en the big black raindrops fell upon the window-panes--"A great
pailful in every drop," said Tom.

"I want a picnic," wailed Susie, "and I can't have it."

"You shall have it," said papa; "we will have an indoors picnic, such
as my papa used to give me on a rainy day."

He led the way to the library. He took down a huge set of maps, a
great portfolio of engravings, and two or three heavy picture books.
"We will visit India," said he.

"Hurrah," said Tom. "Tiger hunts, elephant rides, jungles, snake
charmers, jolly old idols, and the Parsee merchants."

Tom knew very well what it meant when papa gave his mind up to turning
over picture books and talking as he turned.

They did have a good time; and before three o'clock it cleared away,
and though it was too late for the picnic they had planned, it was the
most perfect picnic weather, and as papa wanted to trim up cedars on
the knoll by the lake, they all went down. Papa and mamma played with
them for a while like an older brother and sister. They harnessed the
children in a "four-horse team," and drove up and down until the
"little colts" had had enough of fun and were glad to sit in the arbor
and watch papa trim trees.

[Illustration: A PICNIC AFTER ALL.]

THE STORY OF A CANE.

Was it a shiny black cane with a gold head? No. I think you never saw
a cane like this one. It was made out of a small balm-of-Gilead-tree.
It belonged to John Reed. He taught school. He was eighteen years old.

When vacation came, John walked home. It was forty miles, and a pretty
long walk. But there were no railroads in those days, and John did not
like to ride in a stage-coach.

He thought he could walk more easily with a cane to help him. So he
made this cane I am going to tell you about.

When he got home he stuck this cane into the ground in the lane, and
then forgot all about it. But the cane was alive! When John stuck it
into the ground it began to drink up the water from the soil.

Tiny green leaves sprouted out all over it. John saw it one day. How
surprised he was! It grew all summer long. The next year the branches
began to grow; and year by year it grew larger and larger till it was
fifty years old.

Then John Reed was sixty-eight years old; the little children called
him "Grandpa Reed."

[Illustration: GRANDPA REED.]

They called the great balm-of-Gilead-tree in the lane "Grandpa's
cane." They used to like to put their arms about it and look up into
the