No talent, and Phil's pansies

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"Are you really?" asked Emma.

Amity nodded.

"And can he learn?"

"Oh yes! He can knit quite a good deal, and he is so pleased, poor little fellow! But, Maud, you shouldn't call him 'an idiot.' He is not that, though he is backward, and oh, so slow!"

"And he really likes it?"

"Oh yes! And I have taught him some other things, too."

"What things?"

"Little hymns and verses and such things. He can learn almost anything with a rhyme to it."

"Well, anyhow, I think you are real good to teach him," said Emma; "isn't she, Maud?"

"Yes, I suppose so, but I shouldn't like it," said Maud; "and it isn't so very much to do, either. Mamma knows a lady that founded a hospital for poor children—paid for it all herself, and her name is on the front of it. That would be something worth while—something that every one would know."