right out at her feet. "Give me that pretty blue ribbon on your hair to line my nest with," said he. She gave it to him and walked on with her hair falling over her eyes. But she was happy and thought only of how comfortable the squirrel's nest would be, lined with blue ribbon, until she almost stepped on a bright something at her feet! And there was a letter "S,” made of beautiful emeralds. "Oh," she said, picking it up. "But how can any name begin with 'NS'?" And she was ready to cry again. Then a funny thing happened! A little baby monkey came out of the woods and asked for her cloak. Though she could n't see what a monkey wanted with a cloak, she gave it to him and went on, feeling pretty chilly, for it was not yet summer. Soon the monkey came running after her. The cloak was so long that he stumbled over it at every other step. He was shouting, "Wait! wait!" She waited until he came up and handed her a letter "S" made of shining pearls. "It's yours," said the monkey. She was more puzzled than ever at having another letter "S," for it seemed less likely than before that she would find a name beginning with such queer letters. But the monkey scratched his nose and said, "Maybe those are not the first letters of the name.” This made her happy. Thanking the monkey politely, she hurried on, for she was anxious to find the rest of the letters. I could n't tell you all the adventures this little girl had; she gave away her shoes and stockings, and her pretty little baby ring, and her bonnet, and I don't know what else. But she was happy and, when least expecting them, she kept finding letters made of precious stones. After she had found twelve letters, she began to wonder how she would know when she came to the end. And would you believe it, she came near missing the last letter. This was the way it happened; she saw a bent old man, who asked her to help him find his spectacles because he could n't see well without them. She did n't cry, for she was cured of that; but she thought, "Oh, how shall I ever find the rest of my letters if I turn back?" The old man only said, "Oh! deary me! How am I ever going to find my specs if no one will help me?" That made the little girl feel badly and she said, “I will go back with you," thinking she was going in the wrong direction, even though she was trying to help some one. But we cannot always tell where we are going to find the things we need. We must just do what is to be done. The little girl stooped to pick up something shining, saying, "Here are your specs!" But it was n't the specs at all! It was another letter "S" made of gorgeous diamonds. "Dear me!" said the little girl in astonishment, "but I can't spell such a big word.' "I'll spell it for you," said the little old man, laying the letters in a row on the ground. "Why!" he exclaimed, "that is what I have been looking for all these years; and never thinking of specs, he spelled the word. "But for you I would n't have found it!" he said. "But for you, I would n't have found it!" said she to him. The little old man laughed. Then he suddenly stood up as straight as a sapling, saying, "Now I must make up for the years I have been without it," and off he started. The little girl gathered up the sparkling letters, and ran to meet a lady who was coming toward her. "Come home, dear little Marybelle," said the lady, holding out her arms. "I see you have searched in the right way." "Oh, mamma!" she cried, "these letters do not spell Marybelle!" Her mother spelled them out and they spelled "UNSELFISHNESS." MARCH: GOOD WORK For the Teacher: A NOISELESS, PATIENT SPIDER1 WALT WHITMAN A noiseless, patient spider, I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them-ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres, to connect them; Till the bridge you will need, be form'd - till the ductile anchor hold; Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul. Suggestions for morning talks Even little children can appreciate much that is written on good work. The teacher will find Character Building in School, by Jane Brownlee (Houghton Mifflin Co.), especially helpful. Read: "The Sailor Man," in The Pig Brother, Laura E. Richards. Little, Brown & Co. "The Builders," Longfellow. R.L.S. No. X. Houghton Mifflin Co. 1 From Leaves of Grass. Read: "The Monkey Song," in The Jungle Book, "The Two Herd Boys," in Boys of Other Coun- Said the fifth little chicken, With a faint little moan, "I wish I could find A wee gravel-stone!" "Now, see here," said the mother, DUST UNDER THE RUG 1 MAUD LINDSAY There was once a poor widow, who had two daughters. She found work to do away from home, and her two little girls kept house. But one day the dear mother came home sick; so Minnie said: "Dear sister, I must go out to find work before the food gives out." She kissed her mother and walked off quickly. The night was coming fast when she saw before her a very small house. She made haste to knock; nobody came, so she opened the door and walked in. There before her she saw twelve little beds with the bedclothes tumbled, twelve little dirty plates, and the floor so dusty that you could have drawn a picture on it. "Dear me!" said the little girl, "this will never do!" and she set to work to make the room tidy. Just as she finished, in walked twelve little people about as tall as a carpenter's rule, and all wearing yellow clothes. Minnie knew they must be the dwarfs who kept the gold in the heart of the mountain. Said the dwarfs all together, for they always spoke together and in rhyme, 1 Abridged from Mother Stories, Maud Lindsay. By permission of Milton Bradley Co., Publishers. |