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For Woman’s Work.
THE BIRTHDAY BROTHER.
0 aELL, Harry, what do you
want for your birthday? A
new book?”
u “Oh Mamma, I have more
books now than I can read.’ ’
“Marbles? a top? a whip?”
“Mamma, you know the house is just
full of my toys. lam tired of toys. It’s
not much fun to play all by myself, any
how.”
“Poor little boy,” said Mamma, with
a smile; “he is so rich, and he has so
many things! What a pity we can’t find
anything new for him!”
“I even have all the pets I want.
There’s the pony, and Rover and Fido, and
the squirrel, and the rabbits, and Poll
Parrot, and the cats, and the doves and
the canaries. But lam so lonely.”
“Well, Harry, I’ll tell you what we’ll
do. You shall have a party and invite all
of your friends to spend the day. Would
you like that?”
“O thank you, Mamma, thank you!
That will be nice. But ” and Harry
looked sad again.
“But what, poor little rich boy?”
“But that will be for only one day. I
will be just as lonely as ever, afterwards.
Oh Mammal I tell you what Ido want
for my birthday. The only thing in the
whole world that 1 want.”
“What is it?”
“A little brother, Mamma! A brother
just about my size, to play with! All
the other children have brothers and sis
ters; and lam all by myself. I get so
lonely.
“Do you know what I used to do last
winter, Mamma? I took Lion, and went
out in the snow, to see if we could find a
little brother. Lion is a St. Bernard dog,
you know, and they sometimes find peo
ple in the snow. I hoped that maybe
he would help me to find a little boy.
We went out every time it snowed, and
looked around, but we never found him.
“Please buy me a brother, Mamma, for
my birthday present. He can have half
of all my things; I have so many things.
And we will be so happy, playing together.
Please give me a little brother, Mamma!”
Mamma kissed her little boy.
“I’m afraid I can’t find a brother for
you,” she said, “but we will try to be hap
py anyhow.”
PART 11.
Tom was a little Gypsy boy. Gypsies
are people who travel about in wagons.
Sometimes they stop out in old fields or
woods. Tom had no father or mother; he
lived with the other Gypsies. Sometimes
they were kind to him and sometimes
they were not. Sometimes poor little
Tom did not have enough to eat. One
night the Gypsies camped out in an old
field. Tom went to sleep on some straw
behind a bush. He was very tired, and
he slept soundly. When he awoke in
the morning he rubbed his eyes and.
Boys and Gills, i
looked around. Everything was very
still.
“Why is everything so still?” said Tom.
“Is everybody asleep I wonder?”
Then he jumped up and looked around.
No one was in the field. Everybody was
gone. The wagons, the horses, the dogs,
the Gypsies, were all gone! They had
moved away in the night, and had forgot
ten Tom. If his mother had been alive
she would never have forgotten him.
Poor little Tom! He began to cry aloud:
“Jim! Dick! Martha! Peggy! Susan! All
of you! Where are you? Why did you
leave me? What shall I do, what shall I
do!”
Then he ran to the fence corner and
looked up and down the road, still call
ing, but no one answered him. Soon he
came to a gate where a boy was standing.
He asked the boy if he had seen the Gyp
sies. The boy said, “No, but I can give
you some breakfast and a hat. Don’t you
want a hat?”
“Yes, I do,” said Tom. “I had a hat
last week, but the dogs tore it up.”
The kind boy gave him some breakfast
and a straw bat, and Tom started off again.
He walked for many hours in the hot sun.
Then he had to stop and rest. He was
very hot, very tired, and very hungry.
He lay down and took a long nap behind
a hedge. When he awoke, the moon was
shining. He lay still for a few minutes,
looking at the moon. Soon he heard
voices, and saw two men walking by.
“We’ll catch those Gypsies,” said one of
the men, “and put them in jail; they have
stolen too many chickens.”
Poor little Tom! His heart beat fast.
“I hope they wont see me,” he thought.
“I never stole any chickens. But lam a
Gypsy and they might put me in jail.” He
lay quite still until the men passed by.
Then he jumped up and ran the other way.
He did not know where to go. But he
wanted to get away from those men. He
ran until he was out of breath. After
awhile he came to a fork in the road. He
did not know which way to go, and stood
still a minute. Then a puff of wind took
his hat off and blew it up the right hand
road.
“I must follow my hat,” said Tom, “I
cannot lose my nice, new hat.” So he
followed his hat up the right hand road.
Soon he came to a garden with an iron
railing. He stopped and peeped through
the railing.
The moonlight shone upon the flowers
and trees, and the garden looked very
pretty. A little arbor was in the'garden.
Under the arbor was a seat with a cushion
on it.
“Oh, what a nice place to sleep,” said
Tom, “I wish I could go in there and sleep
all night.” He pulled at the gate, but
could not open it. Then a strong gust of
wind came and helped him. The gate
opened and Tom crept in. Soon he was
fast asleep in the little arbor.
part in.
It was Harry’s birthday, and he came
WOMAN’S WORK.
down stairs early. He opened the door
and went into the garden to gather some
flowers. There was a thoughtful look on
his face. He was talking to himself, as he
often did.
‘•I asked God please to send me a little
brother by the angels. I thought he would
be in the bed this morning, but he was
not. Maybe he will come after awhile, in
some other way.”
He walked slowly down the path, gath
ering flowers, and soon he came to the
arbor.
