"Here are their little tails!" shouted Bo Peep. "They can't be far away!" And sure enough, in a few minutes they saw the sheep and the little lambs in a meadow.

_Oh, Little Bo Peep Has found her sheep And now she'll take care to mind them.

No more will they roam, For she'll lead them home Bringing their tails behind them._

And pretty soon you will find another story about Little Sir Cat--

_Unless you lose this pretty book And cannot find it tho' you look Inside the silver sugar bowl And down the cellar in the coal._

[Ill.u.s.tration: TOM, TOM, THE PIPER'S SON Pub. by Nat. Art Co., N. Y.]

THE LITTLE WHITE HOUSE ON THE HILL

It was the night before Christmas. Outside a cold wind blew the snow about in clouds, penetrating the cracks and c.h.i.n.ks of the little old white house on the hill. Before the small fire of driftwood, which tried its best to warm the little bare room, sat Mrs. Whitcomb, wondering sadly where the money was to come from to buy the turkey for the dinner the next day.

Mrs. Whitcomb's eyes filled with tears as she remembered the happy Christmas of a few years previous, when the children's father was alive.

Just then an excited e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from Madge in the doorway startled her.

"Mother, dear!" she cried, running in, followed by Billy, "I've just been thinking of that story you read to us last year about the money that was stored away behind the old family portrait over the mantelpiece. Don't you remember how it fell down when the little boy, who was locked in the closet for being naughty, kicked the closet door till everything shook and shook; and then down fell the portrait, and the bags of money just emptied themselves all over the floor?"

"I'll be the bad boy if you want to put me in the closet," offered Billy. Mrs. Whitcomb looked up with a sad smile, as she took Madge in her lap and placed an arm around him.

"Suppose we make believe the old mirror is a portrait," she said.

"And I'll make believe I'm naughty," added Billy. "It will be the first time I've ever had to make believe!"

Madge jumped off her lap and ran to the closet. "Come, mother," she called, "make Billy go inside!" In a moment he was shut in, and even Mrs. Whitcomb began to laugh, for Billy's acting was almost as real as if he had indeed been a bad boy and was undergoing a just punishment.

One of the candlesticks tumbled over on top of the tiny mahogany box, knocking it off upon the floor. It broke open on the hearthstone, and as Mrs. Whitcomb stooped to pick up the broken pieces she uttered a cry of joy.

"Come here!" she called, "come, see what I've found," and she held up a five-dollar gold piece before Madge's delighted eyes.

"Oh, mother, darling!" screamed Madge, "where did it come from?"

"What's the matter? Let me out!" yelled Billy from the depths of the closet; "let me out! What's the matter?"

Madge rushed over to the closet, but in her excitement found it difficult to turn the key.

"What's it all about?" cried Billy.

"Oh, Billy," gasped Madge, as she twisted and turned the handle, "what do you think? Mother has found a five-dollar gold piece!"

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Mrs. Whitcomb, after the noise and excitement had subsided, "how in the world I ever forgot that I put that money away for safe keeping in that little box years ago is beyond me. But I did, and it isn't a dream!"

"No, indeed, mother!" cried Madge, pinching the gold piece, "it's as real as can be!"

"Let's all go down to the village and get the dinner things," suggested Billy.

By the time the celery and vegetables, the nuts and raisins, together with the big, fat turkey, were safely packed, the basket was fairly bulging over.

"Oh, what a feast we'll have tomorrow," gasped Madge. They set the heavy basket down before the mantel-piece, as mother closed the outer door and came in. "What a jolly dinner! I'm so glad Billy and I got to talking before going to bed. Wasn't it lucky I remembered that story?"

"Yes, indeed," answered mother, smiling away, as she unpacked the basket and stowed away all the good things in safe places until the next day.

"Just like a play," volunteered Billy, "with me as the hero!"

"With Madge as the author," said mother.

"Right you are, mother dear," answered Billy, "only without the great acting on the hero's part there would never have been any success to the play. That closet wasn't such a joke after all!"

"No, indeed," laughed Madge, "you shall have the wishbone for your reward, Mr. Hero Actor."

A LITTLE GIRL'S DIARY

Wednesday

_I love her on a Wednesday When she kneads the snowy dough, For the dimples in her elbows Make such a pretty show._

Wednesday, as soon as I get back from school, if cook is making bread I beg her to let me have some of the dough, and then Dolly sits by me while I make it into all sorts of pretty little cakes and things, and put it in the oven in the stove--I mean, of course, the doll house stove, for the kitchen is all fitted up with everything just like a real kitchen. There is a big dresser, and shelves full of tin pans, and crockery. There is a cunning, little towel on a wooden roller, and a sink with faucets, and real water. The range is heated by electricity and really cooks the cakes, only Dolly and I don't eat them, for mother says our cook's are better, so we eat little pieces of cookies instead.

Of course, if it is a nice day, I go out to the park on my roller skates, or take my hoop, but I usually get time before I go to help Dolly with her household duties.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Harvey Peake_]

_The Man in the Moon, Came down too soon, And asked his way to Norwich.

In his crescent machine, Made of cheese so green, He drove off after his porridge._

HOW JAMIE PLAYED TROUBADOUR

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Jamie had received a violin for Christmas, much to his delight, for he was very fond of music and wanted to learn to play the violin more than any instrument he could think of--even his big drum, which sometimes he would beat with all his might after a long, long lesson on his violin.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

When New Year's Day came he made up his mind that he would make believe he was a little troubadour. So he tucked his beloved violin under his arm and set gaily forth. On the next block lived a little girl named Rosalie, of whom Jamie was very fond. When he reached the house in which she lived, he stopped before the big parlor window which was quite close to the sidewalk, and, taking his violin from under his arm, commenced to play. Very soon, who should come to the window but little Rosalie herself, and as soon as she saw Jamie she opened the window and leaned out.