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Show il I LETTEE-WBITING DIRECTION'S. I 'write on one side of paper only. i not have letters too long. ' AcMreys all letters to "Aunt Eusy," In- j ttrm"ui:tain Catuolic. THE LITTLE DENTIST. j. ji.-:-' ;i t.-uith anil thrre no tooth. 1: ii'i, I look so funny: ii my front teoeth out today. i:i- il a lot of money. i j-apa c.,ve mo this ton rents; ': Hi-'' r cave m" a penny. Tmi. ' t-'-'t to earning dimes, ' . !:rit:nas took so many. Thr.-'W the tooth there in the fire. ; is'ii-H it kept for showing. ; f nv n- ?ad. conk said I'd have cro"loj teeth a-growing. ! H ivt a lot to pive the yank; 1 l ir-t nt eeiitly, tryinp. n:y ', then pave a jerk. ' ,!iT that, some crying. VVhon 1 smiled before the glass, !...,, k.'it so like another, "Hello, you funny kid! i ; li-ss you are my brother." j AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. j i Iear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt Busy is wondering about what ; ha? become of her old chums. Many . ? w..fkp have passed since some of them ; have written. What has become of the I Muntry children? Aunt Busy does lov to hear from her little family at !; Carr station. The Kavanaugh boys forpotten her also, and her two "rev- trend fathers," Cyril McPhee and Pat-' Pat-' rii-k Downey, have not written recently. recent-ly. Aay up in Montana she has one dear niece, who writes such very interesting in-teresting letters. Her name is Tessie ' r.eichle. Aunt Busy has . not heard ' from her for a long time. Writing of this little girl reminds Aunt Busy of something very pleasant that hap-Itnrd hap-Itnrd some months ago. She was sit-tinc sit-tinc at her desk, very busy writing, I with so much work to be done that she really did not know where to he-pin. he-pin. The day was a dark, deary sort of on. rainy and windy. In fact, it ' was the sort of day that is very dis-' dis-' eourasing. and Aunt Busy felt dread-; dread-; fa.'iy cross and old. Lying on her desk tvas a little blue envelope, postmarked I Willis. Mont. opening the letter. Aunt Busy found ii bunch of wild flowers, some dear little lit-tle forget-me-nots and wild pansies. They were sent by little Tessie from '. hr northern home, a loving message Jef love, cheer and good will to a tired, t cross old woman called Aunt Busy, j Those little flowers reminded Aunt I ttusy of green meadows, rippling brooks, and. most of all. of a sweet-fa sweet-fa -ed little girl with a heart of sunshine. sun-shine. Aunt Busy remembered the y, days in the long ago when she gaily i'hicked wild flowers on tne nms, wnn ; only happiness in her young heart. If I in ih" dim distant future little Tessie J will ever stand in need of Vheer and i encouragement, may some dear girl send a message to her, as she did to ! AUNT BUSY. ' LETTERS AND ANSWERS. j ; Salt Lake City, May 19. My Pear Aunt Busy: 1 have written to you once before, ; hut it was two years ago. 1 guess you have forgotten me. I was at St. Mary's i last Sunday and saw all the girls and b'.vs make their first holy communion. Th" girls all looked lovely, but I thought the boys were awkward. 1 ho;,,, t,, make mine next year. I aw your question about the $1,000, but as I i.'-ver expect to have that much :no:iey. I did noi see any use to answer an-swer 'it. Well, good bye, Aunt Busy. Your hn ing niece. A AGNES WATSON. f Aunt Busy rememb?rs hearing from you. Acnes." and she is pleased to hear 1 ft o;n you once more. She thinks you j ar a little harsh on the boys. Av.i t Busy thought the boys at St. ii Mary's last Sunday were all manly stn-1 line looking boys. Do you know, ht;i- gj,-i. Aunt Busy thinks that boys. 'J as a .lass, would do better in every ; ay if they only received more en-: en-: eo:j,'apement and less criticism from th-:r girl friends. Butte City, Mont., May 16. My Ix-ar Auntie This is my first let-! let-! to you. Having seen so many and '' a ; such nice letters. I thought I "oVid ,-,sk to be one of your nieces. I to school every day and am try-'lig try-'lig to be promoted next year. I will I i ' !" now, hoping that you will soon h V me vcrv well. Your loving niece, I ' NELLIE HANLEY. Ji A;. it: Busy is glad to welcome you, j ? ' . Nellie. She is, also pleased to I. " H1.1t you like the letters in this U )' -. tment. Send in good letters or M sho-t Mnries when ever you can. . Helena. Mont., May IS. ! I'm:- Aunt Busy I have for some ' ic intended to write to you and ask f ;" among your nieces. I am very - ' rested in you. Aunt Ilusy. and I ".