"Fire! Fire! The school-house is on fire!"

Books and pens dropped from trembling hands, little faces paled, and eager, appealing eyes turned instantly to the teacher.

"Run, children!" she said, hurriedly.

Only one moved--lame Susie. She limped along as fast as she could, and all the rest, frightened as they were, remained in their places till she was safe outside the walls. Then with a rush they cleared the room almost in an instant. Even in that time of peril and dread they remembered their duty and kindness toward her, and gave her the richest proof in their power of their thoughtful love. Not mere obedience to a rule could have prompted this unselfish act, and as such a proof she must have felt it.

It is a beautiful ill.u.s.tration, as it is a _true_ one, of G.o.d's love for all living and for all times.

"As ye would they should do to you, do ye to them."

[Decoration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Pepper the dog is told a secret}]

THE SECRET.

Pepper Baker, don't you tell!

If you ever do, I'll-- Well, I'll do something you'll remember Till the last day of December.

Pepper, look me in the eye!

You must be as shy, as shy-- Play, you don't know where I'm going, Don't know anything worth knowing!

When the bell for breakfast rings, I will bring you cakes and things; Don't go down till Ben calls, "Pupper, Pupper; come and 'ave your supper!"

What I've told you no one knows, Only you, and I, and Rose (Maybe she has told her kitty), No one else in Boston city.

Pepper, look at me, and say With your eyes,--look straight this way,-- With your teeth, and mane so s.h.a.ggy, With your ears and tail so waggy,--

"I will never, never tell.

They may tie a ding-dong-bell To my little tail so waggy, Singe my ears and coat so s.h.a.ggy.

"They may drown me in the well, All because I will not tell."

That will do, you grim old Quaker!

I can trust you Pepper Baker.

MARY R. WHITTLESEY.

SILVER AND GOLD.

Silver or golden, which is the best-- Which with G.o.d's love is most richly blest?

Which is the fairer I cannot tell, Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.

The soft twilight hour, when shadows fall, To little Bel seems the best of all; Then grandfather lays aside his book; He cannot resist the pleading look.

There's room for two in the great arm-chair; His arms enfold her with loving care; Upturned is a smiling, rosy face; Two dimpled arms have found their place.

Sweet eyes of hazel, so clear and bright, Look up with a happy, loving light; The curls are golden that softly stray, While breezes amid their sunshine play.

Little she dreams of sorrow and care; Life is unknown, and to her seems fair.

As years roll by the face may grow old; But the loving heart will never grow cold.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SILVER AND GOLD.]

When the hand of Time on her head is laid, The l.u.s.tre of gold must surely fade; But lovely is even a silver frost, If truth and goodness have not been lost.

Pride and pa.s.sion have left no trace On the old man's placid, saintly face; The journey so long is almost done-- The strife is over, the victory won.

The voice that speaks is gentle and deep; Surely it means G.o.d's grace to keep.

Eyes like the heavens so darkly blue; Surely G.o.d's love is shining through.

Forehead so n.o.ble, calm, and fair; Surely G.o.d's peace is resting there.

The snowy locks are a silver crown; Softly the blessing of G.o.d came down.

Silver or golden, which is the best-- Which with G.o.d's love is most richly blest?

Which is the fairer I cannot tell, Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.

ELLIS GRAY.

TWO MORNINGS.

Step softly; the baby sleeps; Drop the curtains, and close the door; Baby sleeps, while mother weeps-- Sleeps, never to waken more.

Not a breath disturbs his repose; The blossom he wears has forgotten to blow.

Once his two cheeks were red as a rose; Now they are lilies, you know.

Morning will come, with its sweet surprise, Waken the flowers, and scatter the dew; But never again shall the baby's eyes Watch the sunbeams break through.

Yet in heaven his morning is growing To fairer dawning than ours has known-- A fountain of light forever flowing Forth from the great white throne.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Tim gazes at the goods in the confectioner's window}]

TIM, THE MATCH BOY.