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Show i ! jut Boys and 0irl$... ! EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. ! . derartment Is conducted solely In the Inter- 1 J ' our P'rl and boy readers. 1 , t Bu5" I-" P,31 10 hear ftny ,Imo from th" . nd nephews who read this page, and to give J nieces .. fidvlre and help In her power. I ltiewrti" on one ride of the paper only. 1 no V have loiters too lore. ; n ici -tI Tories and verses will be gladly received 1 , J i "pjvfui'.y "-he manuscripts of contributions not accepted will returned. " iros all letters to Aunt Busy. Intermountam r Lnke City. AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. J j Sweet Little Dorothy White. I ,jnt IJn-y lms 1 lie sweetest little niece, whoso I aue j.. IV.rcthy W4iite. She is a dainty little : t (,nv ;t years old. with large, dark eyes, pretty ' j tTo curls and what is best, the most charming ; I ,.niner. Aunt Btisy has always lhoupht her a '' j ie'rv !'iir , ,lUt lnc liast wce decided lhat I .p'ii- :i particularly dear little girl, and this is! j y. ! year there is given at the Salt Lake j .ir;!tiv trrand concert for the little folks at the j (tyni' S;- nn nihanage. This is a great event j;.,! ' ; A.' nud over 200 children appear. Little I I I'brotliv l"1 agisted i& many of the concerts, hprel'y l.eliing to make much money for the little ; j ;rs jin'l ix-'ys. who have no homes, no mammas nl "pa):is. During the past week Dorothy called ! Iir of tlic women in charge of the concert, and i .'aid in l'"r rrtty, mannerly little way: '''When jro liiive rehearsal for the orphanaee concert? ! 1 always like to he in the concert for the poor I tlc cliil'iren, and mamma and papa, too, wish me 10 wnat can t0 nCP'" When Aunt Busy I j)paTj tlii. hc decided that the reason Dorothy Mi such ii nice girl was because her parents have I sxvayc tiiught. their little daughter to have a I ixrfrt. tender, loving heart, for children who are ; not !n fortunate. This is the proper spirit for i h'ftlr cliil'iren to have, and Aunt Busy shall always I rrmend'fT wee Dorothy as sweet Dorothv White, j AUNT BUSY. I Lkuv Aunt Busy: I have not written to you 1 fir a Ions, long time. I am sure you will be glad . to hoar from me, as T often think of you. Are vnu very well. Aunt. Busy? I hope to hear from vou von. Yours sincerely. FLORENCE MAY LYNCH. , Yes. Aunt Busy is very pleased to hear from vnu. Wliy have you neglected her for so long, j Florence? Aunt Busy hopes that you will con- I ;inue to think of her so that you will write often. A Moon Dream. (By E. D:. M.) i was at the close of a long, unusually warm jay in September, and little Muriel, tired with olay. was glad to finish her prayers and tumble in-; in-; io her cool, white bed at an earlier hour than was ,vr wont. It was the last day of vacation; to-:! to-:! morrow school began, and Muriel dreaded that time with all the strength of her little heart. How ;hc hated- those horrid lessons, and that stuffy ; -dioolroom! And, worst of all, how she dreaded I i cross teacher! Well, there was a long night be- Itoii. anyway; and with that comforting thought , 1 -ho fell asleep, her head resting on her hand. I! A. silvery, mist-robed moonbeam stole through the open window, and, spying the winsome lassie, 'i flooded the little room with soft light that he j tiifht see her better. A charming picture she made J h she lay asleep, her golden curls all tossed about her face, a wild-rose blush betraying the past day's xeitemrnt. But the discontented curve on the -wret lips and the frown that puckered the fore-nad fore-nad t o k away much of the usual charm. Even n sleep that hated school would disturb her Jreams; and, oh, how she wished tomorrow would 5 .ever come! Then she seemed to awake and found lie moonbeam looking at her. "Will you come ith me to a land where there is no school?" he ni. '"Oh. gladly!" she cried; and in the ' same nonipnt found herself borne gently out of the' win-, win-, km- ami into the warm summer night. Hipher and higher they rose, until the great ' , riiios seemed like specks in the distance, and the Mars grew more and more brilliant as they neared tlie heavenly spheres. Stilf on they sped, the moonbeam and the little girl, upward and upward, i and she dosed her eyes tight for dizziness. Star j : after star they passed, each more glowingly beau-f beau-f i T if ul than the last, until opening her eyes, Muriel f j found herself in a curious country. Everything: ; 'as pray-coored and dull; the houses were all -!:ade ,,f pray and very