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Show J j i' Aunt - Busy 0 iGi" I I 0) - 'fMK "Ruth," she called, "you may as z 1 kmmM ' -sua- - naS I 'ySWft ' MWmk Presently she came back. "Here's ;ertl I J X''X Towser, sir," she said with a quiver. !Rtft i -J'SWWJ tZ&T'i "Here's our dog!" And she held up hi!tJ .-' fP the astonished eyes of big podia po-dia : I slmF flnffei'& I hcemtn al.dirty Canton flannei ds. is I p:.;-;'WSv1 f WVilPi'- one shoe button eye Quite gone, his tem 1 '-SO JtthzP J ) R iijlJ ' " r tail in shreds, and his detached ears I V.'-'' -:? WrVrV Jft l sMM ' m ' Stf Pinned to his head with safety pins! j V;:;v:tlfi VHW K Mr. Smfth had been wise, he 5? f I ':-0A-itAtW- WJTto5 J&SSf1 wouId have laughed, but Mr. Smith f I i V'-''feSSO S& ' aSi'T AsW ' was not on the police force because of j 1 f ? 14 i' Mamma, though, laughed merrily; I Xt Nfc'(?J$ST I''.! jf Ci " while Ruth huesed Towzer, and felt i f .V'Mf 'iM ::.F-'-x! &v 'r that in some roundabout way he and I! VSAjW;!:' SWiWfdiHr she had saved the family from an f I I Paoa. What Would You Tale Pnr Ma? I j AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. I pear Nk'.-pf. and Nephews: ! Have any of you considered the f oupftion 1'iat Aunt Busy proposed last i I Toli? 'ie nas not J'et received any j Aunt r.usy is anxious to hear from I vou in regard to it. t ' rorliaii? pnrae of you do not know r shout the question, so Aunt Busy f will toll you again. 'What profession do you mean to I follow vlum you leave school? j This is a subject that should in- j forest all of Aunt Busy's dear girls f and boys. And there is another ques- i lion that should particularly interest j the girls- If they do not want to dis- j cus what work they will care to do why not write about what they think I Till be their favorite study, pleasure I or accomplishment? j Aunt 1'usy hopes to receive some f very interesting replies next week, i Forgot all about guessing Aunt Busy's 1 are from now on, dears. If she was really as wise an old lady as she has always professed to I be. she would never have proposed for J the dear children to guess her age. I I There are many subjects far more ; J interesting and really not so painful. I Letters and Answers. I Glcnwood Springs, June 19. ! Dear Aunt Busy I have long want- ed to write to you, but have not time. I I was in a Japanese drill in our F'hoo! exercises. I got promoted, too. Aunt Busy, have you ever been to G'onwood Springs? ' If not, I wil tell you next time I write. I believe you are 44 years old. I will close now with much love to you and Uncle Busy. Your niece. NELLIE MAY CRADDOCK. Aunt Busy is very glad that you at last found time to write to her, Nellie. Nel-lie. Aunt Busy spent a very happy vacation in Glenwood once, dear, and : she thinks it a verv beautiful nlano f N'o, Aunt Busy is not 44. Do you know about the last question Aunt " Eusy has proposed? Do not be so long vriticg next time, dear. Carr, Colo., June 17, 1903. I Dear Aunt Busy. Would you like ; to have another niece. I am a little t girl 5 years old. and I am going to l school. I like to go to school very much. I can read and spell. But I : I can't write, so Nora is writing for me. J I think you are about C9. Hoping to e this letter in your paper, I will ' say good bye. From your little niece, (MARY MANTEY. P. S My teacher says I am a good I Pirl in school. Aunt Busy gladly welcomes her dfar new niece. She has a little fam- j i y of Manteys now. Of course you lio to attend school! All good children chil-dren love school and their teachers. ; So Aunt Busy is 69, you think! No, dear, you are not right. How kind of Nora to write for you. Aunt Busy hopes to hear from you 6fn again. Carr, Colo., June 17, 1903. Dear Auntie. Did you think I had orgotteu you? Well, I have been so ; wy in school that I must confess !2t 1 have forgotten my old auntie. Till last week, when I saw in the I Paper that you were wondering what "ad become of the Manteys. As you asked all of your nieces and nephews w gueSS your age, I will try. I think J are about 90. Now, am I right? A'amma, papa and Paul are going to j;urch Sunday. They started Saturday Satur-day afternoon, and are coming back , 18 cving. Will you excuse a short ,otter His time? I 0Ur living niece, AGNES MANTEY. . Aunt J;uRy would feel sad indeed if IJcr Wr little Manteys should forget entirely. Dear, dear little girl, Is "possible that you think Aunt Busy Jcars old? She never wants to live ? Ion sr. Aunt Busy thinks it quite cn- tbat Ste EtPPed this aSe dis-ssiCn, dis-ssiCn, bocause some dear youngster give her age as 100 next. Write Eoo a;rain. Carr. Colo., June 17, 1903. v ar Ant Busy. It has been a long i' e f!n"' I wrote to you. I am back 7"!'! again. I am in the fifth I L ;n,s year. an(i I have my same I au. 10 r again. I hope to have her I lru h r'X-t year' as 1 Iike her ver7 I a;, ( "ell, now, I will guess youf I iS"V he about 85- M paPa B3l?b be I ! Ef !ns t0 lake us all down to Col- v'S. ln -nr(i to pick berries. I will j y'C: -Vou about it if we go. Good by. I m your loving niece, I ANASTASIA MANTEY. j fcusy thinks the little Manteys I her I,1'101 "vvait so lons to write t0 j -no is very interested in them, 1 Hi ' ( th.t and thinks they are the very happiest of young people. When the "berry" excursion takes place do not forget to eat a few berries ber-ries for Aunt Busy. Gcod-bye, dear little niece, for this time. o Out of the Slave Den. In one of the large railroad offices m this country is a comparatively young man who is at the head of a large department, says the Boston Review. When he entered the service serv-ice of the company five years ago he was green