What did he see in the arbor ? Poor
little Tom, still fast asleep I Poor little,
dirty, ragged Tom! Harry dropped his
flowers and gavj a loud cry of joy. Then
he rushed up to Tom and shook him.
“Wakeup, little brother!” he shouted;
“wake up little Birthday Brother I This is
your home! The angels put you here for
me 1”
Tom started up and half opened his
eyes. “Oh, Mr. Policeman, please don’t
take me to jail I I never, never stole any
chickens—indeed I didn’t! Don’t lock me
up I Please don’t lock me up ! I wont do
it any more. But I didn’t do it first I”
“What are you talking about, little
brother?” said Harry. “You must be
dreaming. Come in the house to Mamma.
She will wash you and dress you. You
started clean,from Heaven, but the angels
must have dropped you in the dirt, some
where. Come on !”
Tom thought he was dreaming sure
enough, now. He stared, and followed
Harry, who dragged him along to the
house. Papa and Mamma were in the
front porch.
“Mamma! Papa I” shouted Harry,pull
ing Tom up the steps, “here’s my birthday
brother! The angels put him in the arbor,
He’s come to live here. Mamma! He
shall have half of my clothes, and half of
my books, and half of my toys, and half of
my candy, and half of my pets,and half of
my pony 1 I don’t mean to cut the pony in
half, but that we shall both ride on it.
And he can have half of my papa and
Mamma,too. You both love me so much;
won’t you give some love to my dear little
brother ?”
“Hush a moment,Harry. Sit down little
boy,” said Papa, kindly, “and tell us what
your name is, and where you came from.”
So Tom told them all of his story. When
he had flnishsd, Papa and Mamma whis
pered together. Then Papa said, “Would
you like to live here with us, little Tom ?”
Tom’s face turned red, then white; it
looked white, even throug h the dirt.
Then he gasped out, “Would I?
Wouldn’t I? Just you try me, though!”
“How did you know which way to come,
Tom,” asked Harry ; “you might have
gone the other road instead of this one.”
“Well, I didn’t know at first. I stood
at the forks of the road. But the wind
blew my hat this way, and I came after
it.”
“No, no, it wasn’t the wind,” said Harry
in a low voice, “it was the angels. The
angels were leading you here to me. And
how did you open the gate ?”
“The wind blew the gate open, too.”
“The angels again I They were showing
you right to the place. Oh, Mamma,
wasn’t it the angels ?”
“I think it was, my darling,” said Mam
ma, softly; “I think the angels were lead
ing little Tom right here to his home.”
What do you think about it, little read
ers ?
A Pitiable Sight
it is to see an infant suffering from the lack of
proper food. It is entirely unnecessary, as a reliable
food can always be obtained; we refer to the Gail
Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk. Sold by
grocers and druggists everywhere.
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For Woman’s Work.
A CHRISTMAS FROLIC.
f Christmas is coming i
■ Christmas—the time of holly and
V Z mistletoe and general jollity, and we
T begin to ask ourselves whether we
shall hang up our stockings for Sants
Claus to fill, or fasten the gifts on a Christ
mas tree.
“I am too old to hang up my stocking,
and I am tired of Christmas trees, but
suppose we must do one or the other for
the younger ones,” said a fifteen-year-old
girl to her pretty friend the other day.
Why not, this year, try a new way of
distributing your presents—a way in
which old and young can join with equal
enjoyment?
Wrap each gift in brown paper, and
write on the outside the name of the per
son for whom it is intended.
Then the packages from each member
of the family are collected and put on the
dining-room table.
The parcels are next numbered—the
numbers being marked on them—and num
bers corresponding to those on the pres
ents are written on slips of paper and sha
ken in a hat.
One member of the family now orders
the others to remain in the dining-room,
and while they draw the slips in turn,
one by one, from the hat, he takes all the
packages and hides them, one after anoth
er, in every nook and corner of the house.
When the gifts are all concealed and the
numbers drawn, at a given signal all start
out to find the packages whose numbers
correspond with those on the slips they
hold, and when one with the right num
ber is found it is put on the table. If,
however,one finds a package marked with a
number of which he does not hold the du
plicate, it must be left in its hiding-place
until found by the right person.
As soon as all the gifts are found, the
family gathers around the table, and each
opens the packages bearing his name,
amidst much fun and laughter.
We tried this new Christmas game last
year, and it proved a great success—
grandfather hunting with at; much eager
ness for his packages as any of us younger
ones.
One parcel, however, would not stay
hidden, and,though tucked into the cosiest
corner, insisted on appearing in the mid
dle of the room as soon as the searching
commenced. This was “No. 17”—a little
dog. M. S. Thyno.
It is the purpose for which men live,
rather than the incidents of life, that make
it happy or unhappy, successful or unsuc
cessful. Though the happiness of man
kind seems more and more the highest
purpose of human endeavor, each individ
ual worker learns to think less of self and
more of the whole. It is, perhaps, the
greatest secret of happiness to find it in
serving and working for others rather
than in serving merely selfish ends. That
was the life that Christ lived, and though
in olden times the prophet foresaw Him as
a man of sorrows and acquainted with
grief, that was not, as Christ himself
viewed it, the characteristic description of
his life. Rather, he said to the poor and
grief stricken: “Come and learn of me,
for my yoke (or way of living) is easy and
my burden is light.” Serving others in
the humblest capacity is not humiliation,
but joy, and that joy all may share who
choose a life not of selfish seeking of their
own interests, but of service to mankind.
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