I have a pet colt. I raised it on milk. At first I had to feed it with a bottle, as it had no mother. Its name is Minnehaha. It now eats bread, sugar, or corn. When I call, it answers just like a child, and will come to me.
I have a wax doll named Lily. I had eight dolls, but I sent the others to my little cousins.
My little sister Ruby, five years old, has a pet cat that comes every morning and gets in the bed with her, and lies down with its head on her arm, like a little baby.
Pearl A. H.
North Andover, Massachusetts.
I was very much interested in the account of "Lovewell's Fight with the Pigwackets," in Young People No. 47, as I live in the house in which it is said Chaplain Jonathan Frye was born, and from which he started to the fatal fight where he lost his life. About sixty years ago my grandfather bought the house and repaired it, and my uncle owns it now. The north portion is the oldest, and the walls are finished with antique wooden panels. Formerly there were very big fire-places, but they have all been modernized.
Just before starting to fight the Indians, Chaplain Frye brought a young elm-tree from the woods, and planted it on the green by the road-side near the house. About a month afterward, in May, 1725, he was killed, but the tree grew and flourished, and its great round crown stood nobly against the storms and winds of a hundred and fifty, years. It was known all through this region as the "Old Frye Elm." Although it had many dead branches, it was still a beautiful tree when in 1875 it was cut down. The trunk was left standing about twenty feet high—a silent and mournful monument to the memory of him who planted it. The winds carried some germs of the solidago to the top of the stump, where they rooted in the decaying wood, and for several autumns crowned it with their golden blossoms. But the stump is now very much decayed, and must soon fall, and this natural monument to the memory of a brave man will disappear forever.
Harry W. C.