like the little stream that bubbles by the foot of our meadow.
Now to business. First comes a letter about
A ROPE OF EGGS.
Brooklyn, N.Y.
My Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I know about a rope of eggs, and I will tell you. It is in Japan. The eggs are plaited and twisted into ropes made from straw, and so it is safe and easy to handle them. Just think how queer it would seem to buy eggs by the yard!
AMY M.
CONVERSATION BY FISTICUFFS.
After being flurried by clouds of paragrams about sphygmographs, and phonographs, and pneumatic telegraphs, and scores of other extraordinary scientific ways of communication, I'm not in the least surprised to learn that ants converse by one tapping another's head.
I'm told that an Englishman named Jesse once put a small caterpillar near an ants' nest, and watched. Soon an ant seized it; but the caterpillar was too heavy to be moved by one ant alone, so away he ran until he met another ant. They stopped for a few moments, during which each tapped the other's head with his feelers in a very lively manner. Then they both hurried off to the caterpillar, and together dragged it home.
A HORSE THAT LOVED TEA.
Roxbury, Mass. Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: This is a true story of Mary's horse. He was just as black as a coal all over, except a pretty white star on his forehead.
Once in two or three weeks Mary had him take tea with her and her little brother and sisters. She went to the stable where he lived with Kate and Nell, two pretty twin ponies, and said to him: