“My papa is President; who is your papa?”
The policeman’s daughter replied: “My papa is a policeman.”
Ruth glanced up at the burly form ornamented with bright brass buttons, and hanging her head in an abashed manner, said, “I wish my papa was a policeman.”
How often we think that the things we have not are better than the things we have!
WHERE ARE THE BIRDS?
HAVE you heard, children, that the bluebirds are nearly gone from our country? Other families of singing birds are going fast, and by and by it may be that we shall have only the sparrows and other birds that have no beautiful colors or sweet songs.
All this is true, and many good people are feeling very sad about it. Where are the birds? Alas! They have been killed—thousands, yes, millions of them—for the feathers that you see in the shops and that ladies and little girls wear on their hats!
