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October 13, 1909. THE PRESBYTERIA
but the little girl could not bear to have it done, so
iu> WJ1C 1 r? f t tn 11CO Inc Knn nfi " n__
.. ? w ?.v/ uuv i * to uwauuiui v\ 111^3 lu ny away
with if he chose. % But Solomon did not choose. Occasionally
he would be gone for hours; but he was sure
to come back at dusk and rap on the window with his
long bill. On being admitted, he would utter a joyful
"Caw! caw!"
Once Claire looked out into the yard to see Solomon
talking to a whole Hock of crows, and she trembled
lest he should be coaxed away; but her pet had no
idea of leavinf lii? Immp anrt aftor > ?
? ??ivi wiivi ci ? uiiv; lUC dlldllgcrs
departed.
Solomon was fond of anything bright, and the
family had to keep their coins out of sight. Occasionally
they wanted extra milk, so they set a pail out on
the steps, dropped the pennies in to pay for the milk,
and put on the cover. Once or twice the money
was missing, and then naughty Solomon was caught
.... *?i.: -cr
vaiv-iui.; un me pan cover ana graphing the
coins.
All the neighbors knew Solomon, and he paid them
frequent visits; hut whenever he was not wanted, all
they had to do was to say "Go home," and he would
fly at once.
Claire missed him one day and wondered what had
become of him. He did not appear for dinner or
supper. At bedtime he had not come, and she feared
her pet had gone forever. The next night he was still
away, but before she went to sleep she heard his
familiar "Caw! caw!" and she jumped up to open the
window. But such a Solomon! His feathers were
rumpled, and his tail was gone;
Where he had been nobody has ever found out, but
for days he seemed afraid to leave the house. Now
he always returns by night-fall, and Claire looks
forward to having Solomon for a pet for fifty years to
come.?Baltimore Christian Advocate.
THE FLOWER THAT WEARS A SHOE.
"If the shoemakers and the cobblers are ever in
need of an emblem," remarked Uncle Samuel one
June day, as he polished off the edges of a shoe which
he had just half soled, "I'd recommend the flower that
wears a shoe."
"But, uncle," one of us said, "no flower ever wears
a shoe."
"It doesn't, eh?" replied the old man. "You go
with me next Saturday afternoon, and I'll show you.
It's getting a bit late in the season for it, but I guess
we can find it."
Saturday proved to be a busy day in Uncle Samuel's
shop, and the afternoon was far spent when he finally
closed the door and hung upon the knob a dusty little
card bearing the words: "Gone out. Back soon."
As we trooped after him across the minty meadows
At ? - " *
<iuu mrougn tne broken stone wall into Featherbed
Lane, whose rock bed led straight up into the pine
woods, the shadows lay long upon the ground, and
the liquid notes of a wood robin's vesper song floated
down through the air.
"There used to be a patch of those flowers growing
on this ridge," said Uncle Samuel, pausing after a
while and glancing about. "Ah! here it is now. It's
marvelous how the Lord never forgets his creatures.
I've known these woods for over sixty years, I guess,
A *?' " f
4
N OF THE SOUTH. - n
and that patch of flowers tnat hardly a man round
here knows about has been cared for as regularly as
the years came round."
The plants grew scatteringly over the ground, each
with a pair of hairy, ribbed leaves close to the earth,
and from the heart of these arose a simple stalk bearing
at its summit an odd, rose-purple flower. It was
puffed up in front like a bladder, and the general shape
was suggestive of the wooden shoes that European
peasants sometimes wear. There was a slit down the
front as if to let the foot in, and the neck of the flower,
where it was joined to the stalk, were two mottled
green streamers, like strings to the shoe. Taken altogether
it was a capital imitation of a shoe, and Uncle
Samuel smiled triumphantly as we examined the
curious flower.
"What's it's name, uncle?" we asked.
"It irocs bv manv nampc " li? c ?
a J J >IV oaiu, IU1 1L JS 1UUIIU
in almost every State east of the Mississippi River.
Some call it lady's slipper; but the name I like best is
whippoor-will's shoe. Hark!"
As he spoke, from the twilight depths of a neighboring
thicket came the plaintive cry of a bird: "Whippoor-will
! whip-poor-will!"
"Never mind, old fellow," said Uncle Samuel, as he
led the way homeward, "we won't disturb your shoes.
If any of you children want plants of it for your
mother's gardens, I'll give you some seeds."?Morning
Star.
EATING HIS WAY.
a :?> ? - -
x .tvxviit ucsjjiscu me multiplication table. It made
you ache all over to say your tables. And you couldn't
remember.
Mamma got up and went out of the room. When
she came back, she had a glass jar of tiny colored
candies. She was opening it, and pouring out a splendid
heap on the table cloth.
"Now," said she, brightly, "here are five little candydots
in a row. Here are eight rows. IIow many
candy dots?"
"Forty," promptly.
"Yes. Now make seven times five and four times
five and the rest. When you have made the whole
table, learn it. When you have learned it, eat it!"
"Oh!"
It was the most splendid way to learn your tables.
Freddie went to work with a will, and when the
teacher (that is, mamma) said, "School's out," he had
learned five tables. lie didn't eat it till after school.
One day the next-door twin's teacher was making
their mother a call. Freddie was making one on the
next-door twins.
"Don't you go to school, little boy?" the teacher
asked him.
"Oil vpc'm " nnlitol"
1 J .
"Oh, you do? Well, presume you think the multiplication
table is perfectly dreadful, too?" she asked,
smilingly.
"Oh, no'm!" eagerly. "I'm very fond of mine!"
"Indeed! IIovv far along are you?"
"I've onlv eaten as far as s#?v#?n timae ?4 "
? ? v.. vailtvo OtVVII JiClj
said Freddie. And he went home, wondering why the
next-door twins' teacher had opened her eyes so wide.
?Youth's Companion.