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' 6 (990) THE I
Our Boys
THE DRAWING BOOK.
By Rose Mills Powers.
! I like to draw the things I see.
Each Jay outdoors?a wind-born tree,
A squirrel running on the grass,
The little lake we sinmotimeo nnoo
The children playing ball and bat.
Old Towser chasing Tom,, the cat.
I see whichever way I look,
So much to draw in my new book.
My pictures are not very good;
The dog looks somehow, made of wood,
The children's arms are stiff and queer,
And mushrooms like the trees appear.
But if T try and watch things hard.
Some day I'll have a sure reward;
Who knows, for you can never tell,
T vet may learn to draw quite well!
' ?Ex.
BENNY'sT WONDERFUL PONY.
It was eight o'clock in the evening and Benny
Caruthers sat alone in the dining-room of the
Caruthers' big house studying his lessons for
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tomorrow, ah me rest or tne iamny naa gone
to the opening night of the winter fair of the
village church, and the house was so still voa
could have heard yourself think, at least Bcnnv
said so afterward whenever he told the story
All of a sudden, in the midst of the stillness
Benny was startled by a queer knock at the
door and a kind of scraping sound as though
some one was rubbing the door with a heavy
substance like a stick.
Going to the window, Benny looked out, and
was horrified to see a big black object there,
pawing the door with its foot and trying to get
in. There was no one upon whom to call for
aid and for a minute Benny was so scared that
he stood there, too frightened to even cry out.
At length, finding voice he called out:
"Who is thereY"
At these words the big, black creature began
to neigh and whinny, just like the horses in the
barn, Benny said afterward; and then, not findiniv
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the door with its feet, until poor Benny was
afraid that the door would fall and break off
its hinges.
"I may as well open the door," said he.
"The creature, whatever it is, will break it
down anyway."
So going cautiously to the door, Benny
opened it a little way; and to his surprise and
fright, in walked a little Shetland pony?the
cunningest little Shetland pony you ever saw.
Benny was so astonished that he staggered
back against the wall, and as he did so, the
pony walked over to him and lifted up his fore
foot for Benny to "shake hands." Then it
walked on its hind feet and waltzed around the
hall and right into the parlor.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Benny. "Oh, dear!
What shall I do ? What in the world will I do ?
Oh. I wish papa and mamma would come
home!"
For an hour the pony kept on with his tricks,
sitting up on its hind legs, standing on its fore
feet and kicking into the air and then rolling
over and getting up again to dance. After a
while Benny began to laugh heartily at the
sight, and by the time his father and mother
got home there were peals of laughter echoing
from the parlor and out of the front door.
"Why, what is the matter, Benny?" exclaimed
Mrs. Caruthers, hurrying into the parlor.
But the question died on her lips as she
saw, with astonished eyes, the spectacle of a
litte Shetland pony standing on his head in the
middle of the piano stool, while Benny shrieked
with laughter, which they all took up for the
sight was funny to see.
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE S C
and Girls
"lie came and knocked on the door himself,
mamma!" exclaimed Benny, in explanation.
"Who is he?" "Where did he come from?"
"How did he get in?" were the questions which
1,-3 - i ll i - --
uveryuuuy asKea, Dut nobody could answer.
While they were laughing and talking, and
while the pony was still doing his tricks, there
came voices at the door. And one of them was
a big, gruff voice, which said:
"I reckon he's here. That young feller at
the corner seen him comin' up the front walk."
"They're after the pony," whispered Benny
"Oh, will they take him away?" he said, with
tears coming in his eyes.
And, sure enough, they were after the pony.
He was a trick pony, the best one in the circus
which was playing in the next town, and for
two days the men had searched for him. And
now they were over-joyed to see him, and the
pony was delighted to see them also.
"He was a-askin' for somthin' to eat," said
the man, as he smilingly led the pony away.
"And he thought you'd give it to him if he had
done his tricks. Come on, now, Christopher
Columbus an' don't you run away again!"
Benny watched the pony until he was out of
sight in the darkness and then went to bed to
dream that his papa bought him a circus pony
exactly like the one that had called upon him,
and whose visit be had enjoyed so very much.
?Advocate.
THE DUST CLOUD.
C. C. WYLJE.
They are coming, mother. I see the dust on
Brown's Hill at the lower end of the valley."
So called the child of ten from her place at the
hall window which overlooked the beautiful
valley through which the rippling, sparking
river and the hard, dusty road, wound their
way, like twin companions amid a fairyland of
elms and cedars, and willows and ferns.
