OCR Text |
Show Aunt 6u I & '''r&f&l fSSi lie wasn't a dago; perhaps Creole was fa-:-y3rA 'WfrSK fSIMIImWk the right word; anyhow she'd try to U'---JkMMlg Ml HftH:v make up with him. Forthwith she ran fco ftiSSfe'l- iffilrT across the street and thrust her gas ffifo. SySfojfa Km ''Want to play toss ball?" she in- Sw Jt-I "What is it?" asked Widdy, visibly 'v-- ' 4fMfCT iff1. 1 interested, 'a nickel solid? Oh, that ," VV i 4r- ll I remembering how she had repulsed V-V;;'-vyf sST I Wh - llJ-l Mm- "Naw. I couldn't play with that V'-'-V:;-.mf liL 1 7 7 X cheap thing." ; . ' - A . "" ' W Flo retired to her side of the street. '., : VrW "W ' I Unable to hide her emotions she laid V ' -'.TnVw 2 X. 1 Tj , &XJn her nead on ner arm and cried. V';.'!" JWF s?1 vr Directly she felt a little hand on ''.'vN4C i SCV her head and Peeping sideways saw a :rrA 1 1 '5 i blue serge covered knee and ankle. C 'A' l Jf(?tJhL "I, think," said Widdy softly, tMlW If It mtN' : '! ; you've got the prettiest haih I evah "(vV ViM hW f-'ft'l :3 -''I -L yffV saw." V,1iS-- L' i-r,.,F .;1 Xf5t-crf-' 7 X.r F1 wiggled her head and said not , I ;.'.'. wtjiS a word. if " v zs "I'll piay ban witll you Decause 1 1 you want me to." AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. Dear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt Busy is noxiously waiting for replies to her !i? question. Have the Og-den, Og-den, Eureka, Park City and Salt Lake irls and boys gone to the woods and canyons for the entire summer? Aunt Busy is afraid that the dear children will forget how to write letters let-ters 11 they do not remember to write to their loving. AUNT BUSY. Letters and Answers. Pocatelio. Idaho, May 31, 1903. Dear Aunt Busy: I thought I would rrite to you. I am 8 years old and I go to St. Joseph's school. I believe you are about 55 years old. Give my love to Uncle Busy. From your loving lov-ing niece, ANNA LYONS. Aunt Busy is always pleased to hear from Pocatelio. She would like to have more of the girls and boys at your home write her. The next time you write to Aunt Busy tell her what you would like to do when you leave school. Aunt Busy hopes to hear from you often Anna. Rock Springs, Wyo., June 25. Dear Aunt Busy: I now take pencil pen-cil in hand to let you know I am well and hope you are the same. I will try and guess your age. I think you are 47 years old. I am very glad school is out, but I think the vacation will be very long and tiresome. I do not see why they let school out so early. ear-ly. I could go another month. I suppose sup-pose I will have a nice time. I will be in the sixth B grade next term. It is a long time Aunt Busy since you went to school, isn't it. Your school days are over now. We are going to have a very hot summer here. The days are long and hot and the nights are short and cool. I guess I will close now, hoping my letter is not too long. So good-bye. From your niece, SARAH LAVERTY. Aunt Busy is always pleased to bear from her dear niece in Rock Springs. Be sure you write soon about That you want to do when you leave school or what will be your favorite study or pleasure. Aunt Busy wants the dear children to forget all about ker age and answer her latest question. ques-tion. Omaha. Neb., July 10, 1903. Dear Aunt Busy: At the time I ?nt you my last story I was preparing prepar-ing to enter an oratorical contest for silver medal. There were five contestants con-testants for the prize and I was the Iuckv one. The medal was presented ky the W. C. T. U. I will enter the ?o!d mpdal contest soon. Hoping you Jewell, I remain as ever, Your loving lov-ing niece, MAE MOREARTY. A Story of Children. Once upon a time there were two Me sisters, who were very happy as they have as dear and kind a papa and mamma as ever lived. -Their home was a large house with many jooms. But the one that I am going jo tell you about is the play room, as I know that is the most interesting to Re minds of children. First came the dolls, of which there ere abo n twenty-five, from the wee nv (!o;:s up to the large bisque oaes, in f:i(;t. one of them is as large year obi baby, wears real baby "ps an : :resses. There are the Japanesr. a.y and sailor boy, another that came from Germany. Boy "s- pirl ,!oils, mamma dolls, baby Yf- Sf-w lolls, dolls with black hair, ff wi-h y, iow hair, old dolls, new 1'S, all l-.ved alike by their little Jama's. v,'o see jn one corner of the 7m- a li-tle house with windows, j fs ari -; little front porch. If we J lr.si,; . We see a mantle with a cck on ;t. tables, chairs, divan, pieces pie-ces on tho walls upstairs there is a "'tie bed. and two tiny doll babies' ads an- resting on the pillows. In bother f r.-iKT is a different size set wbirnitv,. The parlor has its fancy iM?' divans, lamps, screens C!1 foots-, , is. in the dining room is tr;:,:e Wtn a amp on it, ana U l"s ;: -.