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Show 1 m Boys ana 8irl$... I EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. f ,. (jppartment Is conducted solely In the Inter- ' I Tni: ur ?irl and hoy readers. I Mnt Busy Js to hear any timo from the I . nnd nephews who read this page, and to glvs I " all th adv,ce an(J he,P ln her fcower. 1 rfte on one Fide of the paper only. n not have letters too lonsr. . . it AricW' stories and verses will be gladly received I rjnrcful'y e3IteL f The manuscripts of contributions not accepted will i Mturnrd. I Andres aH Jpttrs to Aunt Busy. Intermountaln I J&cjn Ct'- ' AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. 1 pp.ir Xirffs and Xcphews Aunt Busv sends 1 T.vary an holy pictures this week, so if I fr,y 'or pirl not hearing from her will kindly 1 i,e. Aunnc Busy will not forget to send the pretty 3 jd? and riture- ext W0(-'k Aunt Busy will an- sr.'ther prize contest for her devoted little I ;.jfnds. lovingly, " AUXT BUSY. I LETTERS AND ANSWERS. Cheyenne, Wyo.. June 10. pefiT Aunt Buy I meant to write to you bell be-ll -.:e bf-raue I wanted a rosary; but I seemed too i riiV. vou 2' t0 he country this summer J : pr-n't y1" remember writing once about all the tuf. flnT'1 fln Fnakos you saw in the country? I fjllVrito soon again. Auntie. Your loving niece, MAY WHITE. I- Aunt Busy hopes you will enter her next con-dar. con-dar. No. she is not going to the country .v;t rear. She intends to take her summer rest in ;prown bn.-k yard, where there are no ants, bugs, 3n?quitps. snakes, cows, bulldogs or any other I "wful things. Poor old Aunt Busy! She 3'ust had ! jdreaHful time last year; poor, funny, fat old I Toman. She h?t her spectacles with fright, her 1 fanny t-r:h fell out and she nearly lost her wits. I .tat Bu-y has taken the liberty of writing your I ranK5 May. dear, instead of Mae. This fad of writ-I writ-I ins Mar. Mayme. Mamie, Maayme. Maeyme. etc., ; -;rf8H of May and Mary, is all nonsense, and Aunt I p-jy intends to discourage such foolishness every I she sees it. You are not to blame, dear, but I ;hf older people, who should teach you better. I fl-r;?pc.v,ii again, dear, but sign May, not Mae. I THE LITTLE BOY AND HIS DRFAM I 7af Littl.' Boy smiled in his sleep that night, 1 A wandered to Twilight Town; I And his l'aee lit up with a heavenlv light I Through the shadows that drifted down; I Em lie woke next morning with tear-stained eye I In the lipht of the gray dawn's gleam, iAr:d out fronMhe stillness we heard him cry: I've lost my dream mv dream !" I kvA hp told us then, in his childish way, 1 Of the wonderful dream he'd known; I E- had wandered away from the land of play To the distant Land of the Grown; Hp had won his share of the fame and fight In the struggle and toil of men; Ar.d ho sohbed and siged in the breaking light: I "I wain my dream again!"' 1 A? the years passed by the Little Boy grew Till he came to the Land of the Grown; I And th" dream of his early youth came true "I The dream that he thought had flown; let onoe again he smiled in his sleep Smiled on till the gray dawn's gleam. ; When those near by might have heard him weep: 'T want my dream my dream!'' Fnrhp dreamed of the Yesterdays of Youth, And the smile on a mother's face; A hearth of oldtime faith and truth In the light of an old home place: Hp had won his share of the fame and fight Ir, the struggle and toil of men I T" hp sobbed and sighed, in the breaking light: I "3 wai t my dream again!'' I Grantland Rice. The Story of a Silk Gown. . -'J: Rovers! And prav who are the Borers, , Vy are new lodgers; nice people. The hus-trr.rks hus-trr.rks in a factory.'' 'And tl)' oldest daughter is ill V . r. msdame. The doctor came twice yester- Pnonmonia I think he called it. If madame '.i h(-!p them in any way! Madame is so char- ''Nhifji story did you say V JLp .