"Yes," said his mother. "I see you remember. I shall send them all to-night to the Children's Hospital."

"But, mama," said Roger, "if I don't have any toys to take care of, how can I learn to take care of them?"

Mrs. Bertram had to turn away so that Roger should not see her smile.

"I shall have to think of some other way to teach you to be careful. Now go and bring me all your toys."

Roger went out of the room to do as his mother said. When he had gone, Mrs. Bertram sat thinking until he came back.

"I have decided that I want you to dust the library every morning."

Roger looked astonished. "Boys don't dust," he said.

"Sometimes," said his mother, smilingly. "Your Uncle Fred had to dust his own room when he was at West Point. Now if you dust the library every morning for two months faithfully, and do not break a single ornament, I shall know you have grown careful in one way, and that may help you to be careful in another."

The next morning Roger began his work. At first he disliked it very much, but after a while he grew very particular. It was not pleasant to be without any toys, and he determined to earn them.

The day when his trial of two months would be up, would be Christmas Day. He did not know if his presents this year would be toys or useful things. All his mother had said about his work was, "My dear, you are improving."

Christmas night came, and with it a beautiful tree. Imagine Roger's delight when he saw on and about it new skates, a new sled, a new violin and a new drum.

And up in the highest branches, in letters of gold, these words: "For the boy who has proved he can be careful when he tries."

A VISIT FROM A PRINCE.

Harry was playing with his letter blocks one afternoon, when a prince came to visit him.

Harry knew the prince very well, indeed. As soon as the prince came into the room Harry said:

"Hullo, old fellow, is that you?"

Was not that a very strange way to greet a prince?

And wasn't it stranger yet for Harry to say next:

"Come, sit up, old boy, and give us your--"

Was it hand Harry was going to say? No, indeed, it was paw. "Sit up, old boy, and give us your paw."

Prince was a beautiful dog, as black as a coal. Indeed, his real name, his whole name, was Edward, the Black Prince. Now you must ask somebody to tell you about the man who was called the "Black Prince," the man for whom Harry's dog was named.

When Harry asked Prince to give his paw, the dog did not do it as quickly as he ought to have done.

Did Harry beat him for that? No, indeed. Did he say, "Never mind, Prince, you need not obey me if you do not want to?" No, indeed, again.

He sat up himself, and then he made Prince sit up on his hind legs. Then he ordered Prince to give his paw. Prince did so. Then Harry made him do it again, then again and again and again, until the dog seemed to understand that he must learn to obey when he was spoken to.

After Prince appeared to have learned that lesson quite perfectly, Harry taught him something new.

He taught him to stand on his hind legs and hold a pipe in his mouth.

This he soon did so well that Harry clapped his hands and cried, "Good, good, you smoke as well as his royal highness, the Black Prince, himself."

Which remark showed that Harry had not yet begun to study history. If he had, he would have known that in the country where the Black Prince lived, tobacco was never heard of until many, many, MANY years after his death.

STRINGING CRANBERRIES.

Arthur Bancroft was feeling very cross one morning in December. He had a bad cold, and his mother did not think it would be wise for him to go out-of-doors. That was why he was cross. The skating was finer than it had been that season; every other boy he knew was enjoying it.

He walked about the house with a very sulky face; would take no notice of books or games, and seemed determined to be miserable.

He was standing looking out of the window when his sister Laura came into the room. Laura carried in her hand a basket filled with cranberries.

She put the basket on the table, took a needle from her mother's needle book, threaded it with a long, stout thread, and began stringing the berries.

Laura was a dear little thing! She was always busy. No one ever heard her say, "I wish I had something to do." And she was generally doing something for some one else.

She made a sweet little picture as she sat bending over the basket of crimson cranberries. Some such idea may have come into Arthur's mind as he turned and looked at her. As he watched her silently for some moments, the cross expression on his face became a little less cross.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Stringing cranberries for the Mullins' Christmas tree," answered Laura.

"Don't you want to help me?"

"It's girls' work," replied Arthur.

"Isn't a boy smart enough to do a girl's work?" asked Laura.

"Of course, he's SMART enough. I don't mean that! Perhaps he doesn't want to."

"Oh," said Laura, "I wish you did want to."

"Why?" asked Arthur.

"I promised to string all these for the Mullins' Christmas tree," replied Laura. "The market-man brought them so late, I have not much time now."

"Thread another needle," said Arthur.

In a few moments he was working as busily as Laura, herself. As Arthur finished his last long string, he tied the ends together and threw it around Laura's neck. When she bent her head a little, it reached the floor.

"There," said he, "that proves that a boy can do a girl's work."