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Show Iour.Boy$ atMl-ffirl$... 1 EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. I . This dpnnrtment is conducted solely in Jhe inter ! 1 ffis of our girl and hoy readers. I Auit Busy is slart to hear any time from th j nifcos iir.J nephews who read this pagre, and to give 5 th.-ni all the advice and help In her power. "Writ on one side of the paper only. Pa not have letters too Ions. Oripi'1 stories and verses will be gladly received and carefully edited. The mnnuscrijjts of contributions! not accepted will bo returned. Address nil t1crs to Aunt Busy. Inlermountain J mthoHc. fait Lake City. t . - LETTERS AND ANSWERS. Salt Lake City, October 11, 1907. Drnr Aunt Bust: This is my first letter to you. 1 :,'.n now g'omr to be one of your nieces (if you will lot me). I saw where my friend, Theresa, Avon the pnivor beads and was verv prlad she won them. 1' Vnnr loving niece, TERESA STEPHENS. -1 Yoti are very welcome, little Theresa. Aunt "Rny had often wondered why you never wrote to " lirr. Your friend Theresa if one of Aunt Busy', i 1 r-: nieces. ! Salt Lake City, Oct. 15, 1907. ? Dear Aunt Busy: I did not see my letter in the !.i)cr. although I had written. I am taking ste- j rnp-raphy here and music and I like it very much. I fro to mass every morning. We have some very funny times in shorthand. I do not forget to say j mv rosary every day. Your fond niece, MARY ARMSTRONG. I Aunt Busy will have to sec why your letter was not in the paper. Mary. Your penmanship is very pood and Aunt Busy means to p:ive you a special f prize. But only write on one side of the paper, "Mary, when writing for a newspaper. Be a good ; r fiirl and write often to Aunt Busy. ;! Bad Little Theresa. " '! B. id little Theresa is a irood little prirl. Really , tlii- iuay seem queer, but the fact remains that bad 4 little Theresa is really jrood. Theresa is 12 years 4 "Id. She has lijrht hair, a" sweet little round face, i red cheeks, blue eyes, a queer little freckled nose ;iiid quite the nicest manners of any little girl in I tile eil,V. . . t She is a good student and really a model child I but eh. deary me but she does write in the most ' .-iireless way that it is possible to write. This is ; why ho is "bad little Theresa." She thinks it the he-t kind of a joke to write carelessly and to spell j inenrroetly. In fact she glories in the thought that I -lie writes dreadfully. She always declares with preat emphasis. T am the worst writer in' the ; world." and any one seeing her writing cannot co'n-i co'n-i tradict even to be polite. But a few days ago. bad little Theresa learned a lesson that she will long remember. Some one who likes Theresa sent her a note asking her to attend an afternoon party where she would have a very happy time, with ice cream, cake, candy and many goodies. Theresa w; to reply in writing of course as to whether f she would accept the invitation. Theresa's friend i -received a very prompt reply, but she found it im-j im-j P"sible to read the letter of acceptance. She stud-i stud-i icd long find hard to decipher the dreadful looking letters. She hold the letter to the electric light, hoping this would aid her. She held it before a : mirror, she used a German, Latin. Italian, Swedish, Mexican and finally Chinese dictionaries, with no 3 avail. She finally gave the letter to an expert reader read-er of (crazy hand writing), but he gave it up, so i little Theresa waited one Ion" afternoon dressed 1 up in her best clothes, for the kind friends to take her to the party, but the friend not being able to i read the letter left Theresa in her little room wait-j wait-j ing, with the big tears running down from off her ; small nose and her heart quite broken. But the r fault was her own. She ''was the worst writer in : j the world,'' you see, and no one could read her an-j an-j uer to the invitation. Her writing looked either I like "chicken scratching," Battenburg lace work, 8 "crazy quilt" embroidery, anything but writing I from a child of civilization. Theresa had a severe . L's.son and she is now diligently practicing every I day on her writing, and very soon Aunt Busy means to give her a special prize for marked improve-! improve-! -niit. AUNT BUSY. A Summer's Sacrifice. 'T am very sorry, Barbara," said Mrs. Graham, i gently. I l or answer Barbara hid her thin face in her : i hands and cried. She was a pale girl, the daughter of a stout old farmer who was a profound believer t ni hard work both for himself and his family. And J so it. happened that when other girls were tending 5 V'n-ir dolls, Barbara was doing a woman's work, and in round of ceaseless drudgery was exhausting 1 1ni' strength and vigor of her young life. A year i c(.-i,rc. she had left the farm and found in Mrs. i (:v!. ain's pleasant nursery a sort of earthly Para- f ''. But lately something was wrong. Nature I " demanding a recompense for the long over-tax- I ' of the girl's strength. Poor Barbara drooped I v' -:':!:.