PRESTON'S GOLD DOLLAR.
My eyes are so full of tears, as I think of dear little Rose that I am going to talk now about something very different. I think I shall tell you of one of Preston's mishaps.
I am afraid when you read it you will say to yourself, "Well, he isn't much of a boy!" But please remember, he was hardly ten years old when the affair happened; and boys are not as wise as Solomon until they are at least twelve or thirteen.
Preston was doing Aunt Jane's errands for her that week; he did them one week and Bert the next.
"I wonder why Preston doesn't come," said Aunt Jane, stirring some medicine with a spoon, and speaking to Grandpa Pressy, who had come visiting again, and was sitting in the corner reading a newspaper.
Grandpa Pressy looked up with a pleasant smile, while the paper danced as if it would fly out of his hands; for he had palsy.
"Hark, Jane, there's his whistle, and he isn't generally far behind it."
In another moment the door opened, and in walked Preston, a bright, handsome boy, who did not look much like Flaxie, for he had dark eyes and black hair.