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Our Boys and Girls
FOUR CLASSES OF CHILDREN.
The children born in winter time
Are bright as the stars in a frosty cliine.
Bright as the ice on a moonlit lea,
Bright as the gleam of a Christmas tree.
And what you will notice about them all,
Wherever you havo found them.
Is that they're not only bright themselves;
They brighten the lives around them.
The children born in the time of spring
Mirth and happiness with them bring;
Cheery as crickets, blithe as a rill,
Light as the breeze that is never still,
Gay as the robin's earliest song.
Though chilly wind& may flout them.
And then they're not only glad themselves;
They gladden tie lives about them.
The summer children are good and sweet,
Sweet as berries and good as wheat,
Sweet as the breath of a clover place.
Sweet as a breeze to a sun-burned face.
With voices sweet as the sound of streams,
How pleasant it is to hear them!
And then they're not only sweet themselves;
They sweeten the lives that are near them.
The autumn children are clever indeed;
They love to study, to think and read;
They walk in the empty woodland vast
And think of the future and think of the past.
I've notice it over and over again
And mentioned it to their mothers.
The autumn children arc thinkers themselves
And very thoughtful of others.
? A. E. Wetherald, in "Tree-Top Mornings."
A TRUE TALE OF FEATHERS.
"Doctor Jack said I could sit up a whole
hour today ? in a chair!" Bobby gleefully re
minded his mother.
She laughed back from the next room.
"Thought I'd forgotten it, didn't you, Ron?
Well ? shut your eyes ? tight."
He heard Mother and Aggie, the maid, whis
pering. Then, he felt himself lifted and car
ried ? oh ? miles, Boby thought. But when at
last, Mother said, "Open!" he looked about,
and there he was ? right in Mother's sunny
room in the great, big, "comfy" chair. It
seemed a regular bed, now, with pillows and
quilts. And it was drawn up close to the big
how-window, so Boby could look straight into
the branches of the poplar tree.
"All set?" asked Mother, tucking the warm
rug about his slippered feet.
"Oh ? this is funl Heaps better than my
loom. Mine seems all ? all ? measle'ish."
Mother laughed. "We'll shoo the measles
out ? and you, too, in a few daysl In the
meantime, you'd better get all the fun you
?ftu. Oh, I forgot ? There's a 'sprise, too. But
you have to find it for yourself."
Bobby's face fell.
"IIow can I hunt when I have to stay all
tied in this chair?"
"It's in plain sight. An dyou're warm?
almost hot ? "
"?lust like 'hunt the thimble,' " giggled
'*?hby, peering about at the carpet, the ceiling,
the sewing-table.
"Is it square?" he asked.
"No." ?
"Round?"
"No."
"Then it must be outside ? "
He gazed out, and into the branches with
their bright, new leaves.
"I've guessed it!" he cried. "That's it ?
,sn't it, Mother? ? a new bird's nest? And
there are baby birds in it.- I can see one, two,
three heads. Arent they silly-looking ? with
out any feathers* Where's the mother-bird?"
"Probably getting their luncheon, or
si retelling her legs somewhere, maybe. 1
should t i nk she's want to."
Boby watched and chattered, while Mother
"tidied up" and moved about from closet to
dresser. Suddenly she turned.
"Why, where's our nice sunshine?" she ex
claimed, puzzled.
"That's funny," he said. "Its all clouded
up. Guess we're going to have a thunder
shower."
"But it hasn't thundered. Though, per
haps, here in Colorado, they can even have
thunder-showers without thunder! Anyway,
it is dark." *
"And see,- Mother, the bird has come back
to take care of the babies, i believe she really
talks to them. Thore, she told them to put
their heads down, and now she's sitting on
them just as though they were eggs."
Just as he spoke a tremendous gust of wind
shook the slender poplar tree, and its branches
waved back and forth before Boby's eyes.
"Jimin-eel" he said.
Mother was dashing about closing win
dows. And none too soon! For, like showers
of bullets, came the crash of hall-stones against
the panes. Overhead, they beat on the roof
with such a deafening noise that Bobby could
scarcely hear his other's voice. ?
"Is it hail?" he shouted to her, and al
though she stood elose beside him, she had lo
bend her head to catch the words.
"I should say it is!" she screamed back.
