nd, there is excellent cabbage soup for supper!"

At this, Peter could restrain himself no longer, and falling upon Silly
Catharine, he trounced her well with his stick, until she cried out for
mercy. "There!" he said at last, throwing down the stick, "you have
been well punished, though not half enough to pay for the mischief you
have done."

Silly Catharine dried her eyes upon her apron, and with a reproachful
look exclaimed, "Still you have beaten me, Wise Peter, for what I could
not help; for, if the turkeys had not been killed, I should never have
stayed away so long; if the water had not flown up chimney, I should not
have burnt the bucket; and if the well had not tasted of cabbages, I
should not have thrown in the wine. And, above all, dear Peter, if that
abominable man spoke ill of you, how could I, your wife, avoid showing
him that he lied? Besides, the case is not so bad; we have lost nearly
all, it is true; but, thank heaven, we still have delicious cabbages!"

In spite of himself, Wise Peter could not help bursting out laughing.
"After all, Catharine," he exclaimed, "I see you did not intend doing me
any harm; if you are a fool, that, certainly, is not your fault;
therefore, in future let us never be separated. Come, you pretty goose,
let us go and eat cabbage soup."

So saying, Wise Peter kissed his wife's blooming cheek, and led her into
the house. They sat down with contented hearts to the nice, smoking
soup, and after supper walked out among the spreading cabbages.

THE WONDERFUL LEGEND OF THE GOLD STONE.

IN those far away times when the world was yet in its baby clothes, and
people were not as wise as they are nowadays, there dwelt in the good
town of London a poor tailor's apprentice named Bartlemy Bowbell. He
might be called poor in a double sense; for not only was he such a lazy,
idle fellow that he scarcely ever took a stitch, and so seldom had a
copper of his own, but he was a miserable workman, and, like an
organ-grinder's monkey, or a blind man's dog, obtained more kicks than
halfpence.

In the same room with him were several other tailors; who sang together
one of two tunes as they stitched. If they were paid for every day's
work, be it much or little, they sang, "By the d-a-y! by the d-a-a-y! by
the d-a-a-a-y!" and the needles went in and out as slowly as the coaches
of a funeral procession; but if they were paid for every garment they
finished, then they sang, "By the job! by t