"Grandpa," said he, "whom do all these woods and fields belong to?"—of course the child said who, instead of whom; but that is neither here nor there.
"They belong to me, Charley."
"No, sir—no!—they belong to God."
The grandfather said nothing, till they reached the tree.
"Well, my boy, whom does this tree belong to?" he asked, as they stopped underneath its wide, heavy branches.
For a moment, Charley hesitated; and then, looking up into the tree, he said, while his mouth watered visibly, "Well, gran'father, the tree belongs to God, but the walnuts are ours."
No. 127. "A touch of Nature makes the whole world kin."—A little boy, who had been tormented by clouds of mosquitoes till he could bear it no longer, exclaimed, "O dear me! O dear me! I do wish God would kill the mosquitoes! I don't know what I would give Him, if He only would."
No. 128. An Etymologist.—A Connecticut boy insisted on knowing what was meant by the slang phrase, "a gone sucker"; and was overheard praying soon after, on being sent off to bed—"God bless papa and mamma, and baby; but I'se been such a bad boy, I rather guess I'm a gone sucker."
No. 129. "How old are you, my dear?" said a railroad conductor to a little gentlewoman, whose mother was trying to pass with a half ticket. "I'm nine at home," was the reply, "but in the cars I'm only half-past six."
No. 130. A fair Inference.—Dear little Mamie H., who had just got over her sixth birthday, was studying her sabbath-school lesson, when her mother told her, in reply to some question she had urged with a deal of earnestness, that the naughty devil was black. "Well, then, mamma," said the child, "if he was a good devil, I s'pose he'd be white."