As soon as mamma had gone back to the hotel and found that I was not with Cousin Frank, papa had started with several of his friends in search of me. But, Clytie dear, the one who waved his hat and shouted, "Here she is!"—the one who really found me—was Randolph Peyton!
The little canoe is packed away among my treasures, and I shall never look at it without thinking of the day on Green Mountain when my life was saved by my bitterest emerny, who has become my friend forever!
Don't you think I have had adventures enough for one summer? I do, and we shall be home very soon, dear Clytie.
Your loving mamma,
Bessie Maynard.
THE ASHES THAT MADE THE TREES BLOOM.
A Japanese Fairy Tale.
BY WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS.
In the good old days of the Daimios there lived an old couple whose only pet was a little dog. Having no children, they loved it as though it were the tiny top-knot of a baby. The old dame made him a cushion of blue crape, and at meal-times Inuko—for that was his name—would sit on it as demure as any cat. The kind people would feed him with tidbits of fish from their own chopsticks, and he was allowed to have all the boiled rice he wanted. Whenever the old woman took him out with her on holidays she put a bright red silk crape ribbon around his neck.
Now the old man, being a rice-farmer, went daily with hoe or spade into the fields, working hard from the first croak of the raven until O Tento Sama (as the sun is called) had gone down behind the hills. Every day the dog followed him to work, and kept near by, never once harming the white heron that walked in the footsteps of the old man to pick up worms.