-., the table. There is also i.ovM. with dishes on it. The 'ni hh,;,s inviting enough to make b;n think about eating. The '.rnom ;. complete with its bed, rs- 1' ''!. lamp, table, and dressing !:;bTs and bowls. dr;"r'r" :- a larger house for larger c s; 1:1 I1 -is house are tables, chairs, '- a board, baby carriages, rr,',n 3 ':; ':' on jt a Piano war? f- r-':i::v. with ornaments on it ts!,v V"l! rnirror- On the dining room rtre cups, saucers, plates, in'f'" "- 1'latters, glasses, and, on'r1' ' 'v' 'filing that people have tl'.' r ' Around it are two or v 0 "'ils. and they look as if they re joying their meal. In the ;;r kitchen there are pots, pans, buckets, jugs, teapots, dishes, chairs, table and stove. The big dolls have cradles, beds, piano, swing, sideboard, doll buggy go-cart, trunks, rocking chairs, high chairs and dishes. As there are boys in the family we will look in another part of the room and see books, games, tops, horns, marbles, dogs, brownies, wagons, boxing box-ing gloves, black board, punching bag foot balls, bats, base balls, drums! guns,, horses, blocks, magic lantern sleigh bells, bugles, skates, sleds, cars, football and baseball suits, tennis racquets, rac-quets, croquet balls, golf clubs,,, and endless other things. The children are very happy and Bpend many days piaying in their room. Little children who are less fortunate are always welcome wel-come to come and spend the day with them. Aunt Busy is always pleased to hear from you, dear niece May. She thinks that you write very well -udeed and show marked talent in composition. Accept Aunt Busy's congratulations on winning the medal. She thinks that you deserved your good fortune. Answer Aunt Busy's last question soon, May. o Vacation Time. Good-bye, little desk at school, goodbye; good-bye; We're off to the fields and the open sky. The bells of the brooks, and the woodland wood-land bells, Are ringing us out to the vales and dells, To meadow-ways fair, and to hilltops cool; Good-bye, little desk at school. 1 Good-bye, little desk at school, goodbye; good-bye; We've other brave lessons and tasks to try. But we shall come back in the fall, you know, and as gay to come as we are to go, With ever a laugh, and never a sigh; Good-Bye, little desk, goodbye. Frank Walcott Hunt in Little Folks. Good Manners. Although all children able to read are incessantly seeing something about good manners, and hearing what to do from their parents and guardians, it is a fact that the pert and saucy, impolite child we have with us always. Have we forgotten how pretty it looks to see a child standing while an old person is in the room also standing. stand-ing. Do we recall how well little girls ana boys appear when they are seen attentively listening when older people peo-ple are talking? And at table how pleasantly we recall re-call the quiet handling of knife and fork, the gentle eating of old days wnen we observe some of the noisy little pigs seen entertained by people who are disgusted at the manner of their visitors. Widdy and Flo. Widdy was a little boy of seven years; he was, because he is now a grave, middle-aged man on the great Northwestern railroad. He was really real-ly named Widdup. that being his mother's maiden name, but usage is the rule and he became "Widdy." Across the street lived little Flo, who was baptized Florence Mary Woodlon. Widdy belonged to the locality, that is, his parents, their parents, and their parents had lived and died there; but Florence was a new comer. Three weeks before her father and mother came from a northern state and settled set-tled in the old southern town. Widdy was an only child, so was Flo. "I'd like to ask her to play with me, but I'm afraid," said Widdy to his mother. "Why?" "She might say she wouldn't." "Take time," said cautious mamma, "we might not want to. know them." Rut this losric was lost on the little boy. He was happily free from any ideas about social differences, so one day he pressed his face against the iron gate and said caressingly with his southern drawl: "We got some flow-ahs flow-ahs in ouh back yawd." Flo looked at him meditatively. She was lonesome, too, but the pallid, creamy-colored skin and liquid black eyes alarmed her. "Go way, Dago," she said, shaking her yellow curls. "I'm no Dago," stormed Widdy. "I don't sell bananas nor peanuts," and he retired dignifiedly to his yard, where he arranged flowers in such a way as to tempt her envy. Flo thought over it a good deal. Maybe she had been impolite; maybe he wasn't a dago; perhaps Creole was the right word; anyhow she'd try to make up with him. Forthwith she ran across the street and thrust her gas ball through the gate. "Want to play toss ball?" she inquired. in-quired. "What is it?" asked Widdy, visibly interested, 'a nickel solid? Oh, that," remembering how she had repulsed