- hke the Intermountain Catholic. We !i-u- taken it for a long lime. I like stories very much. I go to school ' : day and take lessons on the . i '.no: my brother plays on the violin. I f.K'.ss i will stop now, Aunt Busy. I xv:'h much love. 1 remain your fond I ' MILDRED CAUSON. I Aunt Busy is charmed with your let- I I'T. Mildred. She hopes that you will it he.-,,nH one -of her regular correspond- ' ins for the future. Aunt Busy thanks i y "u for your kind words about the pa- AYrite soon again. J Spare the Toads. I "no ,,f the most beneficial studies to " fruit grower, gardener or farmer is ? z-'logy. particularly that special part 'hat teaches him the friends and en-' en-' "ties of his crops. For many of the )"Ms that destroy either tree, shrub.- v vino or fruit there is some parasite, in- ' s-ei or larger form of animal life that l"'s upon he pest, frequently obliterat- ir'f? it. One such common animal is the t(aJ. which is thus well described by 1'i'ofessor Gorman of the Kentucky experiment ex-periment station: . "AYhile the farmer sleeps the toad is i I searching his lawn and garden and corn field for insects and their relatives. rela-tives. Cut worms, ants, potato hugs and chinch bugs are delicacies to him, and he snaps them up steadily with hia loose flop of a tongue, until his sides stick out and he can hold no more. Ths number and variety of insects with which he fills his stomach during a thing is astonishing." May his tribe increase! He does his work without parade, while the mole, in its hunt for insects, tears up the earth and does about as much harm as good, although much advertised as this farmer's friend. A LIFE-TIME LOVE. J (This poem, which has gone the rounds of the press anonymously, was written by Katherine E. Conway, and was first published in Donahoe's Magazine.) "h, I am tired of having you dead-Tired dead-Tired of an anguish uncomforted. 1 never ect used to your empty place. Nor cured of missing your vanished face. For a year's young love a man mourns a year You were half of my life for a life-time, dear; . ! And i'll of its sunshine and all of it9 spring. And the grace and sweetness of everything. every-thing. More love for the asking old friends and new? Yes, but where is a friend like you? All that woman and man can be, Lovers and comrades and friends were we. Did our love begin with our lives begun? Was there ever a day when we were not one? Had we ever a separate hoi)e or fear? Oh, can you, can you remember, dear? Oh. I am tired of having you dead Tired of waiting the word unsaid; Tired of the night and tired of the day. In the house that was home till you went aw way. Oh, life-time love, don't you mind how we Plichted our troth for eternity? "Till death do part us oh, short and slight: When death has parted, till death unite." Oh, life-time love, in your heaven pray. That God may speed us our meeting day; For I'm broken with sorrow uncomforted. So tired, so tired, or having you dead. A Story for Our Lady's Month. The rain had abated, and there was a faint light from the moon. Margaret hurried on, her Rosary clasped tightiy in her hands, her heat beating fast. She tried to say her Rosary for the ' dying girl, and to quiet herself, and ' had almost succeeded when she heard 1 a rough voice salute her, and by the dim light recognized Jim Salter, one of th wnrst characters of the villatre. "Well, my pretty maid, and where are you going at this time of night?" "To fetch the priest and the doctor for Miss Francis, who is dying," said Margaret. "Oh. for the love of God and our la4y, don't hinder me," and she turned her white, imploring face to the man. "A likely story you'd be sent on such an errand! You're just out on your own account and are ashamed to own it." Poor Margaret shook like an aspen as-pen leaf, but answered firmly: "I would not go out at night except to help the dying for anything in the world; oh, please help me and show me the way to the priest's house that Miss Lucy may not die without the last sacraments." sac-raments." "I help you! why, don't you know I am the worst man in the parish?" "But your lady loves sinners and