When Joe stopped prancing about and the others stopped laughing at him, Mr. Rawlins read next “Tadema Brown.”
“Hardly know myself by my Sunday name,” and Tad listened for his fate.
“You care but naught for this world’s goods,
You love the fields and flowers and woods;
To you the note of singing birds
Is sweeter far than human words.”
“Well, that’s true, anyway,” said Tad, heartily. He was a born naturalist, and often spent his Saturdays wandering alone through the woods and fields, looking for new wild flowers or birds’ eggs to add to his collections.
“Poky old fortune, I call it,” declared Dotty. “Whose is next?”
“Ethel’s!” said her father. “Well, my child, here you are:
“You shall travel many a land