him. "Naw. I couldn't play with that cheap thing." Flo retired to her side of the street. Unable to hide her emotions she laid her head on her arm and cried. Directly she felt a little hand on her head and peeping sideways saw a blue serge covered knee and ankle. "I think," said Widdy softly, "you've got the prettiest haih I evah saw." Flo wiggled her head and said not a word. "I'll play ball with you because you want me to." Flo laughed, and lifting her head exclaimed, "You are the prettiest boy I ever, ever saw." Widdy flushed darkly under his creamy skin, but the look that he gave her was an adoring one. Shortly after Widdy's mother heard subdued voices and looking out saw Widdy and Flo seated in the patent swing discussing a picture book, Flo having her lap filled with some of Mamma Widdy's finest flowers. j The hours went smoothly by for about three days, when Widdy had a "sting in his stomach," as he called it, from eating green apples, and was of a necessity unable to see Flo, but he felt hurt when mamma said she had not even asked after him. As soon as he could he crept to the front windows to peer through the lace draperies for Flo. His heart throbbed with anger when he saw her side by side with a large, wild- eyed boy, who was pinching her arm and pulling her curls in a teasing way. Widdy was very sick all day and papa said he needed country air, at which the boy grew much better as he had no wish to lose sight of Flo. The next day he walked feebly to the front gate and looked attentively down the street although he knew Der- fectly well she was on her front steps-with steps-with the new adorer. He heard a little scream, a patter of feet, clanging of gates and Flo flung herself upon him kissing him and screaming in a very undignified way: "Oh, Widdy, I've just been dying to see you! Poor dear Widdy, he was so sick. I have been saying prayers for you all the time. I have cried bushels of tears about you," and she sighed heavily. StL Widdy eyed the boy across the street "And I want you to meet Bishop so," she went on. You know he s my brother from the seminary; he's going go-ing to be a priest. He's just lovely." And the next thing Widdy knew the "big, bold boy" had him in his arms and telling him nice things Flo had said, and how glad he was that his little sister had such a courteous little lit-tle gentleman for her playmate and he gave him a medal that came from Spain, a big marble and a bright cent, nearly as pretty as a five dollar gold piece. S. M. O'Malley in the New World. Jack Throckton's Guardian. 'Please, sir. lend me a quarter?" It was a small, ragged boy that repeated re-peated the request, addressing a number num-ber of passing men one winter nighf, by the light of the street lamps. Some of the men shook their heads; others passed on without noticing the appeal. ap-peal. Finally, two men who were walking together stopped. "Why don't you ask me to give you a quarter?" one of the gentlemen questioned the boy. "Because I'm a'goin' to give it back to you," was the prompt answer. "I ain't a-beggin'." The man that had asked the question ques-tion laughed not altogether pleasantly. pleasant-ly. "Ho, ho, here is refinement," he said with ironical emphasis to his Ir.end. To the boy he continued: "Look here, little man, I lend money mon-ey only on good security. What security se-curity can you give?" "S'curity?" repeated the boy, helplessly. help-lessly. Then two eager eyes bright-pripri bright-pripri as th( meanine- nf the word was suggested, and he added: "I can't give none only my word and willin'ness to work." The man laughed a great haw, haw. "Good! You've earned your money, little Ready Wits," he said, as he tossed a quarter to the boy, and started start-ed up the street with his friend. "Please, sir, you ain't told me your name yet, nor where you live," pur-, sued the boy. "Not done with you yet?" said the man, sharply, as he stopped again. 'Are you getting up a directory in the interest of beggars, boy?" "No, sir," replied the little fellow, seriously; "it's in the interest of you." Both men laughed. "Well, my name is John Throckton, and I live at No. 1G Fair view avenue," said the giver of the quarter. Mr. Throckton's house was large and handsome, and full of fine furniture furni-ture and works of art. He was very rich, but by no means generous with his money. He had given in this instance merely out of caprice. The boy's manner of asking had amused him. Seldom did he give so much as a quarter for charity. Meanwhile little lit-tle Bernard Wells invested the borrowed bor-rowed quarter in a loaf of bread, a little piece of meat and a little paper of tea, and carried the provisions home. His home was a single room in a poor tenement-house. His father was dead, and his mother made a living liv-ing by sewing on shirts. This week, however, she had been too