“But, Morris dear,” cried Teacher, unsteadily, laughing a little, and yet not far from tears, “this is ever so much nicer than soap—a thousand times better than perfume; and you’re quite right, it is for ladies, and I never had one in all my life before. I am so very thankful.”
“You’re welcome, all right. That’s how my papa says; it’s polite. Und my mamma,” he said insinuatingly—“she kisses my papa a kiss.”
“Well?” said Teacher.
“Well,” said Morris, “you ain’t never kissed me a kiss, und I seen how you kissed Eva Gonorowsky. I’m loving mit you too. Why don’t you never kiss me a kiss?”
“Perhaps,” suggested Teacher mischievously, “perhaps it ain’t for boys.”
“Teacher, yiss, ma’am; it’s for boys,” he cried, as he felt her arms about him, and saw that in her eyes, too, “stands tears.”
Late that night Teacher sat in her pretty room and reviewed her treasures. She saw that they were very numerous, very touching, very whimsical, and very precious. But above all the rest she cherished a frayed and pinkish paper, rather crumpled and a little soiled. For it held the love of a man and a woman and a little child, and the magic of a home, for Morris Mogilewsky’s Christmas present for ladies was the receipt for a month’s rent for a room on the top floor of a Monroe Street tenement.—From “Little Citizens,” copyrighted by Doubleday, Page & Co., New York, and used by arrangement.
THE CAMP-MEETING AT BLUFF SPRINGS
By Justin Truitt Bishop