Taking a long run, driving ahead with all his force, he shouted, "Now see your grandpa go!" And, sure enough, grandpa's boots went and went, out where the ice was thin, and down went Albert into the water! The water was not deep, though. He was out again in a moment; and there he stood, cold and dripping like an icicle in a January thaw.
I can hear the boys laughing, and I seem to see the smile lighting up the mother's brown eyes still more merrily, when her little boy came home. Albert never forgot it. In after-years he would say, "Whenever I am inclined to show off, I think of grandpa's boots."
E. A. R.
WHAT JESSIE CORTRELL DID.
Poor little Johnny Cortrell's eyes kept growing dimmer; and one day in May-time they failed altogether, and Jessie, his sister, led him home from school stone blind.
His father and mother were greatly distressed at this. Dr. James held a candle to the poor blind eyes; but they never blinked. He said he was not enough of an oculist to determine whether they could be cured; but there was a doctor in Boston—Dr. Williamson, 33 Blank Street—who would be able to pronounce with certainty.