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Our Boys and Girls
MISS LAURA S MAGIC. By Elsie Vernon. ''1 do hopi when 1 prow up I'll be as pret ty and sweet as Mis>. Laura." said "Ethel, as she watched her lovely neighbor go down the street. Mother looked at Ethel gravely. There had just been a ratiier distressing time, and moth er wished Ethel was sweeter right now. Ethel had baked eakes for a doll party, and brother, finding them set out on a small table, had eaton them all. Tic was only two. and couldn't be exported to know that he was spoiling a doll party. But Ethel had been very cross about it. and said brother was a horrid boy. So mother was thinking that Ethel had missed an oppor tunity to practice being sweet, but Ethel was only watching the young lady going down the street. "You arc going over there this aftt-rnoon." said mother. *'] w onder if by watching closely you eould see what kind of magic Miss Laura uses to grow so sweet and make every one love her." "Ill Bee." said Ethel. "1 11 watch very close! v." t Ethel went to Miss Laura's at two o'clock which w as the hour lor which she had been invited. '"Miss Laura isn't here yet," said the pleas ant woman who came to the door. "But she wanted you to wait if you came before she returned. "Will you sit here on the porch, and I'll bring you some magazines to look at." Ethel sat behind the screen of climbing roses and looked over the magazines. She became very much interested in a story, though she heard voices of children just the other side of the roses. But presently she heard them shout, "Here tomes Aunt Laura!" Then she laid her magazine aside and went to the steps. The little ones were coining up the walk, clinging to Miss Laura's hand. ""We made a s'prise for you, auntie," they were saving. "Right here it is; look! isn't it a lovely one?" There right on the walk before the porch steps, the little ones had carried sand and built a sand house and barn and fences. Ethel looked to see a frown gather on Miss Laura's smooth brow, for it was a dreadful mess. But Miss Laura kept right on smiling. "It is beau tiful, dears," she said. "You've taken great pains with it. And is this a eow going into the barn?" "Yes," they shouted, gleefully. "Donald made it all himself. ' ' Miss Jjaura bent over it, and found more things to admire, so that she had a word of praise for each child. The children danced about and shouted with joy. "But isn't it a pity," said Miss Laura, at length, "that you made it on the walk? When it is dark wme one \\i!J be sure to step on it and spoil it. Walks are made to walk on, you know." The children's faces fell. "J s'pose maybe Annie '11 be cross because we got the walk dirty, " ventured one child, uneasily. 4 *Jlow would you like to move your farm out under the pear tree! No one would disturb it there, and then 1 will help you clean the walk. I think you might make a chicken coop, too, when you build it again." "Oh, yes, lot's!" The children were all hap py again, and set to work. "llcrc is my little visitor.'' said Miss Laura, coming up the steps. "I've found out!" said Ethel, in her earnest ness speaking her thoughts right out. "What have you found out. dear?"' "What makes you so sweet. It's not getting cross over bothering things." Miss Laura turned rosy red. and looked lovelier than ever. "Tell me about it," she suggested. "Oh. yes!" said Ethel. "Mother said I should watch very closely, and see what it was that made you sweet. And I said 1 would. I thought you would be cross to them for putting sand on the walk. And you never made them feel bad at all, and yet you had them take it away. 1 guess you never get eross at vexing things." "It's better not to." said Miss Laura, smil ing. "It's better for the other person if you don't make him feel badly, and it's better for you. because getting eross leaves u?dy marks on your face and heart, and it surely keeps you from being sweet." "I had a ehanee today, and I didn't do it," confessed Ethel, gravely. "And my little broth er didn't know any better than these children that he was doing wrong. But I called him a horrid boy." "But you'll have other chances. That's the best thing about it ; you are sure to have lots of chances to be sweet when things are vex ing." "I'll take the next chance," said Ethel, in a determined voice. Then they played games and talked until it was time for Ethel to go home. "Ethel," said mother, meeting her at the door, "I'm awfully sorry, but brother has pulled the hair off