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Show I jut Boys ana dir!$. ! EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. t T, ,s rynr,rtment Jp conducted solely in the lnter- ,'(if 0,'ir'-irl and loy readers. I t?'vjrt PiifV is P'a1 to llear anv tlmo from the I .ApV'i-nfl nephews who read this page, and to give ' "t! ri i" t,1P f,dvire an(i Iie!p ln her Pw'er. ! -rii'" on "e ilie of t,ie P01 onlv- I po rn have letters too long. ! 0rjcj.;ni ftorir's and verses will be gladly received I rr.rcful'y edited. """jhp mfiniifrcripts of contributions not accepted will .; bp r.-.t!irn"d. ,i:v- all ltfrs to Aunt Busy. Intermountain AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. j ji, .,! S'rrr- iiinl " phews : Aunt Busy vil! v-rjv 1 i' ih's wck in anv(-r to a dear little rjrcr, .1 whom sbo is very fond. anl who asks her i ,.k.lki;- that an' dear to all nifws and nephews ,, ',hi- tinio. lovingly, Al'XT BUSY. 1 Salt Lake, Dec. 1, 1907. Ltrar Aunt Fmy: 1 am so plad that Christmas ill Si'1' ill I'""' Jirre. Do you like Christmas, Aunt !,.v '. WJi it do you think a little girl should buy t f,.r r mamma and papa i What, did you buy for .. . -c v"u wro little? Your loving niece i ' FLORENCE MAIIEK. i,;ir. .I.;.-! How will Aunt Busy ever answer f.,, iiuiny 'I1" '--lions t In answer to the first. Aunt ' )y i- ;i !i"Ie glad, 'just, a little glad, that Christ- 1 1U;.J will -.I'ti he here. Of course she is not as hap- ' yy over lii'1 h"liday as when she was a small girl, ; 1,',-,-ar.so. ' -''o Aunt Busy is a very old lady, (, .ir Win a Aunt Busy was a little girl she had N,i.'p iVar ool teachers, who helped lier to make -u!- for h'T parent;. One of the best presents '; : 1V,1? ;i I.-T!r written, in the best way possible, to I fr:v i;tp:i and mamma. The letter was rilnl many promises to be good and study ; Jijipl. j-r-iuiM's that were quickly broken, but that n.iv liiiii" i" p:ip;i 'ai il mamma just the same, j n Aunt loisy's music teacher suggested that f Aui.t I.!;i.v l'-arn a new study for papa and mamma i ,!!:! Ai;::t Bu-y would practice until her poor little I L.iii.ir- ;i( h' 'l. hut it was a labor of love you see and I A tint Tiuy was hajipy. On Christmas morning s A n.t Vu-y would bo all excited until the wonder-": wonder-": ;J l.-i:.-r v-as read and opened and papa and inani-i inani-i ma (irrhi!' 'i it quite the most wonderful letter ever j wrinni, althnuph they could hardly read the queer , kr Jf lr-ltpr. (); c.urse the r-hildren of ihe present day will i 'hmk iln's an old-fashioned way to make presents, ; - W,t Aunt Busy thinks it was the sweetest and best i.f ::1L Tin re was more love shown in the querr : ; wb ' or. written by a dirty little hand, and more j- love 'li'ovn in the piano study practiced with tired, ! i crmiv little lingers than could possibly be shown t h i um' -r some present in a store. The real bcautv ; pivni is the love that goes with the gift, and i ' ,. lk of a child's hands and heart is worth more I : t'liiii all rise to parents. This is what Aunt Busy j; :iid at Christmas in the long ago. and now among r ti:f nK-mories of those days the tenderest memory s "fall i of the dear gentle Sister Anne, who helped : tl.e Finn 1 1 Aunt Busy to write her Christmas pres- not to buy it. The snows of many Christmas- 1 'k; have fallen on the dear sister's grave since ! t;;on.bi;t Aunt Busy likes to think that Sister Anne i -.pt-nds every Christmas time teaching the baby ! fliiET-1; in heaven to write letters to the little Christ ' i h.ll. Aunt Busy would be happy if one little ; niep or nephew would try her '"Christmas present j flan" r:st "for once' as little children say. ; . m mm m Little Miss Sunshine. J -J:d 1 rvrr see the likes of that child? Whiles I v.:? ba-k is turned and I washing the carriage, and 'h;ii F!;rT with rheumatiz that I'm not turning ; r.-'iin. VrpT on business, along comes she on her - wlirrl, rr.iir for all the world like a race horse. She jis cat ch-e sight of the blanket fallen off young : ninstrr's li'T-i- that he's brought in. boy fashion, all ; itij sweat, it nd in an eye's twinklin', if you'll be-i be-i lirrp n. V,r-"i put tho blanket on and jumped off the rr-adiinc and wrapped the beastie up snug as a f;it in a diimhlv corner. See, jse now she's hug-I'"1'- J never saw the heat of that child for J-'viu" kindiK s-." lii'Ir- S"l. Mr. Ilay's man-of-all-work. had a talking to himself, and rarely to others, j " s sal t." he would say, shaking his gray 'lf;!'