TOO BAD!
BY MARGARET EYTINGE.
Beneath the old tree near the well
Wee Molly, Dolly, Polly Gray
A lovely red-cheeked apple found
One beautiful October day.
She looked at it with longing eyes
A moment, then she gave a sigh,
And sitting down upon the ground
Straightway began to cry.
With hurried steps her mother came,
"What is the matter, child?" to say.
"Oh dear! this apple is so big,"
Sobbed Molly, Dolly, Polly Gray;
"And"—faster fell her tears, as though
Hers was the saddest of all plights—
"My mouf's so small I've got to take
Such—very—little—bites."
THOSE SQUIRRELS.
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
"Say, Tom, the kitten's are gone," announced my brother Charlie, peering into the manger where we had a few days before discovered Madame Puss and her family snugly installed.
"Is Puss there?" I asked.
"Yes, and she seems awful lonesome," was the reply.