Newspaper Page Text
74 THE PRESBYTERL
STORIES FOR :
WHAT A LITTLE GIRL HEARD.
By Emily Huntington Miller.
I just ran away to the buttercup lot,
When mamma told me I'd better not,
And a little brown birdie, up in a tree,
As true as you live, kept a-saying to me,
"Naugh-tee May! ran away!"
Till I didn't know what to do.
Now, how do you s'pose he knew?
And once we went to the meadow brook,
Josie and me, with a fishing hook,
And the very same birdie sang again,
"Naugh-tee May! ran away!"
And Josie, she heard him, too,
Now, how do you s'pose he knew?
Josie she guesses what I heard
Was my own conscience, 'stead of a bird;
Hut the water looked so seowly and black,
We took hold of hands and ran right back,
A .1 ?11 - J
iiiu au IUC no; nc iicaiu IL Sity,
"That is the best thing to do."
And mamma she said so, too. ?Ex.
, NEAL'S MOVING DAY.
"If I could live in a tent or a barn," grumbled Xeal,
"it would suit me lots better than here in the house."
\ Neal had been sent from the table to wash his hands
V
^>and came back pouting. "I just wish I was an InM'lt
would be very nice in some ways to be an Indian
ol a tramp," remarked papa, pleasantly. "I always
iMijoyed camping out when I was a boy."
W "I wish I could do that now," said Neal, letting a lit^tle
of the frown fade away. "The new corncrib would
ybe a dandy place."
"Why don't you try it?" asked papa, as if living in a
corncrib were an everyday affair with small boys.
"We won't put any corn in it till cold weather comes."
"Mamma wouldn't let me," said Neal. "Please, let
me do it, mamma. It would be such fun."
"Well, you might try it," said his mother easily.
No one seemed to notice that he hurried through
with his dinner nor that he left without saying, "Excuse
me." He hurried to the playroom and began selecting
things to move to his new home. It took only
a little while to get all the things out that Neal wanted.
By one o'clock all were in the corncrib.
"I?I guess I'm hungry," said Neal to himself after
he had tried the blanket in which he was to sleep, and
had arranged his playthings to his liking. "I'll go and
see if Mary has some cookies."
"So you are a tramp, are you?" asked Mary, looking
llim irwpr n C 1t n ranrvprl <if flio rlrvnr "T CsmA
v . w. MU 1 u|/|/vii U t kUV UUV.I\ UUUl . JL lltvv.1 JIV.V.U
tramps unless they earn what they get. You carry in
all those kindlings and I'll see about something to
eat."
Neal had seen the real tramps splitting wood for
Mary many times before she gave them bread, meat
and coffee, but he did not know how they felt doing
the work before eating. Long before the wood box
was filled he thought he must take one of the nice
fresh cookies; but. when the last stick was neatly
OF THE SOUTH January 19, 1910.
P//? CHILORENI
I I '
piled in the box, Mary was ready with a tin can of
mill. A t 1 --J L-"
imirv anu Ul C<1U illlCI uutter.
"Sit 011 the steps,'' she said.
"Please, Mary, I'd like to have a cooky." said Neal
timidly. "I'll wash my hands before I take it, if you'll
only let me."
"Peggars musn't be choosers," said Mary, grimly.
"If 1 fed cookies to every tramp, 1 wouldn't have any
for my folks."
Xeal was very glad for the bread and milk, but he
could not forget the smell of the warm cakes. Mary
always saved the big corner cakes for him when he
washed his hands particularly clean, but today he
scrubbed and soaped to 110 purpose. After the little
lunch he wandered forlornly to the new corncrib and
wraooed himself in ldc .
u.uukvl iu eij. 11 was twilight
when he awoke, and lie went to the house to
find his family eating supper, just as if they had forgotten
all about him. He could stand it no longer,
but rushed in and sobbed out his troubles. "I want
to move back," he wept. "I?I don't like the new
corncrib a bit."
"All right!" said papa and mama together. "Come
right up to the table now." But Xeal would not come
until he had washed his hands and brushed his hair,
and from that very day there was no more pouting
about being clean. Two movings in one day have
been all Xeal has ever wanted.?Hilda Richmond, in
Sunday-school Times.
THE THIMBLE BISCUIT.
lijiuu a time, Folly's mamma was making biscuit
for supper.
She sifted the flour so fine, and white,
And kneaded the dough till it was light,
And rolled it out with the rolling-pin,
And cut the biscuit round and thin.
Polly watched her do everything; and, when the last
biscuit was in the biscuit pan, mamma said:
"Here is a little piece of dough left on my biscuit
board. I wonder if there is a little rrirl in tl->5c
wlio would like to make sonic little biscuit?''
"Yes, yes," said Polly, clapping her hands with delight;
for, of course, she knew her mamma meant her.
"I'd like to make little biscuit all by myself."
So mamma tied a napkin around her waist for an
apron, and Polly rolled up her sleeves just as mamma
did when she cooked, and climbed into the kitchen
chair so that she could reach the biscuit board. Then
she was ready to begin her biscuit.
"May I sift flour, too?" she asked
"Yes, indeed," said mamma. "You must always sift
fifour on your board if you want your biscuit to be
smooth and nice."
So Polly sifted the flour so fine and white,
And kneaded the bit of dough so light,
And rolled it out with the rolling-pin,
And?