And then came the end—quietly, peacefully. Near the close of a July day, when the setting sun glorified every corner of the room, Gerty left her pain, and, with a farewell sigh, was at rest.
"Oh, Gerty!" sobbed Dick, "don't forget me!"
Ah, Dick, you are held in everlasting remembrance, and more than one angel is glad at thoughts of you, in the "Happy Land!"
THE CROW THAT THE CROW CROWED.
By S. Conant Foster.
"Ho! ho!"
Said the crow:
"So I'm not s'posed to know
Where the rye and the wheat
And the corn kernels grow—
Oh! no,
Ho! ho!
"He! he!
Farmer Lee,
When I fly from my tree,
Just you see where the tops
Of the corn-ears will be
Watch me!
He! he!"
Switch-swirch,
With a lurch,
Flopped the bird from his perch
As he spread out his wings
And set forth on his search—
His search—
Switch-swirch.
Click!-bang!—
How it rang,
How the small bullet sang
As it sped through the air—
And the crow, with a pang,
Went spang—
Chi-bang.