-fvnth, madame, and the first door to the "W veil. I will go at once." Jtit madnme has her beautiful silk dress on. If -.Gtry.f. hhr,, Sp0i it C jbt a lovely dress it was! All tucks and lace, en 1 ; ' ' 11,rs- A,K how well madame remem-Cv- ttK' r r"t Ximp "no na ""orn it. t Count Bu- 5 rnaMm e ; What a sensation she had created 'r,c t n:f.rrj ,1P room An( then, the whispers .!;' 'y rh-ard! "How lovely!" "Just per-. per-. " " ' !1t style!'' A smile of gratified vanity r lips as she recalled these flattering re-"T', re-"T', "lV"1 ''" anxious she had been lest the "iav-' ''t ' ::"f P mi'?nP 'n time! "For Thurs-r'!T' Thurs-r'!T' 1 "''''f' " 1np busy dressmaker had de-..i.c.j de-..i.c.j M ()Hvfi ajrea(jy morp orders than we can ,. , .Ms.iame S. knew how to get her way. ,v' '': cavio,'' she said, knitting her pretty tJr"v "I n) afraid that 1 must take my custom , hf-r-; jr,r I liave positively nothing to wear. 'i:'1'' J',1V, i"!uf-thing new for the occasion." And i. ''' ' "'-s.-' silf, j1a( promised, with a rather '': m''A:- Thursday at 3 o'clock." .;p , ' i';f';i-iiiL' refleet ions brought Madame S. to VrvP r,: 'V- flight of the stairs. After pausing . or;,l,! ,(J gather breath, she turned toward a ir'!" Vr'''lcu 'T'.vrr! was written in large, sprawl- -..ara.-teri. ;jnd rapped gentlv. A woman came irT ! ,hr kn"rk' had evidently been tint' - -i;r'r f-Vf's snowed signs of recent tears. ps k!llf 10art was fij pvmpathy. t V1 :at 'our daughter is ill. Is she better? aiC:V''K' ,i0 rri,,y 9ho Allowed the mother's ii'v,: V"1 h!c"w aware for the first time-of a bed i'CV pirl r'f pome fifteen summers lay propped pi4r,J) Madame S. was too accustomed to K 'l , llfrr- With a feeling of intense pity, ..jj-npfi-Hci' more to the mother. tKi 11 happen? Has she alwavs been del- r,;'1'' "r':" paid the poor woman. "Only a fort-it fort-it mv f'hild was in perfect health. You see tikvr Ua'v- daughter works at a fashion-of fashion-of Ttri!'SSnniJor's nd with the Xrw Year a press 4 8ct in, so that the child rarely came home t Thursday t", raiili a "i1 , 2 ln llle morning, in order who wanted iM m helonged to a lady sa d Madln o TmediaI.v. She couldn't wait, she hileni at tb ;WS, hW peoPle are- The cold a.rc"erSed t Comi straiht from which has wLTt my dauhter caught the chill which has brought her to death's door." Aradami S ine0mani who rdered that dress!" said fortything?gnan be in her shoes to ltrlkie710ment Sick girl called her moiir iherlxt 'lTTed' Pinti st"iRht at tS I' "f 1S lhe -the lovely gown-ve gown-ve vorked so hard to finish." he,rd b7S tlV3Uh faint,-v utterpd' overheard over-heard by Madame S. As their full significance fi Si S" Std Spcechless -it Wor! death! e' She WOuId have caused hcr .l.u-l'l011' grP?d hcr out of e door and l K 3V rea' 1,1 V8hl her seIf"l0Te whispered ill t AmCl Ut -you dMn,t kno; yo couldn't tell. Madame S was too honest to make an at- yuyi t .i-justmcation. Throwing herself at ' ,1 1 .uer ,u,cinx- she prayed long and earnestly ear-nestly that the child might recover, and she herself be st a red a terrible burden of remorse. Her praver was heard; that night the sick girl took an unexpected unex-pected turn for the better. Every delicacv that wealth could supply was placed at her disposal bv Madame S., and before long the patient was on the high road to recovery. iSeVreral years,later, a relative who was staving with Madame S. made this remark: "Dear Jeanne, you are now so much more considerate con-siderate toward others. What can have effected the change? Madame S. laughed gaily as she replied: "Ah, you would like to know? Well, the truth is that 1 possess a splendid talisman Against selfish-ness- hangs upstairs in my cupboard; and I wouldn't part with it for anything, though it is only an old silk gown." Ave Maria. First Communion. How sweet they look, those hundreds