"Oh no, no!" cried Dorothy, bursting into tears. Please Fairy Queen, ask the rain to come back. Oh, what a naughty girl I have been!" "My darling," the fairy answered, "all is well. And now remember, dear child, to think twice before wishing anything that will bring harm to others." Then, blowing a kiss to Dorothy, she disappeared, and Dorothy, turning, felt her mamma's arms around her, and her loving question, "Has my little girl been asleep?" "No," Dorothy answered, "I've been visiting a queen, and oh, it's raining, isn't it?" she went on eagerly. "Yes, dear," her mother said, smiling. "I am so glad," Dorothy answered, "for it makes the flowers and grass so pretty;" and to herself she added, "I'm glad I was only dreaming.-B. E. B. Willie, my six-year-old, during one of our afternoon strolls, had just passed out of my sight and down to a lower level near a stream, when he immediately ran back far enough to see me and exclaim excitedly: "O papa, there's a dandy lot of toads down here 'cause there's a whole lot of toadstools here."-Ire Lamb. Willie. "Say, Johnnie, we've got a baby down to our house!" Johnnie. "Well, we had one die at our house last fall that went to heaven. I guess this is the same kid.” Ꮡ MAY. All the buds and bees are singing; See! The fair blue sky is brighter, "It is May!" -Selected. SECOND GRADE. Teacher's Reading. LESSON XVII. KINDNESS. Life of Christ, Farrar. THE GOOD SAMARITAN. Which The journey--met by thieves-their actions-the priest-the Levite their actions--the Samaritan-his good acts. was the neighbor? Which was most like Jesus? Why? HOW GRAMMER SAW THE PROCESSION. A True Story. "I tell you, grammer," cried Tommy, "it's going to be a buster!" I am sorry that Tominy said "buster," but he did. "Five elephants," he went on rapturously, "and camels, and a rhinoceros, and a hippopot-you may call 'em! And ladies on horses, and gentlemen, and cars'n chariots! Joe Mattice saw it in St. Louis. He says it's all true that the bills says, it's the biggest show on earth. And he liked the procession 'most the best part of it. Whew!" Tommy danced up and down beside the "Don't I want to see that procession, though!" bed. "I wisht I could see it," said grandma, wistfully. Tommy's brown eyes grew sober. He looked at the worn, thin face nestling on the pillow, which was scarcely whiter. He remembered how many years-all those of his active life-his grandmother had lain there helpless, dependent on just such scraps of news as this, brought to her by her family and her friends, for her acquaintance with the outside world. "I wisht you could," he exclaimed. The poor old woman began to whimper. "Nothing ever happens that's nice," she muttered. "I don't have a bit of pleasure." "That's so," said Tommy. "Why don't they go down this street?" she wailed, wagging her nightcap. "Then I could see right out the window. The bed's close enough. But, no, they must take Adams street instead. Just my luck! Old Miss Stimson, she'll see it, 'cause she lives on Adams. And she ain't rheumatic and bedridden. think it's terrible mean." I Two tears trickled forlornly down her cheeks. wiped them away with his grubby handkerchief. "It's too bad," he murmured consolingly. bad." Tommy "It is really too "You might have known better," his mother reproached him, later, "than to put such a notion into your grammer's head. I've had a dreadful time with her." "I didn't mean to put any motion," Tommy insisted. "I was just atalkin'.” But indeed all that evening, and the first thing the next morning, when she awoke, Mrs. Truman lamented loudly the loss of this pleasure, which certainly would come exasperatingly close, for Adams street was only a block away. Tommy listened to her complaints, coupled with those of his mother, until he felt like a little criminal, instead of a well-meaning boy who hoped to entertain his afflicted relative with the current gossip of the town. It was true that There was a weight of responsibility, too. he was the one who had put his notion into grammer's head. Suddenly, like an inspiration, a daring thought darted across his low spirits. Should he try it? It was a desperate deed, and yet, nothing venture, nothing have. So his copy-book said in shaded script. He put on his best hat, blackened his shoes, and marched out of the house. Straight to the circus-grounds went Tommy. There, there was the bustle of a city, amid tents going up, the sides of cages falling, a band, a man cooking in an enclosure, and others hurriedly taking dishes from a long table with benches on either side. "I want to see Mr. D—," Tommy announced