will reward you if you help me." "And if I do, will you pray for me?" said the man in a changed tone and with a look of respect at the pure sweet face raised to his. "I will say my Rosary for you every day for a year," she answered, eagerly. "Will you, really?" and the rough voice shook. "Well, I guess it's a precious long time since any one prayed for me: my old mother used, but she's dead long ago God rest her soul." "Perhaps she is praying for you in heaven now," suggested aMrgaret. "Pr'aps. You needn't fear, my girl: I'll take every care of you. and it shan't be my fault if priest and doctor don't get to Elmfield tonight." And so these strange compactions went on through the darkness together and when a little later they met a group of tipsy men, he drew her as gently as her own father might have done, into a quiet lane to avoid them, j and showed her a short way to the I presbytery. j "There," he said, as they reached the door, "mayhap the priest wouldn't have come for me, and I don't care to face him just yet: but the doctor will, so just you go back with the father, and I'll bring the doctor in no time." He did not wait to be thanked, but strode off into the larkness. The dawn was just breaking as Margaret, Mar-garet, in the company of the priest, and of one greater and higher still, who stoops to visit our poor dwellings in our hour of utmost need, entered once more the gates of Elmfield. The ' doctor met them at the door, and, rev-I rev-I erently kneeling, whispered to the priest that there was no time to lose. Thev found Miss Francis supported in her mother's arms, the death damp on her brow, but a radiant smile came ! over her face as she saw the priest, and then for an instant looked gratefully grate-fully at Margaret. Margaret found Esther in the kitchen trying to prepare breakfast, but still white and trembling. She threw herself into her sister's arms, exclaiming, "Oh, Maggie, I am glad to see you safe: no wonder our blessed lady has helped you for you deserve it, but I " and she sobbed passionately. "Hush, dear," said Margaret, softly. "Our dear Lord has come to give Miss Lucy strength to pass through the valley val-ley of the shadow of death, let us praise and thank him." "I did not know it was such an awful thing to die, and Miss Lucy is younger than I am: as I knelt there watching and heard her mother praying for her, I wondered what would have become of my soul if I had been in her place. You were right when you said, Maggie, that 1 could keep this month in our lady's honor, and instead of that" her tears choked her. "But our blessed lady is the refuge of sinners," whispered Margaret, "and next month is the month of sacred heart." Esther looked up more hopefully. hope-fully. "I will go to confession today, if I possibly can, and try to be a true child of Mary in the future." When Miss Francis' anniversary occurred oc-curred the following May, her poor mother, who had never recovered the shock of her death, was confined to her bed, needing constant attendance, and j receiving "it not only from Margaret. 1 but from Esther, now a modest, quiet maiden: "her dear children of Mary, ' as Mrs. Francis called them, striving to imitate their Holy Mother in consoling the afflicted, and their devotion and purity iu thought, word and deed, winning win-ning souls to the love of Jesus and of his blessed mother. Jim Salter could not forget his talk with Margaret, and stopped her one day to ask if she thought she could take him to the priest. We need not say how gladly she consented; .and as long as she lives he will thank God for his meeting with a brave, pure-hearted child of Mary. THE FROG'S RIDDLE. (By Carolyn Wells.) A frog once gave an afternoon tea, And invited a Booster and a Bee; Fro? sat in the middle And gave them a riddle, "And this is the riddle," said he. "Dear friends, ran either of you tell me, Why is a Rooster like a Bee?" They both answered: "Yes, sir; We're each a good guesser. And we each have a comb, you see!" Youths Compinion. Tillie's Lesson. When my grandma was young little girls were taught to do many useful things. Little girls thought it no hardship hard-ship to wash and dry the dishes, and spread up the beds after a stronger hand had shaken the great feather mattresses; and all the doll clothes of those days must have