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Show ...Our Boys ana Girls... EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. ...I,3 5eDartTnent s conducted solely in the tnt-st tnt-st of our Klrl and boy readeri. 1 -hiriV adv,ee an1 he,p ,n her Power. . ? v rite on one Bide of the paper only. i -v. f Do not have letters too lonr. 1 ' ti plnA,.Btor,M Rnd ve wm be gladly receive! J V nl cpiefullv edited eiaaiy receives i beTeSUSCrlPtS f COntr,butIn ceFted wiU v i r.;8,:;;,.;;;" BuSy. xtWB1onui V I 4 ' Ethel May's Reward. (Hy Maud talker.) There were three of the Anderson children, A aVd 1J; ,Iack' acd 135 EtM ir- aged 11. And ail three wore spending the summer with an aged aunt in the country, on a beautiful farm near to a small and interesting village. As the Anderson children's home was in a very large eastern city, they found frreat deal of pleas-tire, pleas-tire, and many surprises in the eountrv. There seemed no end to the variety of fights and sounds. J here were the domestic animals, fowls in the barnyard, barn-yard, the fields, gardens, meadows, woods and hills. And then there were the brooks and ponds, full of nsn, the meadows and woods full of birds and noisome noi-some insects. One day during the kst week of 31 a v the children chil-dren h Aunt Mary called them to her, on the big front saying: "My old friend. Mrs. Jones, just called nic by phone this morning and savs she is arranging a picnic in the woods for her grandchildren, grandchil-dren, who are visiting her from the city, and she bogs me to allow you three youngsters to be of her company. Would you enjoy a picnic the dav after I tomorrow 1 ti ' h' Auntie" claimed all three children. I 1110,1 ol"; poko at a time: "I don't think there'd I be anything nicer. Aunt Mary, than a picnic in the I wild woods." So spoke Crude. "Oh, I'll take along j: my fishing tackle, aud fetch home enough finnies r for dinner;' cried aJck. "And I think it would be perfectly splendid." agreed Ethel May. "I do love . a picnic more than anything." y i "Then all be prepared to start at 0 o'clock on the ; , day after tomorrow," said Aunt Mary. "I'll see that ! a rine junciieon is prepared for you to carry with you. John, our man. will take you in the carriage j r tn rs- Jones' house. From there you'll go afoot j - V- - 1" tlu v.'oods which is only a mile distant from Mrs. Jones' place." Of course, the children talked of nothing else all that day. except the coming picnic in the woods. t They had never enjoyed a country picnic, aud this nne held much pleasure for them, f i On the day of the picnic theAu derson children were ready to start to the home of Mrs. Jones long bef ore John had the carriages in readiness. And their baskets were filled with luncheon, the very best that Aunt Mary's fine old colored cook could prepare. It was wanting a quarter of an hour till 9 the lime set for starting when Jane, the housemaid, called to Oracie: "Come to your aunt's room at t-are. Mis. She's taken suddenly ill." (iracie, accompanied by her brother and sister, ran upstairs to Aunt Mary's room and found that good old lady lying on her bed very pale and ill-looking. ill-looking. After a few inquiries Aunt Mary explained ex-plained that she had been very miserable all night, but that idie had tried to dress in order to come down and see the children off for their day?s outing; but she had become so faint that she was obliged to lie down, and to call to Jane to come to her assistance. assist-ance. "I have asked her to phone to my doctor, who lives in the village, and he'll be here within an hour. I am sorry to have spoiled your starting, children, dear." So spoke old Aunt Mary. "But shall we go to the picnic?" asked Ethel May, solicitously. "I don't think we should leave aunty when she is ill." A cloud passed over Grade's face. It was plain she did not wish to be disappointed in the picnic. She turned toward Jack, who stood looking his displeasure dis-pleasure at Ethel May for having made such a blun- I dor. lie, too, did not wish to remain away from the I picnic' Then he spoke up: I "I really don't see what we kids could do for 1 Aunt Mary. There is Jane to wait on her, and the 1 doctor will be here directly. I think we'd better go be looking for us." . "Yes." said Gracie, adding her argument to laokV; "Auntie will be well cared for by Jane and ihe doctor. We as Jack says can be of no use J To her, We'll be in the way, only." ; Ethel May's face reddened, and she turned & ' f sharp look on her