of the poor English soldiers, but he told me what they did to him, and though it was dreadful it was rather funny too. Listen, Pussy! They made a big cage, only it wasn't nearly big enough, and they shut Uncle up in it, and slung it on a big stick, and carried him about as a show to all the towns and villages. It was very hot, and Uncle was so cramped up in the cage that he could hardly move, and he was very hungry and thirsty, and very, very miserable. The people used to come and stare at him, and tease him by poking nice fruit through the bars, and then snatching it away before he could eat it. Uncle Rupert said he longed to die; but he said one thing, Pussy, which I must always remember, only I'm afraid you won't understand this. He told me how glad he was that when he was a little boy his mother had taught him a great many texts and hymns. They all came into his mind then, and they comforted him very much, and made him remember that God was near him, even in the cage. So he was patient, and at last he was saved, for some English soldiers marched to the village, and the Chinese ran away and left the cage behind them, and you may be sure the soldiers soon got Uncle Rupert out.
GOOD NIGHT.
A THANKOFFERING
Ada Fortescue was recovering from a long and dangerous illness, and for the last week she had been able to lie on a sofa near the window, and see the people passing through the street as they trudged on their way to the city. Ada was twelve years old; and as she lay on her sofa she had many thoughts, some very serious, but most were happy and grateful.
Ada was Dr. Fortescue's only child, and her mother had been dead for eight years. During her illness Ada had often seen how grave her father looked, but now his thankfulness brought tears into her eyes. It was so nice to be loved so very much, thought Ada.
To-day a very absorbing thought was in her mind, and she looked up and down the street with more than usual interest. That morning her father had told her that he had put aside a sum of money as a thankoffering for her recovery, and she might choose the way in which it should be spent. What should she do? Ada thought of the missionaries far away, of the new church close by, of the hospital, and the orphanage.
At that moment a noise in the street attracted her attention. A man was loudly scolding a little boy, who was crying bitterly. The boy looked pale and tired; and Ada felt very sorry for him, so she opened the window to hear what was the matter. The man had come out of his shop, and was saying angrily, "Do you think I have nothing to do but give glasses of water to every vagabond who goes by? Be off with you, and don't stand there crying and making a crowd collect," for some of those who were passing had paused to find out what was the matter.
Ada rang the bell and sent the maid out to the little boy, who came thankfully for some water, only the water was nearly all milk, and there was a bun and a piece of bread for him besides. What a happy little boy he felt, and what a happy little girl was Ada as she met her father at the door of her room, saying, "I know, I know! a drinking fountain, father!"
At first Dr. Fortescue could not understand what she meant, but when she explained he thought it was a very good idea.
Some months later when Ada had a bad cold and was up in her room once more, it amused her to watch her drinking fountain, which was in the opposite wall, and see all the people who drank at it, and she was very glad when one day she recognized the little boy who had first put the idea of a drinking fountain into her head. He had a roll in his hand, and wore a nice tidy suit of clothes; and when Ada sent the maid to inquire after him she heard that he was on the way to see his mother with a quarter's wages in his pocket, for he had got a good place and meant to do all he could to keep it.
ONLY AN OLD COAT
A TRUE STORY OF A FAITHFUL DOG
"Only an old coat! That's what it is surely, but that old coat cost me a good friend, it did. Poor old Tinker was worth more than a dozen coats." So said Eli Watton, as he put the old coat over his shoulders, and settled himself in his donkey-cart with a man by his side who had asked for a lift.
"Who was poor old Tinker?" asked the stranger.
"My dog," answered Eli, "and a better one never followed any man. Poor fellow! though he weren't much to look at. Well, I'll tell you how it was I lost him, poor chap. Every Friday I have to drive into town to fetch the clothes for my wife to wash, and I often had to go in again on a Monday with clean ones. Tinker, poor fellow, used to go with me most times, but I never gave much heed to him. He'd always follow without a word. He was an ugly brute, people used to say—a sort of lurcher, and he never got much petting from any one.
"Well, one day I drove as usual, and I had this old coat over the basket of clothes. When I got to one house I suppose I pitched the old coat out, but I never heeded it; and I never noticed whether Tinker was with me or not. That night we missed Tinker; and my wife couldn't think what I'd done with the old coat, and I couldn't remember anything about it.
"On Monday I had to go to that same house, and there I found my poor old Tinker dead; they'd had him shot. I was in a way about it, I can tell you. It was in this way, you see. This old coat was in a doorway, where I suppose I threw it when I was taking down the basket. Old Tinker saw I left it there, and he sat down upon it to keep it safe for me, showing his teeth at anybody who offered to touch it. The servants got frightened; they tried to beat him away, and they tried to coax him away, but he wouldn't stir, and at last they thought he must be mad, and told their mistress. She came and did all she could to coax the dog away, for he was right in the way when they went out or in; but he snarled at them all. He must have been pretty near starved, lying there all Saturday night and Sunday, and I dare say he did get fiercer and fiercer, so at last they got him shot.
"I've never had a dog along with me again. I don't suppose I shall ever get one like Tinker. I always think of him when I take up this old coat;" and Eli gave his donkey a cut with the whip, and I am not sure if there was not something like a tear in his eye as he thought of his lost Tinker. What did it matter that he was an ugly dog? He did his duty to the end of his life, and which of us can do more?
AMBITION
I often wonder how Papa
Can like to go to Town,
And sit all day with pen in hand,
And write those figures down;
When he might take a boat and go
A-sailing on the stream
And with his rod and line and reel
Go fishing for the bream.
I think it must be that he likes
To take the train and ride
But I would travel round the world
And see the other side;
Find out where the Equator's drawn
And what the Poles can be,
And where the sun goes when he's
Beyond the shining sea.
THE GOOD AND BAD FAIRIES
Two houses stood side by side, as much alike as two twins. Honeysuckle and sweetbrier climbed over the rustic porches, flowers bloomed gayly in the gardens, and the warm sun shone equally on both. In each lived a little girl who had an invisible fairy companion. The children were the same size, the same age, and had the same advantages, with this difference, that the one fairy was good and the other bad.
A ray of sunshine glides through the window into the first house, and shines encouragingly on little Minnie, who is trying to do her lessons.
But the bad fairy has set her pygmies to work. One persuades her that she will do her lessons better if she sits in an easy-chair, another puts a cushion at her back, while a third fans her face so gently that the soft breeze, fragrant with