queerly shaped; and the i P'ojde were ;il pray, too; even her own moonbeam - ruide veined strange and unfamiliar, j They passed through a little lane in "Moon-vile. "Moon-vile. ' aii-l found the road thick with gray dust, '"ell.' she cried, "this seems like home, anyway!"' A little ;riiy cottage stood near the road, cone- 'iiiipeil ami snug, with a curling wreath of gray j -inolcr snaliiiLr out of the chimney. Her guide rnpvl at the door; and upon its being opened by ; :l dear htile ady he exclaimed, "Oh. it's so good to ; " h.nif. airain!" and kissed his wife. "I-ii'l, irl," ho said, turning to her, "this Is j ny it(. Wx.. Moonbeam; and we are going to let inti liv,. M;Tj, u an( jievcr po.to schoAl." ?. M'irie! .-lapped . Cr hands in delight. i r, .,r ,,v T will be so good! I never ; "M;?!;t th.-- i,k.o . "ke this." M.inlie; :. st. J at her rapture and led i 11 r in.,-,,, v.. t0 ., jj; (, i .droom furnished in gray, ; VfH.'ok!!; a big. ,',' - orchard. ! l'"L'-v -::r. say.- niv.iibers of children playinc;, j he;;;- ,,f .hildish laughter. Shehur- H :'d fl',v, ,, ,1(.rt thei;., and they came toward her, !1 vi " ''' -rerting on their lips, br,t no word of I 'u''"r'!!i" ' -ea.od them. A pretty picture she mad, 1 tliev -..). r,.fl around her her dainty white t I '"r A' r '-".lulling oves. and her soft, curls blowing j 11 ilx- wi: .!. 1 , don't you make a noise?" ie asked. "I s I -ay. , rr.-un wlion T plav games; it's lots of 1 I'Ju. ; J p I i , .r,:' 'hf littl,. ones never spoke a word, and f j J" "1 'id doAvncast that Muriel felt she ; "i !ie wronjr thing, and tried again. I . ll" you like- living here?" she questioned. No I ',r; 1'K" -I uriel was startled. "Don't you ever I whispered. Still no reply. Then Mu- .; -'i'i --land it no longer, and ran in to Mrs. M"rJi to toll ju.r about it. :, 1, r hi, i.l mi-tress drew the small visitor to one ' and siil: i ' Sn .K." ';U''' ?irls are .he ones who would not I w-horV' "'r'1 .Wn'" t'1C-V ,VCrC 0" tn3 CTe 'liild "''.f'"lnfr- r- Moonbeam searches out the if !i(.rif v'111' 1nu'c's of tfJars on 1'lG'r cJiepks; 811,1 h're ,!!r!" ''la1 1-v hate schools, he brings them ( n, " r" , v, u the name of school is silenced. W th?' 7 ' :""K'- iwy may r,lay aI1 day if they Iike' sjj,, ,',1.,'1j" 'f-'ver speak again, because, you see," . " ""iiiiu. , vitji a quiet smile, "everything we do here we do well; and as the children who are brought here have not studied long enough to speak English either correctly or fluently, and we have no schools in which to teach them, we command com-mand them, under thfe severest penalties, not to speak at all. Now you understand why they did not answer vou when you spoke to them. Muriel was frightened. This was a new aspect of affairs; she began to think she did not like the Moon as well as she had at first concluded. How terrible it would b she thought, to be obliged to keep silence all the time. Why. it would be worse than school a thousand times worse. "Oh, I want to go home!" she wailed. "Take me away from here!" 'That is not so easy," sighed the dame. "You will have to go heforc the court ere that can be decided." So before the court Muriel went. There sat the "Man m the Moon," stroking his long, gray beard in a most imposing way; and in front of him, in semi-circles, sat the judges and councillors, all in gray. Muriel, pale and trembling, stood before them, not daring to look up. "You are. accused of hating school," came in sonorous accents from the "Man in the Moon." Prisoner, do you plead guilty?" "Oh .'" sobbed Muriel, "I did hate school, but I'll never hate it again; and I'll study hard, if you will only let me go home, please, dear Mr. Moon .Man !" There was a moment's silence; then "Send her back to earth!" came the deep voice again, "and give her another chance." A little later Muriel found herself on her wav to earth, having this time as her guide a stray sunbeam sun-beam on its way to the damp, noisome places on earth where seldom a ray of sunlitrht is seeo. The clouds through which they passed were all aglow with a soft, rosy brightness: and tho sunbeam, passing through, tinted their edges with gold. At last she saw the tall church spires piercing through the early morning, mist and then, little by little, other buildings. On and on they flew, and finally hovered over green meadows and fields of golden grain swaying m the gentle breeze. Little white houses nestled in groves of trees or at the foot of protecting hills, and there at last she saw the schoolhouso! Muriel's heart leaped as she saw it. A