It was the child's tenth birthday, and from
unriy morning sue naa Deen a bounding sprite
of excited expectancy. She was having a
party, and some of the children from beyond
the valley were driving over to spend the afternoon.
The rising dust cloud, a mile or two
away, told of their coming.
Fifteen years of growing and learning, and
the child, becomes a woman, watched from the
window. Her eyes were brilliant with theii
eagerness, and the glow upon her cheeks told of
the leaping blood within. "O mother, quick,
see the dust; he is coming." It was her wedding
day, and he who had been king of the
birthday feast was coming to be her king forever.
She was not going to leave the old home.
He was to move over from the other valley and
work her mother's farm as well as his own.
Thus her cup of joy was running over.
Fifty years, all but three, of real happy married
life. The constant, steady years of work
mingled with pleasure?the coming of children,
the old home filled with laughter, and the rush
of little feet, then the going, two to the distant
city, where they were making good; one in
far away India preaching the gospel; two in the
new western land, pioneers for righteousness;
one?the bonniest of them all?in the little
graveyard just beyond the foot of the valley;
and one?her stay and strength?at home.
Today, aB she watched from the window, the
tears followed each other down the wrinkled
cheeks, and she leaned heavily upon the strong
arm which supported her.
I O T B [ October 18, 1911.
At last she said: "See, daughter, the dust."
And as the wind swept it aside for a moment
she caught sight, on Brown's Hill, of the black
plumes of the hearse which carried her life's
love to his last resting pLace.?The Presbyterian
(Toronto).
HE DARED TO TELL THE TRUTH.
A boy once went to live with a man who was
accounted a hard master. He never kept his
boys?they ran away or gave notice they meant
to quit; so he was half his time without or in
search of a boy. The work was not hard, opening
and sweeping out the shop, chopping wood,
going errands, and helping round. At last,
Sam Fisher went to live with him.
"Sam's a good boy," said his mother.
"I should like to see a boy nowadays that
had a spark of goodness in him," growled the
new master.
It is always bad to begin with a man that
has no confidence in you, because, do your best,
you are likely to have little credit for it. However.
Sam thnncht bp wrmlrl trv Tlio
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were good, and his mother wanted him to go.
Sam had been there but three days when, in
sawing a cross-grained stick of wood, he broke
the saw. He was a little frightened. He knew
he was careful, and he knew he was a good
sawyer, too, for a boy of his age; nevertheless,
the saw broke in his hands.
"Mr. Jones never makes allowances," said
another boy who was in the wood-house with
him.
"Why, of course, T didn't mean it, and accidents
will happen to the best of folks," said
Sam, looking with a very sorrowful air on the
broken saw.
"Mr. Jones never makes allowances." said
the other boy. "I never saw anything like him.
That Bill might have stayed, only he jumped
into a hen's nest and broke her eggs. He
daren't tell of it; but Mr. Jones kept suspecting
and suspecting, and laid everything out of the
way to Bill, whether Bill was to blame or not,
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"Did he tell Mr. Jones about the eggs?"
asked Sam.
"No," said the boy, "he was afraid, Mr.
Jones has got such a bad temper."
"I think he'd have better owned up at
once," said Sam.
"I suspect you'll find it better to preach than
to practice," said the boy. "I'd run away before
I'd tell him." And he soon turned on his
heel and left poor Sam alone with his broken
saw.
The boy did not feel very comfortable or
happy. He shut up the woodhouse, walked out
in the garden, and went up to his little chamber
under the eaves. He wished he could tell Mrs.
Jones, but she wasn't sociable.
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?ucu aix*. uuues came 11110 tne nouse tne
boy heard him. He got up, crept downstairs,
and met Mr. Jones in the kitchen.
"Sir," said Sam, "I broke your saw, and
I thought I'd come and tell you before you
saw it in the morning."
"What did you get up to tell me for," asked
Mr. Jones. "I should think morning would be
time enough to tell of your carelessness."
"Because," said Sam, "I was afraid if I put
it off I might be tempted to lie about it. I am
sorry I broke it, but I tried to be careful."
Mr. Jones looked at the boy from head to
foot, then stretching ont his hand ha aaid
"Sam, give me your hand; shake hands. I'll
trust you, Sam. That's right, that's right. Go
to bed, boy. Never fear. I'm glad the saw
broke; it shows the mettle in you. Go to bed."
Mr. Jones was fairly won. Never were bet