Clara wanted very much to go out in the yard to play. Her big sister said to her:
"You mustn't go in the yard. Don't you see that moolly-cow out there? What do you suppose she would do with her horns if you went close to her?"
Clara answered, "I suppose she would blow them."
There are many little acts of heroism, displaying rare courage and presence of mind, performed around us daily that ofttimes pass unnoticed in a popular sense. It is not so long ago that a certain bright young fellow was the hero of a deed that escaped the newspapers and, consequently, the public. It happened in one of our largest cities; and to tell it as modestly as the hero did, it must be told briefly, so perhaps it would be best to use his own words.
"I am very fond of my bicycle," said he, "and ride whenever I chance to have an opportunity, and I am also very fond of practising all sorts of stunts on the wheel. I was riding down the avenue that evening, when I heard the clashing gong of a fire-engine coming through the side street ahead of me. I felt tempted to push ahead and cross the street before the engine reached the corner, and as I was momentarily figuring just what I would do I saw a little girl standing in the middle of the crossing, clapping her hands in childish glee at the approaching engine. The people on the sidewalk seemed paralyzed with fright, and stood, in a sort of fascination, gazing at the child's perilous position. All this I saw with my first startled look, and unconsciously I pushed the pedals down hard and rushed at the child. In a second I reached the crossing, and a few feet off were those three horses tearing along in their mad gallop, the driver doing his best to pull them in, with but little success. They were too close on the girl. As I passed the little one I seized her by the arm, throwing my weight over to the other side of the wheel as I did so. I felt a stinging sensation in my arm, and heard the child scream with fright and pain from the fierce grip with which I grasped her. The velocity with which I was moving, however, accomplished the purpose, for it dragged the child a number of feet before I came to a standstill—or rather before I fell off the bicycle. It was a narrow escape, for those engine horses were very close upon me, and it was lucky I never thought at the time of the danger of my position, for I should never have had the courage to carry out my purpose. Several people took the little one, and I hastened down the avenue before they got me too. You see stunt-practising comes in handy at times."
THE BEAR.
Carrie. "Isn't the bear's skin to keep him warm in winter?"
Mamma. "Yes, Carrie."