dick. He sings every time we sew on the sewing-machine. I am a little girl nine years old. I help mamma to wash the dishes and sweep the floor. I am sewing carpet rags to-day. My brother is writing this letter for me. We all think that "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" is very interesting. "Toby Tyler" was the best juvenile story ever written; that is, if you leave the judging to our family. I hope this is not too long to be printed.
Arlin Edith H.
Palisade, Nevada.
I am a reader of your paper, and like it very much. I am interested in "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I read "Toby Tyler" in a book some time ago, and liked it very much. I was glad to find out that "Toby" and "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" were the same, and that I would learn more about the funny boy and his droll experiences.
I notice that the little girls tell about their pets. All I have are a dear little baby sister, an old cat, and a canary-bird that sings sweetly. One day an accident happened to it; its leg was broken, which made it very sad for a while. I attend school regularly, but our school will close soon, and then the scholars will have fun roaming over the hills for wild flowers. Good-by.
T. N. M.
The little lovers of puss are numbered by thousands, and every one of them will stroke his or her own pet for Rosie's sake after reading this pretty story:
Among the many pets we kept years ago, when living in the country, were a beautiful but rather wild-natured cat and an aviary of doves.
Judge of the dismay with which we found one morning that Rosie had been shut up all night with these doves, and was even then lying in an inner cage fast asleep in the same nest with two unfledged little birds.
Of course the first impression was that Rosie had made a supper off some of the inmates of the aviary, but, on counting them, not one was missing, and the involuntary prisoner on being released was found to be ravenously hungry, which made her forbearance in the matter all the more extraordinary, and may well be noted as a wonderful piece of self-denial.
Austen, Texas.
This is the first year I have been taking your paper, and I like it very much. Our home is called Honeysuckle Glen, because we have so many honeysuckles; our yard is full of them. We have a great many different kinds of birds that are building nests all around in the trees and bushes in the yard. There is an old watering-pot hanging out in the yard in one of the trees, and a pretty little wren has built her nest in it. I am eleven years old, and I have a sweet little sister two years old, with soft golden curls, fair skin, and blue eyes. We have a sweet little canary, and it sings beautifully. I have not the first numbers of "Talking Leaves." I am saving my papers up, as I expect to have them bound some time. The new Capitol building is progressing; it is going to be a grand building. The old Capitol burned down last November, and I saw the fire; it was a beautiful yet sad sight.
Nellie B.