been well made, because the "little mothers" were given every day a lesson in sewing, crocheting crochet-ing or knitting as soon as they were old enough to learn. One day, one summer, grandma's mo- j ther called her three little daughters to her and said: "I am going to teach you j to knit. I will give a reward for the first pair of socks; and how proud papa will be to wear them! Then she gave Lucinda, Alida and little Tillie each a great ball of yarn and a set of shining knitting needles. She patiently spent a great deal of time in showing them how to "set up I a sock" on three needles and how to hold it, and how to use the fourth needle to really "knit." The maid, Dinah, was to show them how to shape the heel and toe, and "narrow" and "bind off," as she herself was to be away for some weeks. So every day, very soon, each little girl took her ball and needles, and ', went away to her own favorite nook; and for some time a lively race went on for the prize.- Then Alida began to weary, even Lucinda's sock grew very slowly, though the knitting always showed i even and smooth. But how little Tillie did work! Her small fingers fairly flew. Her little white pet rabbits nibbled at the ball of yarn, and wondered why Tillie did not have a word to say to them. Everyday Every-day she took her little" stool out into the grape arbor and diligently knitted away, though the shouts of the children chil-dren paddling in the brook came to her ears, the loudest among them the voices of her two sisters. "I will finish first," she said. "I will win the prize! I know I can!" After a very long time to Tillie, and j a surprisingly short time to the sis-1 sis-1 ters, Tillie announced it was on the day after -mamma's return home i that her socks were finished; and then j Alida wished she had not been having I such a good time and had more to show than just one-half of a sock, not ' very tidy looking. Lucinda had fin-I fin-I ished one sock, and it was very prettily i and evenly knitted; but she, too, was ! ashamed that little Tillie had outdone her. Tillie laid the pair of socks on mamma's lap with a triumphant little smile. The three little girls hovered near while mamma slipped one of the socks over her hand. But what do you think? There were about 100 little holes where Tillie had dropped a stitch every now and then! Alas! and the other sock was quite as bad. Mamma smiled as she said: "These socks will have to be darned before they can be worn." Alida laughed merrily, but Lucinda put her arms around poor little Tillie, whose tears were falling softly over the careless work. "Never mind, Tillie," she said, "you will get the prise, for you did knit the J first pair!" Well, grandma's - mamma grandma was Tillie gave them each a prize for learning to knit a little work box, with needles, scissors, thread and tiny thimble. "Tillie has learned something else, too. I think." said mamma, as she stopped to kiss the tear-stained and sorry little face. Then she gave Tillie her work box, a pretty blue one, and said in a whisper: "Make haste slowly." slow-ly." Grandma says it has been over fifty years since she won that prize, and she has forgotten how to knit, but the lesson les-son she learned along with her knitting she will never forget. Little Folks. OUR LADY'S CROWN. There was a statue of our Blessed Mother That, through the summer heat and winter snow. Honor received from pious country people, peo-ple, In a hamlet chapel, years ago. One bright day a little lad came thither, In his hands a wreath of flowers fair: Fresh, sweet blossoms as a gift to Mary From the eager child heart hastening there. But. alas! the sunny face grew troubled And the tearful eyes refused to see: Strained on tiptoe he was very tiny Scarcely reached he to the state's knee. Choked with sobs, he called aloud on Mary. "Mother, won't you bend vour head to me? I've a crown that I would wish to place there. A crown of flowers, mother, just for thee!" O grace of love! O miracle most tender! The fair head bows beneath the little hands That they may crown it with the meadow blossoms. Love's all as Mary knows and understands. under-stands. The legend says that still inclining Drops the head, that doubters all may see Our Lady's answer, in her love maternal. To childish pleading; "Mother, bend to me?" M. Berran. |