"Mew! mew! mew!"

"I can't break my word anyhow; I said he shouldn't come back, and he shan't; so now there's no use in pining yourself to death over a scapegrace."

"Mew! mew! mew! m-e-e-o-w!" shrieked the cat, with every bristle on end, and her claws scratching the floor.

"Mrs. Wiggins, I wish you would keep that miserable cat at home," said the deacon; and so the wee widow woman took up the wonderful cat and carried it home.

But the poor deacon couldn't rest. That night he thought he could hear that cat mewing at him all the time. He remembered that he had not seen Tom for some days. What if he was dying? It was a long night. The deacon at last got to thinking of the touching and wonderful Parable of the Prodigal. And then in the stillness he thought he could hear something in his heart mewing at him.

At last daylight came, and he hastened to find Tom in a wretched garret racked with disease. He brought him home tenderly, and Tom got well both in his body and in his soul.

The Chicken Little Stories.

SIMON AND THE GARULY.

Chicken Little fixed herself up in her new rocking-chair, set her mouth in a very prim fashion, leaned her head on one side, and began to rock with all her might, jerking her feet from the floor every time.

"I yish," she began, "I yish somebody yould tell some stories yat yould be little for me to hear."

And having made this speech, which was meant as a hint for me, she rocked harder than ever, nearly upsetting herself two or three times.

"What shall it be about?" I said.

"'Bout some naughty boy or 'nother."

She likes to hear of naughty boys, but not of naughty girls. She thinks stories of naughty girls are a little personal. And so, with her chair going and her shining eyes peering out from under her overhanging forehead, I began

_THE STORY._

Simon was a selfish fellow. He was always willing anybody should divide good things with him, but was never willing, himself, to divide with anybody else. He was never willing to play with others, for fear he would not be treated right. His two brothers and his sister had their playthings together, but Simon would not play with them, for fear he should not get his rights in all things, and so he took his little stock and set up for himself. His brothers and sister, of course, by putting theirs together, had many more than he. Then, too, by working together, they managed to fix up many nice things. But poor Simon had n.o.body to help him, and n.o.body to play with him. So he came to feel very bad. He thought everybody was angry with him.

One sunny afternoon, when the other children were laughing and shouting merrily, poor Simon tried in vain to be happy by himself. Something in his throat kept choking him.

("I guess it was the cry that choked him," broke in the Small Chicken. "I had a cry in my throat yesterday. It was bigger than my fist, and most choked me to death, till I let it out.")

Yes, that was what hurt him, and presently he let it out, as you say, and had a good, hard cry. Then gradually he went off into a sort of doze.

Soon he felt something strike him on the head.

"Wake up! wake up!"

Simon opened his eyes, and saw a funny, little, old man standing over him, who kept one of his eyes shut all the time, and looked out of the other with the queerest twinkle in the world. He had a knotty stick in his hand, and was tapping Simon over the head with it.

"What do you want?" growled Simon.

With that the old man hit him another sharp blow over the head.

"Get up," he said, "and come with me, and I will show you where I live. I am one of the Garulies."

Simon got to his feet, partly because he was afraid of another blow from the cudgel, and partly because he had a very great desire to know something of the Garulies.

"Come along! come along!" said the queer little man, as he gave Simon another tap.

He took the road through the woods pasture, down under Swallow Hill, and then through the blackberry patch, until they came to the brook known as "Bee Tree Run." Here, just at the foot of a large sycamore, and among its roots, was fastened a curious boat, made of a large turtle sh.e.l.l turned upside down.

"Get in! get in!" squealed the little old Garuly.

"I am too large," said Simon; "that craft will sink if I step in."

In an instant the little man whirled round and hit him three tremendous raps over the head with his cudgel, shouting, or rather _squeaking_,

"Smaller! smaller! smaller!"

The blows made Simon's head ring, but when he recovered himself, he found that the turtle-sh.e.l.l boat appeared a great deal larger than before. Not only that, but every thing about him appeared larger. He soon discovered, however, that he was smaller, and that that was what made other things seem larger. For you know we measure everything by ourselves.

("Mamma doesn't," said the Chicken; "she measures with a yard-stick.")

Well, Simon prided himself on being so big, and it was not pleasant to him to find himself suddenly become so small that a large rooster could have looked down upon him. But he did not say any thing, for fear of old Garuly's stick, but just got into the boat as soon as possible. The old man got in, too, and they were soon floating down the stream. The brook seemed like a river, and the gra.s.s upon the banks was like trees, to Simon, now. The old Garuly guided the boat over the rapids, that seemed frightful to Simon, and floated it down to where the cliffs were steep, and presently came to a place where the water runs under a large rock.

The old man steered the queer craft into this dark, cave-like place, and shot up to a shelving landing-place.

"Get out!" he squeaked.

Simon did as he was commanded.

"Go in! go in!" cried the Garuly, pointing to a hole in the cliff.

"I am too large," said Simon.

And immediately the old man struck him over the head three times, as before, crying,

"Smaller! smaller! smaller!"

Simon now found himself not more than half as large as he was before. He went in with the Garuly, who had also grown smaller. Inside there was the daintiest chamber, all full of beautiful sh.e.l.ls wrought into tiny articles of furniture. The floor was paved with shining pebbles, and the room was lit up by three fire-flies and two glow-worms.

"How could you make the place so beautiful?" cried Simon.

"The Garulies work together," said the old man, sharply.

The little man told Simon to go in through another door, but Simon was still too large for that, and so the Garuly again pounded him, crying,

"Smaller! smaller! smaller!"