[OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
The other day, as the Postmistress was driving down a pretty rural road, she came upon a farm-house which stood all alone. It was late in the afternoon, and there was nobody stirring about the place; doors and windows were closed; the dog was asleep beside his kennel; the gray cat, with two kittens cuddling close to her, was taking a nap on the mat by the front door; and it was as quiet as could be all around, until—peep! peep! cluck! cluck!—there came suddenly in view the prettiest brood of chicks in the world; thirteen of them, dears, and every one as white as swan's-down. The little snowy puff-balls were taking an airing with their sober cream-colored mamma, and the Postmistress will not soon forget how cunning Mrs. Hen and her family looked. Pray, Daisy and Mattie, Freddy and Guy, have you a dainty brood of chicks at your house? And why haven't you sent the Postmistress word about them?
Danby Four Corners, Vermont.
I am a little boy nine years old, and will be ten the 9th of August. I have a calf and a canary-bird and a little kitten. I go to school almost every day. I have an auntie who sends me the money to buy Harper's Young People. I hope she will send money every year. My grandma sends me a little pin-money every month. I have over fifty dollars in the bank. I have no father, and my mamma is poor. I can't think of any more to write this time.
Robert.
When you are a man, as you will be one of these days, you will be able to work for your dear mamma. She is not very poor if she has a good and loving son ten years old. I am glad to hear that you do not spend for toys and candies all the money grandma sends you, but save some of it for future use.
Rockport, Massachusetts.