170

BACK WINDOWS. 188

LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 200

MY MAY-DAY AMONG CURIOUS BIRDS AND BEASTS. 222

OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 235

PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 244

_MY BOYS._

Feeling that I have been unusually fortunate in my knowledge of a choice
and pleasing variety of this least appreciated portion of the human
race, I have a fancy to record some of my experiences, hoping that it
may awaken an interest in other minds, and cause other people to
cultivate the delightful, but too often neglected boys, who now run to
waste, so to speak.

I have often wondered what they thought of the peculiar treatment they
receive, even at the hands of their nearest friends. While they are
rosy, roly-poly little fellows they are petted and praised, adorned and
adored, till it is a miracle that they are not utterly ruined. But the
moment they outgrow their babyhood their trials begin, and they are
regarded as nuisances till they are twenty-one, when they are again
received into favor.

Yet that very time of neglect is the period when they most need all
manner of helps, and ought to have them. I like boys and oysters raw;
so, though good manners are always pleasing, I don't mind the rough
outside burr which repels most people, and perhaps that is the reason
why the burrs open and let me see the soft lining and taste the sweet
nut hidden inside.

My first well-beloved boy was a certain Frank, to whom I clung at the
age of seven with a devotion which I fear he did not appreciate. There
were six girls in the house, but I would have nothing to say to them,
preferring to tag after Frank, and perfectly happy when he allowed me to
play with him. I regret to say that the small youth was something of a
tyrant, and one of his favorite amusements was trying to make me cry by
slapping my hands with books, hoop-sticks, shoes, anything that came
along capable of giving a good stinging blow. I believe I endured these
marks of friendship with the fortitude of a young Indian, and felt fully
repaid for a blistered palm by hearing Frank tell the other boys, 'She's
a brave little thing, and you can't make her cry.'

My chief joy was in romping with him in the long galleries of a piano
manufactory behind our house. What bliss it was to mount one of the cars
on which the workmen rolled heavy loads f