ill to work, and her money was all spent. "Oh, Bernard, where did you get these things?" Mrs. Wells asked when her son came in. Bernard told his story. "We must return the money as soon as possible," said the mother. But Mrs. Wells was not able to go back to her work. Bernard earned a little money now selling newspapers, but this was needed to buy food and coal. Finally, Mrs. Wells died, and a brother of Bernard's father, a poor, hard-working man, came forward and offered the little boy a home. Bernard Ber-nard worked for his uncle, who kept a little store. But the boy was not given any money. Once Bernard asked for a quarter that he might pay-Mr. pay-Mr. Throckton, and was laughed at by his uncle. "John Throckton has too much money already," the man said. "He's one of the richest men in town and one of the meanest. I guess I don't want him to get any of my quarters." A year passed. Bernard did not forget for-get his obligation to Mr. ; Throckton, and many were the plans that he made for redeeming his pledged word. One day when he was passing along a crowded street it was his good fortune for-tune to find a pair of eye-glasses that a lady had accidentally dropped, and the lady rewarded him with a quarter. Bernard set out immediately for No. 16 Fairview avenue. "How pleased mother will be! I hope she knows!" he thought to himself as he hurried along with a light, springy gait. His steps were not lighter than his heart. It was about 5 o'clock, and Mr. Throckton had returned from his banking house, and was in his library. li-brary. He was not particularly engaged, en-gaged, and he told the serving man to show the boy in. "I came to pay you the quarter, Mr. Throckton," said Bernard, advancing into the splendid room, and holding out the money. "I'm much obliged to you for trusting me. I couldn't git it fer you no sooner." Mr. Throckton gave Bernard a searching look. "Have you not made a mistake?" he asked. "I never lent you a quarter to my knowledge, nor do I know you." "It was on the street, sir," said Bernard; Ber-nard; "one night " "Oh, ho, yes, I do remember you now. Well, well, well!" .Mr. Throckton Throck-ton laughed again as the recollection defined itself more clearly. "So, you are that little chap that wasn't beg ging?" "Yes, sir, I'm him," and Bernard laid the silver coin on the table beside Mr. Throckton's hand. The man of business appeared to be interested. "Well, my little fellow," he said, "I confess you have taken me by surprise." He leaned back in his armchair and regarded the boy narrowly nar-rowly while he slipped the quarter in his vest pocket. Mr. Throckton liked to investigate the motives of action that seemed strange to him. Directly he resumed: "Now, little boy, if you don't mind telling me, I should very much like to know why you return this money. Didn't you understand at the time that I never expected to see it or you again?" "I kind of thought that away, sir," said Bernard; "but I didn't 'low as that made any difference." "Yes, I see," said Mr. Throckton; "you wanted to feel that you were honest, and it isn't a bad thing to plume one's self on, either. Was that it?" "No, sir, I don't know as 'twas," answered little Bernard, thoughtfully looking his questioner in the eyes. "It was more this away: If I hadn't I brought you back your money you would have thought I was deceivin' you. Then. 'sDosin' snmphndv olso'rl ask you fer somethin', some one as was real honest and needin', and you, thinkin' of me and the mean trick I'd played on you, would say 'No' to the other fellow, then I'd be 'sponsible. I'd be 'sponsible fer somebody suffer-in' suffer-in' fer want of food, and I'd be 'sponsible 'spon-sible fer makin' you mean and s'pici-ous s'pici-ous and onfeelin' see?" Mr. Throckton did not smile now. His fine sftlf-sntisfiprl fn he looked at the earnest little speaker speak-er before him. He was perhaps more surprised now than he had ever been in his life. He was touched, too. The idea of this crude, little, common street boy considering himself responsible respon-sible for the doings of John Throckton! Throck-ton! The man felt his hardness ebbing ebb-ing away, and in its place there came to him a desire to do something good and worthy with his money. And what better thing could he do, he reasoned, rea-soned, than to care for the child that had been the means of saving him from his own selfishness? Mr. Throckton's acquaintances were considerably amazed when they learned that the bright-faced little boy that appeared often in Mr. Throckton's company was an orphan whom the rich man had adopted. A friend said to him one day: "I wonder you were not afraid to assume so great a responsibility, Mr. Throckton, as the guardianship of a 'child!" "My little boy was my guardian first," answered Mr. Throckton, with a smile. Jane Ellis Joy in New York Observer. |