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tit." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. "Shakespeare" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- THE STOLEN CHERRIES. Long ago I read a story of some boys who stole some cherries, and, try what they might, the cherry stones were always turning up and reminding them of their wickedness. It was a good thing for their consciences that they could not forget what they had done; it is a dreadful thing to do evil and then care nothing about it. Do you know what is the best thing that can happen to you if you do wrong? To get found out. To conceal a sin is worse than you may suppose; confess to God and man, and pray for forgiveness. We get vexed with the little birds sometimes when they spoil our fruit; what do you think of Dick Raynor and Willie Abbot who robbed a poor widow's orchard, and took away the cherries that she would have sold to pay her rent? Day by day the little thieves had a feast in that orchard, and nobody guessed who stole the cherries; but there was One Who saw and knew all about the matter. The rent was not paid, and the widow was turned out of her cottage; Dick and Willie grew to be rich men by and by, and they could have paid her rent over and over again, but it was too late then--the aged woman had passed away. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- MY SWEETHEART'S ILL TO-DAY. My sweetheart's ill to-day, Her mates around her linger; She cannot go and play, A pin has pricked her finger! A little ache, my dear, But not a scrap of sorrow; At worst, perhaps, a tear, And all forgot to-morrow. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- MAUD'S NEW SKIPPING-ROPE. "Books, books, books! I think you will turn into a book yourself some day, Phil." "Wait till I have finished this chapter, Maud, and then I will go out with you." "That is always what you say," said Maud: "just a chapter, just a page, and the time goes." Philip turned over another page. "Only two more, Maud. Do go. I shall read faster if you
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