Joe, being studious and ambitious, faithfully attends the evening schools; he does not mean to grow up to be an ignorant, useless man; besides, he must make the most of his time, for he indulges in the dream of a happy home in the country, and though he hasn't told me, I am sure he is saving up that money to buy a good stock of books to take with him.
[LITTLE BIDDY'S BIRTHDAY.]
BY CHARA B. CONANT.
"Mother, can I have a birthday?"
"A birthday?" asked Mrs. Keaney, pausing in the midst of her washing, and looking down, half bewildered, half amused, at her little daughter.
"Yes, mother. I have birthdays, don't I, just the same as Mabel Ray?"
"Shure there's no mistake about that, darlint," laughed her mother, resuming her work. "Eight years ago next week you came into this throublesome world. That's two things we have in common wid the rich, innyhow—the day of our birth, an' the day of our death."
"But, mother," persisted Biddy, her big blue eyes rounder still with eagerness, "can't I have a party on my birthday? Mabel Ray had one last week; Eliza told me so. An' she had ice-crame, an' cake wid raisins in it, an' a wax doll what opens its eyes, an' lots o' children come to play wid her. An', oh, mother—"
"Sakes alive, Biddy! what's got into you?" said her mother, gazing down at her with a mingling of pride, amusement, and regret. No bonnier child than Biddy could you find anywhere. Her complexion was a pure red and white, her hair chestnut, falling in natural curls over her shoulders, her mouth as sweet a rose-bud as Mabel Ray's.