"Look ? the stones are as big as walnuts ? "
"Oh ? gee ? " pouted Bobby, "I wish J was
well ? I want to get some ? "
"I believe they'd kill you, Bobby ? truly.
See how hard they are falling, and how big
they are!"
Aggie eame running in, her eyes so big with
terror that the whites gleamed in the dark
room.
"It's de end ob de worl' ? yas'm ? I'm a
mis'ble sinner!"
Boby laughed.
"Nonsense, Aggie," said Mother. "Come
here and watch us. Oh, Bobby, that poor
bird !"
For there sat the Mother-bird, the icy bul
lets raining down upon her back ? the only liv
ing thing, it seemed, without a shelter.
If we opened the window, would she come
in?" asked Bobby, anxiously.
Mother shook her head.
"I suppose not ? and we couldn't open it.
The wind is driving the hail straight this way.
But it can't last long ? it's too dreadful. Oh!
How terrible!"
For, like some giant hand, the cruel hail
was stripping the new leaves from the trees
till the branches stood out bare and cold,
where, ten minutes before, they had been so
gaily clothed in the shining, dancing leaves.
Bobby wished he were a girl ; he was so
afraid he might cry.
"When there aren't any leaves left, it'll
hurt her ? the bird, I mean ? more than ever."
Mother nodded. There were tears in her
eyes. She didn't try to hid them.
"Why don't she fly away?" wondered Ag
gie, forgetting her fear.
"She is protecting her babies," answered
Mother.
Below, the lawn was white, and all the
flowers at its edge lay crushed under the
weight of hail. And always the deafening clat
ter above their heads.
But the Mother-bird never moved!
Then, quite as suddenly as it had begun, it
was over. No more shrieking wind, no more
machine-gun firing of hail. Even the sun
peeped out again. If it had not been for the
bare trees, the poor crushed flowers, and an
overturned chair on the white lawn ? Bobby
would have believed it all a dream.
"1 bet she's frozen, Mother ? she hasn't
moved yet!"
As ho spoke, the bird slowly ? very slowly ?
moved her little head.
"It's all right now, little Mother," said
Bobby's mother softly. "It's all over, and
your children are safe."
Slowly ? very slowly ? the bird rose from
the nest and hopped awkwardly out on the
leafless branch.
"She looks so queer," began Bobby. Then
? "Oh, Mother!" lie cried, "she hasn't any
tail!"
Every tail feather had been torn from the
brave little bird by the stinging hail.
But four tiny, unharmed heads stretched up
over the edge of the nest, and four greedy
mouths opened wide.
"Jimin-eeP' said Bobby. "I don't see how
she could!" ITe wriggled about under the
quilt as though his own feathers were being
tweaked. lie felt as he did in the dentist's
chair when the whirry machine started. "That
must have hurt her awful!"
Mother watched the sun come stealing back
over the quilt.
"She loved her batiies," she said, smiling a
teary smile down at Bobby. ? The Presbyterian.
A BLUE PIGEON.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little boy, five
years old. I have two brothers. "We go to
Sunday school every Sunday. My Sunday
school teacher's name is Miss Erma Adams.
T recited the Child's Catechism a few days be
fore my fifth birthday. I have a blue pigeon
with velvet eyes. Please print my letter. This
is the first I have written to your paper. I
want to surprise my daddy.
William "Willy Dempsey.
Phenix, Ya.
Dear William: We are very glad to hear
from you and to know that you have finished
the Catechism. We would all like to see your
pretty pigeon.
H. A.
CURRY.
Dear Miss Argyle: I have been wanting
to write to you for a long time and now my
school is out. Our school closed May 29th.
Mv teacher was Miss Kennard and I love her.
T saw Gladys Major's letter in your paper and
I want to answer her question, What two men
never knew d^ath? Enoch and Elijah. I go
to Sunday school every Sunday. We have a
nastor now. Mr. P. J. Murdoek is his name.
T like for him to visit our home. T have a
little doer and his namo is Currv. We have
lots of fun plavinr* with him. Tie is a little
bull doer. Brother Charlie wot a Testament for
learning the Catechism in May. T hope T can
learn the Catechism and get a Testament this
y*ar.
Your friend,
Wm. Deanes Holt.
Asnen. Va. ?
Dppi* William : Aro von *?lad^hat school has
We are nil qrlad that you had time to
write to us. anyhow. We would all like to
pay you a visit and play with Curry, too.
H. A.