GUY AND THE BEE

One day a jolly b.u.mble-bee, In coat of black and yellow, Got caught inside a window-pane; The silly little fellow.

He buzzed and buzzed against the gla.s.s, To Guy's great enjoyment, Who thought to watch this funny thing Was just the best employment.

But soon to touch those gauzy wings, Became Guy's great desire, Although mama had told him that A bee could sting like fire.

But Guy, silly as the bee, Paid no heed to mama, He touched the bee, then gave a howl Which could be heard afar.

Mama a soothing poultice mixed, And on his finger laid.

"Another time you'll be more wise,"

Was everything she said.

A MEAN BOY.

Harry Burton woke one night and heard a strange noise in his closet. He got out of bed, crossed the floor in his bare feet, and carefully opened the closet door. The noise stopped, instantly.

"Ah!" said Harry, "I knew it was mice made that noise. How I wish I could catch them."

The next morning he told his mother about the noises he had heard.

"I will get you a mouse-trap," she said.

"I don't want the kind that kills the mice, I only want to catch them and tame them," said Harry.

His mother laughed and told him when he had tamed his mice he must keep them well out of her way.

The trap was set, the mice were caught, and sure enough, in a short time were so tame they would eat from Harry's hand. He made a little house for them, and kept in it his bedroom. Whenever he went out, he always shut the door carefully.

Now it happened that among Harry's acquaintances, there was one very disagreeable boy. His name was d.i.c.k Taft. Harry did not play with him very often, for he was so ugly it was hard to get along with him.

d.i.c.k never liked to be beaten at any game, and sometimes made it very uncomfortable for the one who got ahead of him.

One day Harry happened to beat him at one of their school games. d.i.c.k called after him when it was over, "I'll pay you for this, see if I don't."

Harry only laughed as he walked away going in the opposite direction from his own house.

When he was out of sight, d.i.c.k ran to Harry's house, made some excuse to go up in his bedroom, and let in the big cat, who was eagerly watching outside.

When Harry came home, the mouse house was open, and not one of his pets was to be seen. The poor fellow was almost heart-broken. He asked every one in the house who had left his door open. The maid told him she thought it must have been that boy he sent up to his room.

She described the boy, and Harry knew in a moment that it was d.i.c.k Taft.

"So that is the way he paid me for beating him at a game," cried Harry.

"Well, never again, so long as I live, will I play with a boy who is mean enough to do such a trick as that."

And he kept his word.

A NAUGHTY PUMPKIN'S FATE.

A queer little pumpkin, a jolly fat fellow, Stood close to his mother so rotund and yellow.

"What a stupid old place! how I long to aspire,"

Cried he, "I was destined for something much higher."

"My son," said the mother, "pray do be content, There's great satisfaction in life that's well spent!"

But he shrugged up his shoulders, this pumpkin, 't is true, And acted just like some bad children will do.

With a shout and a whoop, in the garden they ran, Tom and Ned, for they'd thought of the loveliest plan To astonish their friends from the city, you see, With a fine Jack-o'-lantern--"Ah, this one suits me!"

Neddie seized the bad pumpkin, and dug out his brains, Till he felt so light-headed and brimful of pains; Then two eyes, a long nose, and a mouth big and wide, They cut in a minute, and laid him aside

Until night, when they hung him upon a stout limb, With a candle inside; how his poor head did swim, As they twisted him this way, then twirled him round that, Till at last, with a crash, he fell on the ground flat,

A wreck of the once jolly, fat little fellow, Who stood by his mother so rotund and yellow.

Just then a lean cow, who was pa.s.sing that way, Ate him up, just to finish HER "Thanksgiving Day."

SOMETHING ABOUT FIRES.

It was a cold day. Fred was tired of reading, tired of looking out of the window, and so he poked the fire for a change.

"I suppose there are a good many different sorts of fires," he said to his mamma, as he laid down the poker.

"Yes, indeed," she answered. "It is very interesting to know how people keep warm in all parts of the world, especially where fuel is scarce and dear. In Iceland, for example, fires are often made of fish-bones! Think of that. In Holland and other countries a kind of turf called peat is dug up in great quant.i.ties and used for fuel. And in France a coa.r.s.e yellow and brown sea-weed, which is found in Finistere, is carefully dried and piled up for winter use. A false log, resembling wood, but made of some composition which does not consume, is often used in that country. It absorbs and throws out the heat, and adds to the looks of the hearth and to the comfort of the room.

"The French have also a movable stove, which can be wheeled from room to room, or even carried up or down stairs while full of burning c.o.ke. In Russia the poorer people use a large porcelain stove, flat on top like a great table, with a small fire inside which gives out a gentle, summer-like warmth. It often serves as a bed for the whole family, who sleep on top of it.

"There are, besides gas-stoves, oil-stoves, various methods of obtaining warmth by heated air and steam, and, doubtless, other devices that I never heard of.

"In some countries, however, no fires are needed. In looking at pictures of tropical towns you will at once notice the absence of chimneys."

Fred looked admiringly at his mamma as she paused.

"There never was such a little mother," he said; "you can think of something to say about everything."

His mamma was pleased at this pleasant compliment.