little while and she would be at home yes, there it stood, the place she loved above all others; and there was her own little room, with the window wide open, and the curtain ruffles fluttering in the breeze, just as she had left it when she was taken away by Mr. Moonbeam. Moon-beam. The sun was in. a blaze of glory when she bade farewell to the little sunbeam which had guided her so well; and she snuggled close in her cory bed, as she thought how good it felt to be home. What noise is that which keeps disturbing her? It sounds agm and again, and at last she sits up to listen. It is her mother calling: "Murid, Muriel! Get up, dear! You will be late for school," Muriel jumped out of bed. "All right," she cried, "Til be down in a minute." min-ute." In a flash she remembered her strange dream. "Fll keep my word," she whispered, looking out of her window toward the great blue heavens; and the dim outline of the moon, still visible in the morning sky, seemed to register her sweet promise. And keep her word she did. carrying off the highest high-est honors when school closed that year. Ave Maria. Stars and Stockings. "Yes,'' said Annabel, carefully putting the finishing fin-ishing touch to an impossible red cow browsing in a field of equally impossible grass that spread greenly across her canvas, "there's got to be more money in this family some way. The dear Daddy Doctor is doing his level best, and mother is a master mas-ter at making one dollar cover two dollars' worth of things, but just the same there has got to be more or some of us -will be going without. I don't mind confiding to you, Robert, that 1 am going to earn that extra money." Rod shifted his strap of newspapers to the other oth-er shoulder. "How?" he inquired laconically. : '"By just what I'm doing this minute. I mean to be a great artist. Of course, there are other things a body could be, but I think I'd rather like to be famous as well as rich. You know, somebody some-body says I think it's Emerson, or maybe George Washington anvway, he says, 'Hitch your wagon to a star.' That means, aim high, Robbie, and I mean to." "That's all right," said Rob, surveving the cow with critical and not altogether friendly eyes, "only it kind of strikes me that it might be a good plan to find out first which particular star belongs to you before you hitch too tight." "Now, Robert!" Annabel's voice was patient, as befitted one who dealt with that difficult creature; crea-ture; a boy "that's exactly what I'm doing. All the girls say my paintincs arc not quite as good as Miss Peterson's yet, but you wait and see. Robbie Brickett." "Ycs'm, I will," remarked Robert, and went off down the walk whistling significantly, "In the Sweet By and By!" "Annabel! Annabel!" called mother from the sewing room, "could you come and help me a little while, dear ?" "Yes, mother, I'm coming." Annabel laid down her brush w-ith a regretful sigh. "It'spretty hard not to have your talents appreciated by your family. fam-ily. But they'll feel differently when I begin to sell my paintings. Oh, I can't wait for Miss Peterson to see them! Of course, she will tell me to study, and perhaps she will offer to help me herself." Elaborate "dreams of fame and fortune overflowed over-flowed the sewing room and did not increase either the quantity. or quality of the mending Annabel ac- j complishcd that afternoon. The next dayj when Robert stopped in with the paper he found 4 very subdued girl darning stockings stock-ings in a corner of the piazza, without fveu a paint brush in sight. "Hello!" he observed cheerfully, dropping down on the top step and morning his perspiring forehead. fore-head. "Isn't 'genius burning?' What's happened to the enw?" "It's in the kitchen fire, Bobbie Brickett, and there is never going, to be another at least not for a long, long time, if ever." Robert stared at her in real concern. "Why, what's the matter. Bel? Anything happened?" hap-pened?" "Yes, there has. Miss Peterson called' yesterday and I showed them to her my pictures. I asked her to tell me the exact truth about them and she did. That's all." "Whew!" whistled Rob. sympathetically. "Didn't like 'cm ? Maybe she don't know." "Yes she does. She was perfectly nice about it, and didu't want to say much till I made her. Then she said it was all verv well if I wanted to pahit for pleasure, but for a profession she would advise me to try something else." m "Well," said Rob, with a bovish candor, "it's just what I think myself, honest it is. I'm awfully sorry, though, becau:? you're disappointed. But. say, don't look as if the underpinning had dropped out, entirely. You said there were plenty of other things to do. Look here, what I found yesterday. I didn't dare read it then, but maybe you'll feel more like hearing it today." Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled out a dingy scrap of paper and read: "'Hitch your wagon to the old horse if there doesn't happen to be any star handy.' I don't suppose sup-pose Emerson wrote it, but it sounds kind of sensible." sen-sible." Annabel reached for the paper. "I shouldn't wonder if I'd get along faster," she said, ruefully. "Anyway, I'm going to do it literally tomorrow. I'm going to drive over to Mrs. Raymond's and see if she doesn't want mo to darn her stockinnrs for 2 cents a hole she has seven boys to darn for. I know I can do that well, and T've come to the conclusion con-clusion that I'd better do what is close at my hand instead of wasting my time trying to do something too big and far away for me. ! "I asked Miss Peterson if she didn't think people peo-ple ought to aim high, and she said: "Yes. dear, hut.it seems to me that aiming high means trying to make the very best of the talents and opportunity opportun-ity you have, rather than reaching after those that are beyond you. tl isn't much what you do that counts, as how you do it." "So I'm not going to give up "aiming high, Pob-bie, Pob-bie, only I'm going to do it in a different way. I've just as much faith in hitching to a star as ever, but I &uess you were right about its being a good plan to find out first whether the star belongs to vou or not." The Dreamland Train. When I would go to fairyland, Upstairs. the station lies. Just after dark the good train leaves; An early start is wise. I take a special sleeping car;1 There is no fare to pay. But mother, dear, collects a kiss Before I start away. And then she tucks me in my berth And turns the light down low J always fall asleep before -The train begins to go. Through all the night the train flics on; It is a famous run. And when the morning comes at last I'm awakened by the sun. And then I find I'm somehow home And in my little bed. Do you suppose 'twas all a dream, As my big sister said ? The son of the late Protestant Archbishop o Canterbury, who is now a Catholic priest, Rev. Father Robert Hugh Benson, recently utterc' these words concerning converts and the sanctil of the Catholic church: "Another thing I notice in the Church in England Eng-land is the extraordinary number of conversion-which conversion-which take place. Conversions of every kind ar-being ar-being recorded, both amongst rich and' poor, educated edu-cated and uneducated, and to me it, is most satisfactory satis-factory to learn that a largo number of blackguards black-guards are coming into the Church. If it were possible pos-sible to add another mark to the Church it wouh' bo that she really did gather under her wings th-absolute th-absolute blackguard. The Church takes sinner-in, sinner-in, and looks after them in a way in which no othc-organization othc-organization can, and a man who has lost all hop" still feels that there is something on earth in which he can seek and find hope, and that is the Catholiy Church. "Her sanctity is to be seen again in the way in which the people prav. I remember once observing a country boy the dirtiest I have ever yet set eye-on, eye-on, and who looked as if he had not taken off hi-clothes hi-clothes in six weeks. I remember he entered great church in which I was, and walked across the splendid marble floor as if absolutely at horn" every Catholic is at home in his church and... placing a chair near an altar, took out his rosary beads, closed his eyes in prayer, and for twenh' minutes remained absolutely motionless. But that is the spirit of Rome. There is holiness everywhere. every-where. I remember on another occasion visiting little church close to the city, where the Blessed Sacrament is always exposed. I remained there te minutes, and during that ten minutes the sacrc1 edifice was visited 'by the Queen of Italy, a grea prince of Rome, thirty shopkeepers, and twenty-beggars. twenty-beggars. All came naturally, and all as equal!" the children of the Divine Father." , m , i Reason knows that man becomes dwarfed the moment he loses his hold of God; and that the bond between him and God religion ceases to be religion if it discards its sovereign attributes. Tt declines from doctrinal truth and becomes but literature, lit-erature, philosophy or art; it can do nothing more ' for man. i |