“Mother,” said Charley, as they sat down to dinner, “I shall ask how it’s done oftener than ever, now, for I like going over factories. What’s to be the next one, I wonder.”
“Bread,” exclaimed Mary, as she cut a big slice for herself. “Shall it be bread, mother?”
“Yes, if you like, but I propose we go to see the flour made first. So the next place we explore will be a flour-mill.”
E. M. W.
BIRDIE’S BREAKFAST.
MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.
Take your breakfast, little birdie,—
Cracker-crumbs, and seeds so yellow,
Bits of sponge-cake, sweet and mellow;
Come quite near me;
Do not fear me.
I can hear your happy twitter,
Although winter winds are bitter;
Take your breakfast, little birdie.
Come! Oh, come and tell me birdie!
All night long the snow was falling;
Long ago, I heard you calling;
Tell me, dearie,
Are you weary?
Can you sleep, when winds are blowing?
Frosts are biting, clouds are snowing?
Come! Oh, come and tell me, birdie!
Take your food, and trust me, birdie;
Daily food the Father giveth;
Bread to every thing that liveth.
Come quite near me;
Do not fear me.
Come each day, and bring your fellow,
For your bread, so sweet and mellow;
Take your food, and trust me, birdie.