are you going to give me for a present?"

"What do you want?" asked Mrs. More.

"I should like a necklace of some sort. Oh, papa," bounding
toward her father, "are you going to give me something?"

"What would you like me to give you?"

"Oh, anything," said Polly.

So the next morning, Polly found by her bedside, when she woke
up, a pretty little coral necklace, and a red purse with
seventy-five cents in it, and a penknife.

Three or four weeks after, Polly went to visit her uncle, who
lived in the country. He was a farmer, and it was haying time,
and he was getting in the new hay, and Polly liked to play in
the hay with her cousin May. One day, as they were playing
there, her coral necklace came unclasped and fell into the hay.
She hunted a long time, but could not find it.

Polly went home the next week sorrowing, but the next spring,
when the cows had eaten up all the hay, the news came that May
had found the necklace, and Polly was happy again.

HILDEGARDE GENEVIEVE MONTAGUE.

* * * * *

POETRY.

TO MY MOTHER.

(_A Lament._)

Oh, mother dear, why hast thou gone,
And left thy Cricket all alone?
The tears flow often from my eye,
And oft, indeed, I almost cry.

Should danger chance to come to thee,
While thou are sailing on the sea,
With sorrow would our hearts be torn,
And we would be here all forlorn.

Perhaps thou may fall from the deck,
Before papa thy fall could check,
Perhaps they could not rescue thee,
And then, alas! what grief to me.

Of course papa might pull thee out,
Or else some burly sailor, stout.
Oh, dear mamma! I pray thee, strive
To keep thyself, for us alive!

And dear papa, we miss him, too,
Almost as much as we do you.
We long to see his dear old face,
And fold him in our close embrace.

And Marjorie and Donald, too,
We miss you all, but mostly you.
Oh, hurry and grow very strong,
That we may have you back ere long.

SERETTA CARLILLIAN.

* * * * *

Miss Zaidee and Miss Helen Ward have decided that they will
patronize the ocean hereafter for their daily bath, rather than
the tanks in the cheese factory.

* * * * *

A SAD ACCIDENT.

The other day our editor, and on