in
order to keep herself from falling, and assisted by it, she started out
quite bravely; but she had taken but four steps when Tommy shouted,
"Hold on fast, Polly! the hook's comin' out." Alas! the warning came too
late. Before she could get hold of the beam securely, the hook came out,
and with a cry of terror poor Polly fell with a dull thud to the floor.
Her dress knocked over the candle as she fell, and in a second the hay
that was scattered on the floor was in a blaze. All the boys except
Tommy Briggs rushed screaming from the barn, but he, by straining every
muscle, succeeded in dragging Polly out of the now blazing building, and
then, the necessity for exertion on his part being over, he fell in a
dead faint by the side of the unconscious girl.

Help soon arrived, and the doctor being summoned, Polly was found to be
severely injured, while Tommy escaped with some slight burns and an
attack of brain-fever. Poor Polly! for weeks she suffered the most
intense pain, and when at last she was able to leave her bed, she rose
up a sadder and a wiser girl.

Polly is a young woman now, but she still bears the mark of her last
frolic in the shape of a long scar on her cheek, where she struck on the
rake when she fell.

Polly has one peculiarity. She is the confidential friend of every wild
tom-boy of a girl in town, because, as she says, she has such unbounded
sympathy with them, and also because she is so anxious to keep them from
trying any such dangerous experiments as the one to which she fell a
victim.

HOW TROTTY GOT HIS JUMPING-JACK.

BY AGNES CARR.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Trotty sat on the nursery floor, gazing sadly at a broken jumping-jack,
with only one leg, no arms, and not much of a head to speak of. It was
weeks since Christmas, and all the toys Santa Claus had stuffed into
Trotty's little striped stocking were cracked and broken, and now this
jumping-jack, the last and dearest of all, had gone to pieces too.

"I sink it's time Santa Tlaus tomed aden," remarked Trotty at last.

"Oh no," said nurse, who was holding baby by the window; "he is busy
now, making toys to give the good children next Christmas."

"Where does he live?" asked Trotty.

"In a house set in a garden of Christmas trees," began nurse; but just
then somebody called her from the room.

"I b'lieve I'll try and find dat house," thought Master Four-year-old,
"and ask Santa Tlaus to div me anodder jumping-jack."