Here our offerings glad we bring,
And long life to Grandma sing.
EMILY CARTER.
THE LITTLE CULPRIT.
School had begun. The boys and girls were in their places, and the master was hearing them spell; when all at once there was a soft, low knock at the door.
"Come in!" said the master; and a little cleanly-dressed girl, about six years old, stood upon the threshold, with downcast eyes.
She held out before her, as if trying to hide behind it, a satchel, so large that it seemed hard to decide whether the child had brought it, or it had brought the child; and the drops on her cheeks showed how she had been running.
"Why, Katie!" cried the schoolmaster, "why do you come so late? Come here to me, little culprit. It is the first time you have been late. What does it mean?"