- as the summer came on. and even little Bod f d too heavy for her tired arms, i "I don't know what to do about the girl." Mrs. ''' : '.:! said to her husband. "If I could take care 1 : j0 myself and give her a few weeks of ab- f ; r'-st, perhaps she would recover her strength, ''" 1 am afraid I can't possibly undertake any cx-kirdens." cx-kirdens." J And so it came about that this pleasant morn- 1 j; - ;;i dune, as gently as she could, the had given - :i,: .-j notice. J don't know what I shall do, ma'am'" j ' i i Ik- girl, sobbing. "I don't dare to go back ' ' ::ar's. and I haven't any friends anywhere." J at that moment the door opened and Claire I r'; ' i- :n. Claire had always thought the sunny nur-? nur-? v the pleasantest room in the house, but some- I ' 1 " cnnshine seemed out of place that morning i "' ' ' I' oked at Barbara's bowed figure and her "-''i's grave face. Even little Rob .opened his '! '' : with a comical look of dismay. ! , "VV:'-V- Barbar" -hat is the matter?" Claire ' "!. alarmed at . nnd of the girl's sobs. "''!!. Claire, -- to leave," cried Barbara; ' V"' !;:i"ving hei ; ). .n over her head ehe rushed l:' -'. " cy out. of t'K "tOffl. f . ' i';'r(' raised hi r Ma rtled eyes to her mother's ) ' "Oh, mamma!'' -die said half reproachfully. 1 know, mv do.ir," mswered Mrs. Graham with I 8 ',!..,., ,,c '"But Barbara is really unable to ' a:v "f Rob any longer. You arc going to the :!"''i!.t:!iPiS next week, and I shall miss the help you '''! rally give me. Aunt Mary since her illness, j '"!:.)!, s co rnUr1 my time and strength that I I J":ii!v need a capable nurse girl. It seems almost I Israel thing to send Barbara away; but I'm afraid !; necessary." Mrs. Graham went slowly out of the room, and I :.ure, oatehinpr her little brother vin her arms, sat ! ,; to ihink th.e matter over. v j '--'Poor Barbara! ,Ye wish we were rich, don?t ' ' i . -. we, Rob? Then we'd send her off to the country where she could grow well and strong acrain." Claire stopped as if a new and not very pleasant thought had struck her. "Oh, dear," she cried petulantly petu-lantly after a moment, "I wish I had been born without, a conscience." She put Rob down and walked away to the window. win-dow. "I just can't do 'it I" she said' to herself. "Give up that lovely scenery and all the fun I've counted on for weeks ? And my new mountain dress is so pretty!" Then the remembrance of Ba rbara's pale face rushed upon her and Ckire felt suddenly condemned. She came back to Rob after awhile and picked him gently off the floor. "Did you know, darling," she asked in a faltering voice, "that your sister was a horrid, selfish thing?" As she kissed the little fellow some hot tears fell on the curly head and the victory was won. When Mrs. Graham came into the room half an hour later, she was surprised at the brightness of her daughter's face. "Do you think, mamma?" Claire asked with a half -mischievous look, "that you would consider me a competent nurse girl ?" Mrs. Graham only stared, and Claire went on, ''because I might take care of Rob through the summer, and we could send Barbara to some farmhouse farm-house where she could rest. It wouldn't be nearly as expensive as my mountain trip." "But my dear," cried her mother, wonderingly, "do tou realize how much you are planning to give up?" "Oh, yes I know." answered Claire, with a rather rath-er misty smile. "And I don't wonder you mistrust me, mother dear. I'm such a horrid selfish little thing. But I'm going to turn over a new leaf now and try to think of somebody besides myself." It is very easy to talk and dream of self-sacrifice. The practice is more difficult than the theory. Claire realized tha distinction between the two when the next week her friends went awav, regretfully regret-fully 1 eaving her behind. The gay letters that came to her emphasized the difference between life at the breezy mountains and her monotonous summer, and yet in her work at home Claire was finding a new kind of happiness. She had always dearly loved her little brother, and she was proud of the increasing fondness with which he clung to her. The tender approval in her mother's face was a constant inspiration to the girl's heart. And when Barbara came back, her cheeks flushed with returning health and the light of a grateful happiness in her eyes, Claire felt repaid re-paid for her sacrifice. LATE AUTUMN. I love these last untroubled autumn davs. Where fair on sheltered gardens sunlight stays. Mellow and leisured, placid, undisturbed; Only the low songs of the robins heard, And drowsy insects droning in the sun, Recking not summer's over now, and done! Sweeter than rose of June ah! sweeter yet This dim green spray of mignonette, And blue as summer sea and summer skies The tangled cornflower lies; Lemon, vermillion, damask and wine red Hang vivid dahlias heavy overhead. I love these last untroubled autumn days, Whither returned summer briefly strays, Sunny, enchanted instants, when we deem Winter afar like some fantastic dream; And following in the vagrant summer's train We, too, forget, .treading her paths again. Thinking not sadly fleeting is this grace But good, 'tis ours for just a little space. Pall Mall Gazette. |