George showed us how to play "London Bridge." Some of us were parts of the bridge, and some of us went under it. After that we played "snap-apple." Aunt Lucy tied an apple by a string to the ceiling, and we bit at it Every time we bit, the apple flew away from us. It was great fun.
After supper the "day was over" with the little ones. We could not keep our eyes open, and some of us slept all the way home in that double sleigh. I know I dreamed about that long table at dinner, and thought we were playing "snap-apple" with the big roast turkey.
That Thanksgiving was many, many years ago, and some of those mites of little ones that played "London Bridge" are grandpas and grandmas now.
—UNCLE FRED.
A QUEER PLACE FOR A BIRD'S HOME.
One evening last summer a tramp, who had travelled many miles, lay down on the leaves in a pleasant wood. Before he went to sleep he pulled off one shoe, for it had chafed his foot till it was very sore.
In the morning he rose, and prepared to go on to beg his morning meal. When he tried to put his shoe on, it hurt his foot so badly that he groaned aloud. He gave up trying to wear it, and threw it into the bushes.
The shoe caught in the fork of a young maple-tree, and hung fast by the heel, with the toe downward. The tramp limped away on his journey, and went I don't know where.
Before many days a bright-eyed little bird spied the shoe. She thought it would be a fine place to build a home in. So she and her mate brought fine twigs and straw and leaves in their bills. They placed them in the shoe in pretty nest-shape, and lined their new house with soft hair and wool.
Beth and her papa were out searching for wood-flowers one day. The shadow of the shoe fell on the moss beneath the little maple.
Looking up, Beth saw the nest. Her papa bent the maple down, and Beth looked in. She saw five cunning little blue eggs lying cosily against the gray lining.
Beth is a tiny girl, just past being rocked to sleep in mamma's lap. She laughed aloud, and clapped her fat little hands for joy, when she saw this dainty sight.
I think there were some little birdies in that shoe before long, don't you?—
—J. G. FORD.
LITTLE FIDGET.
My restless little boy,
You can't sit still a minute;
Your mug is upside down,
And not a drop is in it.
—LOUIE BRINE=.
THE GOOD LITTLE MILKMAN.
One morning last week I was walking along the street, and I saw a kitten on the pavement. It was white, with black spots on its head and neck. It sat as close to the fence as it could get, and looked very lonesome, as if it did not belong to anybody.
Every time a person went by the kitten would lift up its head and mew. I knew quite well that it was hungry and did not know where to get any breakfast. I wished that I had something with me to give it to eat. Just then a boy came along with a milk-can in his hand. He looked like a good boy. He had pleasant blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He was whistling a lively tune, as if he was very merry and happy. When Kitty saw him, she lifted up her head and gave a loud mew. The boy stopped and noticed her.
"Kitty!" said he; "I believe you are hungry, and are asking me to feed you. I wish I had a dish, and I would give you some milk."
He looked all around. By and by he saw a little hollow place in one of the stones of the pavement. Then he said, "Come here, Kitty; I have found a basin for you."
He poured some milk out of his can into the hollow, and Kitty ran and lapped it up as fast as she could.
Then he poured in some more, till Kitty had eaten all she wanted. When he had done this, he said, "Good-morning, Kitty," and he went on his way whistling.
Was n't he a good boy? I watched him till he was out of sight, because I was so glad that I had seen him. It is so pleasant to meet people that are kind and thoughtful, whether they are old or young.
I was very glad for Kitty, too. When I left her she was washing her face and stretching herself in the warm sunshine. She seemed to feel so comfortable now that she had eaten a nice breakfast. It was a real pleasure to look at her.
I hope Kitty will find such a good friend as this little milkman every day.
—HATTIE WAY.