! V("r-V tarnr-tly, "it's safest for a man to have h's st-lf f,,v nftoupst companion, then, if there's I aiiy tn. ii'i, ho ca'u easy settle who's made it.'' ; I !!!" S.. vas not ihe only one who thought -l!:v ''fav, for loMjr a'o the people of Say- Liivfii her ihe name of Little Aliss Sun-: Sun-: ;.!,.! w il lio deserved it. r v.i- who. on the school playground was p L-tial iiia-.i re to settle all sorts of vexed qucs-"'" qucs-"'" M'-'iii the scholars all animals recognized r !: ;r inend. Ducks would waddle yards . " ' if way to quack out to her the story of : -.M-, - -c-ived from small bovs. and innumer- i.ud a way of limping into the Gray's ; : sympathy, or if it proved a case of " she would tenderly carry them over 1. r - . -,, -l, friend. Dr. Seymour and make over r ' f in. rcpaving his care by one of her I- Vs "hen Amy was suffering from a very '. 1 Uiroat, uncomplaining as usual, the . ( ' A:..;., how 1 wish you could send your : nnar pain and trouble so bravely to s 1 l atients, with very little the matter :1 surrounded with all the comforts : i " uro, who are always bemoaning the . " " iinenng."' $ . . ' ' " Sunbeam's sky had not always been I '- la ss. Two years ago she had a de- .i " r and pretty horse, but one sad day e . 1 . f 'in ,-eliool, she met her mother at the f. " v-liitc. drawn face, saying: i ... et on your pony as quickly as pos- ' -' ' "er for the doctor, for your father 1 11 ' ' s":.M.iiio will never forget lhat ride, nor ; s - !...! mat -truck her when she Jearned Dr. . 1 '' kad j-i-t h fi f,,r a five-mile drive to Far- " ' I'iace. " ii" uiiclit only overtake hjm ! For once j .- notlnnq: of overtaxing her beloved 1 a- she urged him on at full gallop. , Ion;.' shady villatre street out on the j "' ' hurried, but never a trace of the fa-t. fa-t. 1 '. ' -' w.'t visibl(. When at last the Reeve's , i j..:'1 ' ;i readied, right glad was the exhaust-see exhaust-see Dr. Seymour and the farmer stand- ' "ii the porch. Their smiles of greet- l.a'l".r' ,',rr,'"'('l l'.v seeing that all the sunshine '-' '' IV'!n 1nr child's face as, breaking into Mjc tehl ur story. 1 " ; monient, leaving the panting pony Hl'vv'11''! :;i!'m,'rs are. Amy found herself seat-1!:;1p seat-1!:;1p ir"'1" si'l'. gaining courage with every litit 1 lac'.-'.'' ''"e and medical skill cannot, hold 'u lil"c ihe dear Lord calls to. the rest of Para- , i I I disc; and with the father's death. Amy was obliged to bear the grief of leaving her pretty home for a tiny cottage on a lonely country road. One day shortly after the funeral. Dr. Sevmour drove up to the cottage and asked for Amy. She came out, looking white and pale in her black dress, but greeted him with her usual smile, and the doctor felt very loth to tell her his errand. "Little Sunshine," he said, "you have been so brave, it breaks my heart to have to tell vou your pretty pony is dead. It had verv tender care, but the strain of that hard ride proved too much for the poor little fellow." "Oh, doctor, was it, my fault?'' sobbed the child. "Xo, dear; don't blame yourself. You did it all for the best and saved your father some hours of suffering." "Then, dear doctor, when I miss my dear pony, I will think he died for his master's sake who was so kind to him, and he will be my little martvr-pony." martvr-pony." That night the good physician told the story of Little Sunshine's self-control by the bedside of a. rich patient, and during the sleepless hours, she thought how she, too, might brighten other lives by more patiently enduring her pain and devising means of giving others pleasure. Two mornings after this Adams' express left at the Gray cottage a larere case directed to "Aliss Amy Gray." and when, with awkward finfrers, quite unused to tools, she accomplished the task of opening open-ing the case. Amy found a wonderful wheel, one of the most approved sort, its nickel plating shining brilliantly, and attached to the saddle was a card with the words: "For Little Sunshine, from one who has learned, f-he hopes, from her life, a lesson of self-control and thought for others." , Emilie Foster in Our Young Feople. Dawn in Darkness. (By Alary L. Cummins, in Our Young People.) The sun was coming in i'aint, pale streaks through the tall windows of Washburn Hall as Marion Harlow took her seat for the afternoon concert. It was the second day of the great musical musi-cal festival. The foremost artists of their time were to sing in "The Aressiah." She leaned back whh an anticipatory sigh of pleasure while the violin twanged in a discordance that