the pink doll. He is such a mischief when he is alone a minute." "Why," said Ethel. Then she swallowed the words that were coming up. "It doesn't matter," she said. "I can easily paste it on again. He doesn't know any better. And I'll let him help me put it on, then perhaps he'll barn it belongs there, and not pull it off again." Mother's faee was quite blank with aston ishment for a moment. Then she looked so pleased and happy. "I see you've found out," she said. " What a dear, helpful daughter you will be now." "Yes, I've found out," said Ethel. "But if 1 should forget sometimes you must remind me. ' ' ? ( "hrist ian Standard. "MY GRANDMA." By Robert Hunt (12 years.) 'Twas Washington's birthday and we were visiting Orandina Elizabeth. Breakfast was almost read y. Already I could smell the muf fins. "(irandma, tell me a story," I said. "All right, Bob," she said. "I'll tell you a atory of fifty-sevi-n years ago. 'Twas Washington 'a birthday, too. Patty and J, a friend of mine, were coming to town to the speaking. We had been gelling ready for weeks and I was young 'and she was pretty and had black curls that bobbed from under her bonnet and shill ing black eyes, as those who knew said, but (irundum would not have said it for the life of her), and I bad a blue silk dress and high heel *h ot-s, which I could hardly walk in, and beaux were plentiful. At last the day came and pa drove us into town. "I pot up early on the morning of the twen ty -second," continued Grandma, "and Pat came into my room all stirred up and said to hurry that beaux were abroad (collcgc stu dents). Then we got to work primping, curl ing our hair, and powdering our noses (you see it was the same then as now), we ran down stairs, but caught ourselves at the door, for we must act as if wc were used to it. Up the street we walked, but no beaux; another block and wc felt pretty discouraged. As we were passing a house a stout, fat girl whom wc knew to be Rose Ann Smith, emerged with a very long ladder and coming down the steps, miscalculated the distance, and with a crash landed on the ground. Wc helped her up and she looked at us as if she wautcd to say some thing. but she was too frightened to speak so we walked on. "Mr. John Meadows ran out of his house with an armful of bed clothes. He dropped them and rushed up to us and yelled, 'Young ladies, the town would thank you if you would run home and take off those fine clothes and fro help put out the fire; the town's on fire.' We ran all right. We were even more fright ened than poor Rose Ann. "My dear," said Grandma, "we worked in the bucket brigade till our arms almost drop ped off, but the fire finally was put out. And best of all we were taken to the speaking that night by beaux that we caught at the fire. Pa came for us the next day. We had had an exciting Washington's birthday." "Breakfast," called the cook. "Run on, Hob, your breakfast is ready," said Grandma. N. B. ? 1 am so glad to have this story from one of our own boys. I wonder if there is anyone else in "our crowd" who can do as wellf Let's try. H. A. TURKISH SCHOOL CHILDREN. Turkish children recite their lessons all to gether in the old-fashioned schools, and if you could hear them, you would think that you had gone into "Wonderland" with "Alice'' where "things wouldn't come straight." Th<* little girls go to school in groups, and with them is always an old servant who carries all their books on what looks like a small clothes tree. The boys go and come in two long lines pit ended by their teacher. They carry their own hooks and wear long trousers and fezzes exactly like their fathers. Home of the tiny girls carry their own little tables and draw ing hoards. In the gypsy village in Scutari the children learn their lessons by songs i? the street. They stand in a circle with a hi}-' 'girl in the middle, and they grow noisier ami noisier the more interested they become. ? Lin* darnira Harbcson, in St. Nicholas. MY BED IS A BOAT. My bed fa like a little boat; Nurse helps me In when I embark; Hhe girds me in my sailor's coat And starts me la the dark. At night, I go on board and say tioott-ulght to all my friends on shore; ( shut my eyes and sail away, And hum and hear no more. And sometimes things to lied I take, As prudent sailors have to do; I'nrhaps a slice of weddlug cake, 1'erhaps a toy or two. All night acioss the dark w? steer; Hut when the day returna at last, Hate in my room, beside the pier, I And my vessel fait, ? ? Robert Louis Hlevenson.