As for Grayson, he sat in the school-room writing while the teacher waited, for more than an hour after the general dismissal, to hear Bert Sharp recite those detestable four pages of history, and Bert was a great deal slower at his task than he would have been if he had not had to wonder why Grayson had to do so much writing.
[to be continued.]
HOW A CRAB CHANGES HIS CLOTHES.
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
"Say, now, you leave my dinner alone, or I'll tell mamma."
"You can tell, if you have a mind to. I don't care, tell-tale."
No, it was not children that I heard quarrelling; it was only two little crabs. Children never speak so crossly to each other; but those two little crabs scolded and bit down there in the water until— But I am getting ahead of my story. I'll tell you how it was.
I had been out fishing, and as the sun became too hot, I rowed my boat to the shore under the shade of the trees, and sat thinking. I looked down into the water, and saw a little crab holding a clam shell under his mouth with his claw, and eating as fast as he could, at the same time turning his queer, bulging eyes in all directions to see that he would not be disturbed. But soon another crab came up, and tried to snatch away the clam shell. Then ensued the conversation which I have already quoted. I dropped a piece of clam into the water, and the new-comer seized it. He scuttled away under a piece of sea-weed, and cried out in triumph:
"Aha! greedy, you didn't get it, and it is much better than your old shell. Don't you wish you had it?"