The little chap looked at him in a pitying way, and silently left the room.
The next morning he walked in with a couple of pennies tightly clasped in his chubby fist, and laying them down, told the poet that he could now buy a Jack the Giant Killer of his own.
We hear of veterans who have survived the wars of years ago, but here is a poor old veteran of the civil war, and it is claimed the only one living of his kind. His name is Ned, and he was captured near Washington by a scouting party from General Jubal Early's corps. For years Ned has taken part in the different memorial events and parades of the G.A.R. But during a recent parade in Louisville his declining years prevented his marching to the stirring music of the bands.
It grieved the poor old fellow's heart so that, as a compromise, his comrades provided him with a float, upon which he mounted, and was dragged through the streets, his kindly old head nodding to the time of the band. As you have doubtless guessed, Ned is an old war-horse, and it is said he has missed but one Decoration-day parade, and has reached the ripe old age of forty years.
Mother (to Albert, who came home from school looking very blue). "Why, you appear unhappy, Albert. Didn't you learn your lessons to-day?"
Albert. "Oh yes, I learned not to be sassy!"
Little Alice heard her father say that her Cousin Jack has the small-pox, and exclaimed, "Oh, papa, I think it's real mean of Jack not to send me any."