“‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I answered; ‘but I can say it all.’
“Then she looked surprised, and said I must have worked very hard.
“But, father, that book is too hard for me; and Miss Grant told me to ask you to buy one more suitable. I wish you would, father: I love to study geography. Henry Williams has such a beauty! all full of pictures. Oh, how I should like one like that!”
“We must think about it,” replied Mr. Willard. “And now, Arthur, I must attend to some writing for a little while, and you may look over your lessons for to-morrow.”
“Yes, father, my geography: I always have to study that in the evening.” And, with a little sigh, Arthur went for his satchel of books. But it was now his turn to find a pleasant joke; for the old geography had been taken from the bag, and in its place was one exactly like the “beauty” owned by Henry Williams, upon the blank leaf of which was written, “Arthur Willard; from his father, April first, eighteen hundred fifty-six.”
THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.
“Oh, dear, it is almost Christmas!” exclaimed Mary Bradley with a deep sigh, which caused her younger brother Horace to look up from his book with surprise.
“Why do you sigh about it, Mary?” he asked. “Are you not glad that Christmas is coming?”
“I should be glad, Horace,” replied his sister in a melancholy tone, “if things were as they used to be. What beautiful gifts we had last year! But father was rich then; and now he is poor.” And again Mary sighed deeply.
“I do not think father is very poor,” replied Horace, laughing. “I am sure we have all we want,—a good house to live in, plenty of food and clothing, a warm fire, and many kind friends. Do you call that being poor, sister Mary? You ought to see the poor wretches that I meet sometimes on my way to school.”