to one of these people. The man laughed. pudence." Want a pass. You ought to get it for your im "I don't want a pass," said Tommy. "What's your business with him, then ?" "No matter," replied the little boy, stiffly. "Where is he?" The man pointed over his shoulder, with a grin: "There he is," he answered. "Step up to him-I dare you!" Tommy walked sturdily forward to where a broad-shouldered, round-faced man, with a glistening jewel in his shirt-front, stood talking to a group of reporters. "Are you Mr. D-?" he inquired. Tommy took off his best hat politely. "Will you please go down Haverhill street?" he said. "Will you tell the procession to go down Haverhill 'steader Adams ?" The proprietor winked towards the smiling reporters. "There's nothing cheeky about you," he remarked, biting the end of a cigar. "Why should I do that-if you please?" The freckled face was very earnest. "So grammer can see it. She's bed-ridden, you know, 'n she's awful feeble. She's kinder childish." Tommy looked very wise and old as he made this statement with an awe-stricken fall of the voice. “And she wants to see the procession so bad! You just oughter hear her cry! She says nothin' nice ever happens to her. Oh, please to go down Haverhill." Mr. D's sharp eyes swept the circle of faces about him. They were not smiling now. "Where is Haverhill ?" he asked. Tommy gave quite a bound into the air. "Oh, will you do it?-will you? your way—honest, it ain't!" It ain't but a block out of The showman put his broad hand on the child's shoulder. "I?" "Yes, so we can tell where to go. You've no time to spare. Look there!" They're forming now. Tommy looked. A band, in glittering red and gold, their musical instruments shining in the sunlight, advanced in his direction. Behind them he saw an elephant's waving trunk, a car of fantastic fretwork seemed bubbling over with fairies all tulle and wands and sparkling headgear. There was the tramp of horses, the strange pad, pad, of animals straight out of Noah's Ark. A shrill, sweet strain of a martial air trilled out. His breath came quick. Never, in his wildest dreams of Arabian nights, had such a situation faced him. "Step lively!" said Mr. D---. Tommy walked forward. He took his stand before that haughty drum-major, before the clown with his comic donkey, before the elephant and the camels. He led the procession. The line of march was adhered to; he knew it all by heart. But Adams street was neglected, and the corner of Haverhill was turned. Then Tommy took to his heels. He looked up at one window. A withered face wreathed in infantile smiles, was pressed against the glass. He stood on the steps beneath, and, for the first time, saw the show. Led by Mr. D—, every man, woman and child in that serper tine line of moving beings saluted Tommy in passing. And Tommy's straw hat flew off again and again, as if he were a general, and this were his army that he was reviewing. And so it was that "grammer" saw the procession, after all. --Selected. Memory Gem. "The daily deeds of kindness, The words of truth and cheer, LESSON XVIII. REPENTANCE. Teacher's Reading: Life of Christ, Farrar. THE PRODIGAL SON. Luke 15: 10-32. The sons-division of property-the younger son's course-the result-his poverty-his return-older son's anger-the father's reply-Joy in heaven over one who repents. WHEN SARAH ANN REBELLED. The roof was Sarah Ann was washing in the shed kitchen. low, and although it was yet early, the June sun streaming upon it made the heat of the small room almost unbearable. The steam from the boiler of bubbling clothes only added to the discomfort. There was an unusually large washing, that had to be finished before noon. Then there were dinner to get, dishes to wash, and Jane Harriet to be made comfortable for the afternoon. Sarah Ann's scant calico dress hung in limp folds, her gray hair was strained severely back, and her thin lips were set in stern lines. Life looked difficult this June morning, and in Sarah Ann's usually tranquil soul was a faint uprising of rebellion. She could not help questioning why the hard things, and never the easy ones, came to her; why other lives should be so full and rich and beautiful, her own so poor and limited. Sarah Ann was forty-seven years old, and had never married. She lived now with her sister, whom she had brought up. Jane Harriet had once been a pretty girl, but had married young, and married a poor man. Under the shiftless management of her indolent, improvident husband, she lost her beauty and her bloom and her ambition. At thirty-three she was a chronic invalid with |