and awkward. He was given giv-en the poorest paid work in the department. de-partment. The very first day of his employment by the company, a man who had been at work in the same room for six years approached him and gave him good advice. "Young fellow, I want to put a few words in your ear that will help you. This company is a soulless corporation, corpora-tion, that regards its employes as so many machines. It makes no difference differ-ence how hard you work cr how well. So you want to do just as little as possible and retain your job. That's my advice. This is a slave-pen, and the man who works overtime or does any specially fine work wastes his strength. Don't you do it." The young man thought over the "advice." and after a quiet little struggle with himself he decided to do the best and the most he knew how, whether he received any more pay from the company or not At the end of a year the company raised his wages and advanced him to a more responsible position. In three years he was getting a 1 third more salary than when he began, be-gan, and in five years he was head clerk in the department; and the man who had condescended to give the greenhorn "advice" was working under him at the same figure that represented his salary eleven years before. This is not a story of a goody-; gooay mue ooy wno aied early, but of a live young man who exists in flesh and blood today. Ruth's Pet Dog. A very funny thing happened at Ruth's house the other day, and brought her into ill-repute with at least one member of the police force. She is a very serious little girl of five, with great solemn, truthful eyes. No one would ever dream of her telling tell-ing what was not exactly true, and she never made a joke in her life. She was sitting on the bottom step of her stoop on this special morning, when Mr. Smith, the big policeman, came along. He interested Ruth very much b,y going to the door of every house, a little open book and pencil in his hand. After talking with who- he turned away, sometimes writing in the little book, but oftener not. At the grocer's door he wrote something, some-thing, and at Dr. Blake's. Ruth particularly par-ticularly noticed that. Mr. Smith was a tremendous power in the neighborhood. Not a boy dared to shout a shout or fling a ball when he was in sight; and, as for the little girls well, they always breathed freer when Mr. Smith turned the corner. cor-ner. Ruth watched the big man until he reached her house. Then, with a quaking heart, she saw him mount her steps. Mamma opened the door. "Do ye kape a dog, mum?" asked Mr. Smith. I "No," replied mamma; and to Ruth the dear voice seemed to shake with fear. Mr. Smith bowed sternly, and turned turn-ed to come down. It was perfectly clear to Ruth now. Mr. Smith was putting the entire neighborhood under arrest, except llmcA xx-Virt l-nnf rt ncrc t The grocer had one, and so did Dr. Blake. She meant to save mamma if she could. So she tremblingly faced Mr. Smith on the bottom step, and said gently, "Mamma forgot Towzer, sir." "Is this your house?" he questioned. "Yes, sir." Ruth's big, honest eyes gazed frankly into the grim face, looking down. "And you have a dog, eh?" "Yes, sir. Towzer is our dog." Up the steps again went Mr. Smith, and sharply rang the bell. Mamma replied. "Where's your dog, mum?" "I told you that we had no dog. We have never had a Mog," mamma an- "Oh! This is an old trick, mum; though we don't meet it often in these neighborhoods. However, you've got a truthful little girl, and she isn't so sure that ye have no dog. I insist upon seeing him, mum!" A funny little gleam came in mamma's mam-ma's eyes. "Ruth," she called, "you may as well bring Towzer. The officer insists in-sists upon seeing him." Mr. Smith's face grew very red, as Ruth ran unstairs. Presently she came back. "Here's Towser, sir," she said with a quiver. "Here's our dog!" And she held up to the astonished eyes of the big policeman po-liceman a dirty Canton flannel dog, one shoe button eye quite gone, his tail in shreds, and his detached ears pinned to his head with safety pins! If Mr. Smith had been wise, he would have laughed, but Mr. Smith; was not on the police force because of his wisdom. Mamma, though, laughed merrily; while Ruth hugged Towzer, and felt that in some roundabout way he and she had saved the family from an awful fate. PaDa. What Would You Tak Pnr Ma? She was ready to sleep as she lay on my arm, In her little frilled cap so fine. With her golden hair falling out at the edge, Like a circle of noon sunshine. And I hummed the old tune of "Banbury "Ban-bury Cross." And "Three Men Who Put Out to Sea." When she sleepily said, as she closed her eyes, "Papa, what would you take for me?" And I answered, "A dollar, dear little heart," -And she slept, baby weary with play. But I held her warm in my love-strong love-strong arms, And I rocked her and rocked away Oh, the dollar meant all the world to me, The land and the sea and the sky, The lowest depths of the lowest place The highest of all that's high. And the cities, with streets and palaces, pal-aces, With their people and stores of art, I would not take for one low, soft 1 throb Of my little one's loving heart; Nor all the gold that was ever found In the busy wealth-finding past Would I take for one smile of my darling's darl-ing's face, Did I know it must be the last. So I rocked my baby and rocked away, And felt such a sweet content For the words of the song expressed more to me Than they ever before had meant, And the night crept on, and I slept and dreamed Of things far too gladsome to be, And I wakened with lips saying close in my ear, "Papa, what would you take for me?" |