was yet rich in promise of the glorious harmonies to come. "Excuse me, Aliss Harlow." An usher, whom she knew, was standing beside her with his arm through that of a tall lad of 1G. The boy's appearance ap-pearance was remarkable, in spite of his shabby suit of gray. Thick brown hair waved away from a broad, wdiite forehead. The eyes were blue and very wide open; the mouth sensitive. Alarion Harlow Har-low stepped into the aisle at once, for it needed but a glance at those wide open eves to see that they were sightless. The lad took the seat beyond her and she resumed her place. When the oratorio commenced she lost herself and her surroundings completely, as she always did, in the beauty of the music. Only when the great contralto a woman who had never squandered squan-dered her marvelous gift on unworthy song arose for the second time, she turned involuntarily to the boy at her side. "Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped." The wonderful recitative filled the room. Oh, the promise of it for him! Alarion felt her throat lighten as she watched his lifted face with the light of rapture on it. "She will sing again," she whispered, laying her hand on his arm. And she did. Every head was slightly bowed Pas the words fell on the hushed room. "He was . despised despised and rejected rejected re-jected of men." Alarion. knowing the singer's noble life, let the message of it fill her heart. The lad beside her sat with his face shaded, his tears falling silently on the unheeded program. When the oratorio ended -i.th the glorious "Worthy Is the Lamb that Was Slain," she turned to him: "You have not heard "The Aressiah" before. be-fore. "Xo," he murmured, his face shining. She put her hand through his arm and they walked together down the aisle. "You arc coming again ?" "Xo," the light left his face for a moment. "Oh. you must," Aliss Harlow said impulsely. "You must hear 'Elijah' tomorrow night. Let me drive you home and we will talk about it." She guided him carefully down the stairs. At the foot a tall, slender woman in black stoood waiting. wait-ing. She touched his arm and he turned to her at once, saying "Alother." "I have been making friends with your son," Ararion broke in. "It added to my enjoyment of the oratorio to sit beside so appreciative a listener." list-ener." "He has looked forward to this aftcrnoofi for weeks," the woman said with a tender look. "I do not want to lose such a kindred spirit now that I have found it," Aliss Harlow went on smiling. "Please let me drive you both home." When they were seated in the open landan she turned to the woman beside her: "If you are not in a hurry we might go through the park, Airs. ?" "Arnold. Wouldn't that be lovely, Geoff ry?" The lad sat opposite with his sightless eyes lifted. lift-ed. It was all a glorious dream to him. The music, mu-sic, the lady with the beautiful speaking voice, the drive in the warm fall sunshine. In the park Alarion stopped the carriage: "How gorgeous the colors are this year. The " She ended abruptly and threw a contrite look at the boy's mother. But he was standing upright in the carriage, hU face transformed and beautiful with the gleams of sunshine falling on it through the trees, his arms outstretched. "Then shall th? eyes of the blind be opened, and the oars of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sine." Alarion sat spell-bound. He had sung the recitative reci-tative through correctly after hearing it but once. And his voice! The beauty and pathos of it thrilled her; and yet, what was that triumphant tone that vibrated through it? Surely it. meant that through the mysery and the darkness his soul had reached out and found the Eternal Father. When the carriage stopped before the tenement tene-ment Avhere Airs. Arnold lived, she laid her hand on the mother's arm. "I am wondering whether you would give me ,a great pleasure," she said quickly. "Surely," Airs. Arnold's eyes grew moist. "Then let me take Geoff ry to the remaining concerts. con-certs. I will come for him and bring him home, so vou need not worry." "God bless you!" The second evening when the blind lad came back to her. fiVshed with joy, she blessed Alarion Harlow in her heart again. "Alother," he cried, "mother, she is going to have me taught music by raised notes, and I am to have singing lessons right away!" An hour later, hearing him speaking softly, she e I crept to his door, then stole quietly away. He was kneeling at the bedside, consecrating his voice to God. |