brether and sister: "Well," she said, "we may not be of any use as far as waiting on . Auntie is concerned, but we can be company for I Ikt, and try to cheer her up. I, for one, won't leave 1 her while she's ill.". I Aunt Mary put out her hand aud touched Ethel $ May's hair gently. "Dear little girlie," she said i v feebly. "You shall not sacrifice your day for me. i 1 shall get on very well with Jane to nurse me. y And as Jack and Gracie are so anxious to go to the picnic, I would not for the world detain them here. Xo, all of you go. And it is time you were off. John is at the gate now with the carriage." "Well, Aunt Mary, I hope you'll be O. K. when we get home this evening," exclaimed Jack, hurrying hurry-ing from the room. "I'll get the luncheon baskets in the carriage, girls, while you are getting on your jackets and hats. But hurry." "All right, Jack, we'll follow immediately," called out Gracie. Then, stooping, she kissed her -ld aunt's check. "Good-bye, Auntie!" she said. "I hope you'll be well soon. The doctor will fix you up all right. I'm sure. Come, Ethel May, don't stand ihcre and worry Aunt Mary. I fancy she wants to be left alone. Come." And Gracie was off down the stairs like a flash, all thought of the aged, sick aunt banished as she saw the carriage waiting at the gate. ""Why don't you go. child C asked Aunt Mary, V turning to Ethel May, who still lingered in her IX room. j j V "Because. Auntie, 1 just can't go off and leave ' i J I -vou kr- Anr wou',ln't enjoy the picnic I'll were 1 tp go .knowing you were here alone and ill. , T know just bow Jane will do. She'll come to you Y L when called and perform just the little errands you 11 require cf her. Then she'll hurry down to the kitch-jm kitch-jm en to gossip to the cook and the gardener. I know I her. and the other servants, too. They'll neglect you. So I mean to stay and look after yon." Tears trickled down old Aunt Mary's cheeks, and she caught Ethel's hands in her own and pressed them tenderly, saying, "Thank you. dearie. It is sweet to have some one viih you who loves you. Servants want only money. You stay with me because be-cause " I "Because you are the dearest old Auntie in the t world, and I love you," declared Ethel Mav. "And if now I shall we about making you more comfort- I able." And the little miss soon had her auntie in a I loose robe and back into bed. where the pillows were 1 xed just right, and the window shades were so ad- p jutted that the morning sun and air came into the I p i i i u.i... !, .I. . , 1,1 . iu..i..i ii.ii iiimijjiu n i, j. mm..i . .m.i .- -. i . i . ii- .jiin.1 -. mmm m room but did not fall on the bed. Then, running to the garden, Ethel May picked a bouquet of roses and placed them in a vase of water near to her aunt's bed. The doctor came and found Aunt Mary feeble and "run down," as ho expressed it. Nothing serious, seri-ous, but a sort of breakdown. He advised a change of scene and climate. "How would California do?" asked Aunt Mary. "I've long thought of making a nice trip there." "Just the place, my dear woman," declared the doctor. "And go as soon as you are a bit stronger. You'll be able to start next week." After the doctor had departed, Aunt Mary turned to Ethel May, saying: "You and I will start for California this day week, dear. So you may, make your plans accordingly. I'll write your parents par-ents to have you accompany me on this enjoyable trip." "And brother and sister will you take them, too ?" asked unselsh Ethel May. Aunt Mary shook her head. "Xo, childie, only you shall go with me. You have proven your unselfishness un-selfishness this day, and deserve a reward. It shall be in the form of a visit to all parts of interest on the Pacific coast as far as we can go and remain in our own country. And maybe next year we'll go to Old Mexico you and I. You see, dearie, love disinterested dis-interested love is a rare, thing, and when one finds it, as I have found it in you today, one must value it dearer than all else. In future you shall be my dearest one, and I shall try to repay you for your sweet, youthful devotion and self-sacrificing kindness." kind-ness." And Ethel May's Aunt Mary kept her word, and that time next week found them driving to the railroad rail-road station in the village, where they would take the train for the great and glorious west. And Jack and Gracie returned home to the city, and had ample time to ponder over why Ethel May should be taken and they left behind. To Daddy. I've had a sweetheart "true as steel" Since I a child was wont to kneel Beside my tiny bed of white To lisp my prayer at close of night. 