of little girls, dressed in snowy white and wearing white wreaths and veils, that bespeak the pure, innocent, young, modest hearts they so daintily cover, says Marie Points in the Morning Star of New Orleans. How noble they seem, those numerous bands of manly little boys, wearing the white badge of their First Communion pinned over their hearts, and on the right arm the insignia that tells the world they have joined forever the ranks of their Blessed Savior. There is something connected with the sight of a little child robed in the spotless garb of a First Communicant that must insensibly touch the hardest hard-est heart. To us, who have the privilege of being members of the one true fold, it brings tears of love and memory of that hallowed day, when all untainted un-tainted from the world we stood in the ranks of that pure white army and approached for the first time the banquet of our Lord. Dear little boys and girls of the First Communion classes, never forget that sweet, happy day of your First Communion. Let its blessed memory abide with you, keeping you pure and spotless from the world; let the fragrant flowers planted this day grow and blossom forever in your heart. Xever, never again can life hold for you a day more pure, more free, more heaven-sent. A great Emperor who had been dethroned and banished ban-ished to a lonely island far from his empire, was asked, as life was waning, which was the happiest day of his life. Those around him listened intently, intent-ly, because all thought he would say the day when he was crowned emperor of France. But he answered, simply, ''The day of my First Communion." And so it i-.iust ever be with all. Life can never hold a more beautiful or happier hour than this spotless hour. I WONDER WHY. Iy mamma's gone away today, And grandma's" cross ; My mamma told me to be good. I've tried to help just all I could, And haven't done a thing that should Make grandma cross. I cleared away the breakfast things Quick as a fly; The gravy spilled a little mite, Although I hugged the platter tight, But, if I was an "awful sight," I didn't cry. I went upstairs to make the beds And dust around; I filled the bath-tub to the brim So Jack Tar could learn to swim And then I jumped in after him Before he drowned. I really thought the parlor should Be dusted, too; - An angel fell down on his face And hit a royal Worcester vase I put the pieces back in place With Stickum's glue. I've been as good as good can be But grandma's cross ; I've swept, I've ironed all my clothes, I've washed the windows with the hose What in the world. do you suppose Makes grandma cross? Sara A. Davis, Children's Magazine. DICK'S CHUM. A newsboy sat on the curbstone crying, when a pedestrian halted and laid his hand on the youngster's young-ster's shoulder. "What's wrong, sonny lost something?' "Xaw. I ain't. Oh. oh. me chum's dead." "Oh, that's too bad! How did he die?" "Runned over!" "So! Was there an inquest?" "Inques'" nothin'! He just hollered oncet, and rolled over dead; and I wisht I was dead, too, along of him." "Cheer up; you can find another chum. "You wouldn't talk that way if you'd knowed Dick. There wam't nothin' Dick wouldn't a' done for me, and now he's d-d-dead and buried. I'm a-wishin' I was. too." - "Look here," said the man; "go and sell your papers, and take some poor little ragged boy and be churn to him. It'll help you. and do him good." "Pshaw, mister! Where's there a boy wot'd go round nights with me, and be cold and hungry and outen doors and sleep on the groun' like Dick? An' he wouldn't tech a bite till I'd had enough. He was a Christian, Dick were." ...., "Then you can feel that he s all right, if he was such a faithful friend and a good boy." "Bov? Dick a boy? Dick wam't no ragged, good-for-nothln' boy, mister. Dick were a dog." The New San Franciscian. . |