One rainy Saturday morning Mrs. Thornton was dusting the shelves in the play-room closet, where the children’s books lived. “Oh, dear!” she sighed, “It is such a bother to take care of all these old magazines! I wish I knew some one who would like these papers after you children have finished reading them.”
“All the other children have more books of their own than they can read,” said Kenneth.
“I know it,” said his mother. “But there might be some one who would be so glad to have the pictures and stories, if only we could know.”
Rose was playing with her dolls in the window seat, when she had a sudden idea.
“Mamma!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Why can’t we send them away off down to the island where the little Prouts live? Don’t you think the little Prouts would like the magazines?”
“That is a good idea, Rose,” said her mother. “I fancy the poor little things never see a magazine. They will be sure to like the pictures, anyway, whether they can read or not. I wonder if any of them can read?”
“I don’t know what their names are,” said Rose, “but there are ever so many of them, boys and girls. Mamma, I should like to send my magazine to the little girl Prouts.”
“And I will send mine to the Prout boys,” said Kenneth promptly. “Won’t they be glad to see it coming, every week?”
“Yes, indeed they will,” said Mrs. Thornton. “And you must be sure not to disappoint them. If you are going to send the magazines at all, I want you to do it regularly, every week. It will be a good practice lesson in remembering. Promise not to forget, children, if I let you send the papers this time?”
“We promise, Mamma, we promise,” said Kenneth and Rose. And that promise was the beginning of a very interesting thing.