'Twas Daddy. I .Along this borderland there grew Kr-d roses wet with pearls of dew. i wished to piucic them, sweet and rare; I gitbered them with tender care For Daddy. Within his steadfast heart alway These roses lived from day to day. Through years of sun and storm and woe This one dear knight hath loved me so Dear Daddy. , Xow distance weaves a lengthened screen This loyal knight and me between; But white-winged messengers come oft To fill my heart with music soft From Daddy. The sun. the moon, the stars, the sky, The flowers, the birds in passing by, The clouds that dim the air with rain, All speak within this deathless chain Of Daddy. Ella Rail. TRILL'S EXCURSION. Herman was going to Virginia with his father and mother, and he was talking about it to his friend, Karl. , "The only thing that makes me sorry to go is that I don't know what to do with Trill, my canary. ca-nary. "Why. can't he stay with me?" asked Karl. "Ed like to take care of him." "Should you really ?" cried Herman. "He makes a good deal of trouble, you know. I don't mind, because I love him; but he has to have a bath every morning, and fresh seed and water. And it is quite a little job to clean his cage and do it all. I'm afraid you wouldn't like that part of it." He watched his friend's face anxiously. "Oh, I'd just as lief !" answered Karl. ;ne is such a beautiful singer I'd love to have him here." So Trill came over to stay with Karl, and his, cage was hung up in the dining room. "One of these hooks that fastens the bottom of " i;,i ir ; so you have to be very careful to twist it this way, or Trill might get out. You will be sure to remember, remem-ber, won't you?" "Of course I will," promised Karl. Karl felt quite important with his little charge; but he was not used to having the care of pets, and after a few days his mother had to remind him of his duties. Otherwise Trill mght have gone hungry hun-gry or thirsty. But Karl had meant to bo a good . master, never allowing the other children to tease or annoy the bird by sticking their fingers into the cage for the fun of seeing him ruffle his feathers and fly at them with his sharp bill. "Herman won't let anybody do it," Karl argued. "He says it isn't kind to him, and I 'm going to take just as good care of him as Herman' does." But one morning Karl was in a great hurry when he gave Trill his bath, and as soon as it was over he put the cage together, fastening on the bottom bot-tom without heeding the warning which Herman had given him. Then he raced off, and did not return re-turn to the dining room for half an hour or more. When he did go he glanced up at the cage and was dismayed to see the bottom hanging by one side and Trill was gone! Looking wildly around the room, he discovered an open window, and his heart sank. The bird was lost 1 He rushed across the room and spied a bit of yellow up in the maple, tree near by yes, it was Trill. He set the empty cage in the window, calling to the bird in his most coaxing tones; but Trill did not come. Instead, he flew to the tree beyond. "Oh, mama, mama!" screamed Karl, "Trill's lost! Come, help me catch him!" But mama was not within hearing and, snatching the cage, he ran with it out on the street, under the tree where Trill was hopping about. He put the cage on the ground and at a distance watched the bird. Several people joined him and Trill lifted his wings and flew across the street to a maple tree. Karl followed with the cage, and tried to keep track of him as he fluttered about in the thick foliage. foli-age. But all at once the bird could not be 'een, and although Karl watched and watched the trees he did not catch sight of him agaim Karl went in to dinner, leaving the cage on the piazza, in hopes that Trill would get hungry and return to his home. But it was still empty when the meal was over, and Karl went out on the street, again, calling the bird by name. After a while he went into the house, and upstairs up-stairs to his own room. As he opened the door he heard a soft whir of wings and then there was Trill perched on the top of the bureau! The window went down with a thump, and it was not long before the bird was safe in his cage. "I guess I'll be careful after this!" cried Karl. "You won't get another excursion, Mr. Trill. Emma Em-ma C. Dowd. ; hi. iwm.i i r-wn..-. . ii i., ,ium i.njpmm n iiii.im.i imui.ii . i n . iu.ih . V.A-. |