The little Dutch girl dropped her head and answered very low, "Father has been gone a long time. They say he is shut up somewhere. He don't come home any more."

"Oh, how very dreadful! I don't see where you get money to buy things with."

"Hans is fifteen and works in a shop. He gets some money, and he will get a good deal, by-and-by. The rest _I_ get from the flowers. You see I raise them myself, mostly."

"But do you get enough for clothes and playthings, and do you always have enough to eat?" persisted Nell.

"_I_ don't have any clothes, I make over mother's. We have Kitty for playthings. Enough to eat? _Baby_ always has enough, don't she, lovie?" cuddling her up close.

A new world was opening up to Nell.

"Excuse me, but don't you have any pleasure trips, or birthday parties, or Christmas?"

"No; I don't just know what those things are, but we have nice beef and apples for dinner on Christmas."

"And are you always happy as you seem--really happy?"

The "little mother" opened her eyes wide in wonder. "Why, _of course_.

What else should we be? Mother always told us it was wicked to be cross, and that we must not fret much, even over her going away to heaven."

Nell did some hard thinking on her way home, and being a sensible little girl, she made up her mind that one way to be happy is to be _busy_, and not only busy, but useful, and she set about the new way in earnest.

She learned that it is possible to be unselfish and happy _any where_; she in her wealthy home, and the "little mother" in her one room, with her baby and her flowers.

LITTLE SCATTER.

MRS. JEANE A. WARD.

She was her mother's darling, and a very good little girl in most things. With her yellow hair, big blue eyes and rosy cheeks; in the pretty blue dress and red sash; nice little slippers on her plump feet, she made the whole house lively and bright, and sometimes she made plenty of work for every one in it, too, for she was a terrible Nelly to scatter playthings. The dolly would be on the chair, her torn picture-books over the floor, her ball kicking about everywhere, and her blocks any where.

What could mother do with such a girl? When she would talk to her, Nelly would promise not to do so any more, and would pick up the dolly and the pictures, and the ball and the blocks, and her other toys, and take them to her own corner play-house and fix them all in order, and be real good for a little while.

But the 'real good' would last only a little while and then out all would come again, and Little Scatter would have them around just as before.

That is the way she came to be given that name, and she was old enough to know she well deserved it, and to be ashamed of it; yet she could not break off the bad habit.

She had a kind, good mother, who saw that she would have to, in some way, cure her little daughter of such slovenly habits or else she would grow up to be a very careless, untidy woman, and the mother was wise enough to know that it is more easy to correct such matters when children are young than when they grow older.

She did not want to punish Nelly severely, and so, whenever Little Scatter had gotten all her toys over the floor, tables, sofa and chairs, mamma would call her and say:

"Now, Nelly, every thing you have is lying about, it is time for my Little Scatter to get gathered in close;" and then Miss Nelly would have to go close to the wall and be shut in by a chair and stand there until mamma's watch said half an hour had pa.s.sed. This was very hard on a little girl that loved to run around so much as Nelly did, and though she knew she deserved all the punishment, yet she used to beg very hard and promise, but she always had to stay the full time; then she would come out, get her mamma's kiss and forgiveness, pick up her toys and be happy.

It did not take many such punishments before Nelly began to think before she acted so carelessly, and in a short time she was almost as neat about such matters as she was sweet and good in every thing else.

If ever there were a few of her things lying about, mamma had only to call her 'Little Scatter,' to make her remember, and so hard did she try to correct herself of this bad habit that in a few months she and those about her almost forgot that she had ever been known by such an untidy name.

WHAT CHICKY THINKS.

Seems to me I must be growing big very fast. I don't believe I could get back into that little house if I should try. I don't want to go back, either. I had to work too hard to get out the first time. There was no door, so I had to break the house all in pieces with my little beak. I couldn't stand up, you know, when I was inside. I got very tired sitting on my little legs. I wonder how I knew enough to break open my little house? n.o.body ever told me that it was prettier in the garden than in my house. 'Tis rather cold out here. I never was cold before; seems to me some little chick has carried off a part of my house. If I see him, with it, I'll tell him he's a thief. Oh, dear, dear! something is scratching my back. May be it's the little thief! I wish I could look and see who it is.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A JUST-HATCHED CHICK.}]

STOP-A-WHILE.

There is growing in Africa a thorn called "Stop-a-while." If a person once gets caught in it, it is with difficulty he escapes with his clothes on his back, and without being greatly torn, for every attempt to loosen one part of his dress only hooks more firmly another part.

The man who gets caught by this thorn is in a pitiable plight ere he gets loose. You would not like--would you, boys? to be caught in this thorn. And yet many, I fear, are being caught in a worse thorn than "Stop-a-while." Where do you spend your evenings? At home, I do hope, studying your lessons, and attending to mother's words; for if you have formed a habit of spending them on the streets with bad boys, you are caught in a thorn far worse.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {BIRDS PERCHING ON PLANTS.}]

THE BIRDS' CONCERT.

MRS. L. L. SLOANAKER.

There's going to be a concert Out in the apple trees; When the air is warm and balmy, And the floating summer breeze Waft down the pale pink blossoms Upon the soft green gra.s.s:-- A lovely place to sit and dream, For each little lad and la.s.s!

The concert will open early When the sun lights up the skies:-- You'll miss the opening anthem If you let those sleepy eyes Stay closed, and do not hasten Out 'neath the orchard trees, Where the pink and snowy shower Is caught in the morning breeze.

The robins will swing in the branches, And carol, and whistle and sing.

The thrush, who is coming to-morrow, Will a charming solo bring.

The wrens will warble in chorus, Rare music, so touching and sweet; The orioles sent for their tickets, And will surely give us a treat.

The concert will open at sun-rise, All the June-time sweet and fair; There'll be a grand full chorus, For _all_ the birds will be there.

The concert is free to the children, And is held in the apple trees, And the birds will sing in a chorus, "O come to our concert--please!"

ONLY A BOY.

Only a boy with his noise and fun, The veriest mystery under the sun; As brimful of mischief and wit and glee, As ever a human frame can be, And as hard to manage as--what! ah me!

'Tis hard to tell, Yet we love him well.

Only a boy with his fearful tread, Who cannot be driven, must be led!