e; but, before he could
get over the fence, Rory gave him a final clutch
that sent him off yelping. He never came back; and
when he met Bravo afterwards, he was careful not
to trouble him.

"In a short time Bravo grew to be so strong and
brave, that he could fight his own battles without
the aid of his friend Rory."

The three children, who had listened very attentively to the story, now
talked it over; and they came to the conclusion that Toss received a
good lesson, and was probably a better dog after it. "For," said
Herbert, "a dog who abuses a smaller dog is almost as mean as a big boy
who tyrannizes over a little boy."

M. KATE BRAWLEY.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

PLAYING THE CHINAMAN.

FRANZ is a little boy about four years old, who lives in Brooklyn,
California. His favorite play is to take some pieces of cloth, fill his
mouth with water, turn his head from side to side, letting the water
squirt from the corners of his mouth upon them (as he has seen the
Chinamen do at the laundry), fold them, turn the iron-stand on its back,
and carefully smooth them. This is Foo Lee, washing and ironing.

Sometimes the clothes are not wet enough, and the sprinkling goes on
with the ironing.

"Your clothes will smell of tobacco and opium, if you sprinkle them so
much," says Franz's elder brother.

"No, they won't," says the little wash-man. "Me do them good; me do them
cheap."

When he gets tired of this, he puts his wash into a piece of paper, and
takes the bundle to mamma. "I hope the clothes are not too blue, John,"
says mamma.

"No," answers Foo Lee. "They done good this time."

"And did you find my stockings, which were missing from last week's
wash?"

"Yes, they all here. I found them: they all right this time,--fifty
dozen."

"How much shall I pay you?"

"Six bits." (Seventy-five cents.) "I do them velly cheap."

Mamma gives him two buttons,--one large one for the four-bit piece,
(fifty cents), and a smaller one for the two bits (twenty-five cents).

"Thankee. Good-baah!" says Foo Lee. "Good-by," returns mamma.

L. M.

PANSY'S SECRET.

PANSY had a secret, and nobody could find it out. She would come down
stairs in the morning, and seat herself at the breakfast-table, and then
papa would say, "Well, Pan