I would not think it was fun to trip a lame
boy up. I would not think it fun to see him splash down backward into
a pool, and when he soused under and wet his lame back ice-cold, I
would not call, 'Cry-baby!'

"But that is what the school-boys did that day I went.

"So I can't write handsome letters. Do you trick new boys the first
day they come to your school in America? I have had twelve sore
throats since, and I wear a scarf in the house.

"I can knit, and I can mend, and I color pictures. But that is not
learning as school-boys learn. Girls are good to me, and there is a
school where they are all girls, but I think I would not like to go to
it--would you? Write again.

"Your cousin Tom."

[Illustration: {A LITTLE GIRL HELPS TOM AWAY FROM THE BULLIES.}]

[Illustration: LADY FLORENCE.--_From the painting by G. A. Storey,
A. R. A._]

[Illustration: HOW PLEASANT TO LIE ON THE LOUNGE.]

JANEY'S PRESENT.

Janey had been very sick. She had not left her room for a month. But
she was much better. Why, she was really hungry this morning! And here
comes mamma with a nice breakfast! She looked at the pleasant room
while she ate her toast and drank her milk.

"It isn't such an old, headachy place now," she said. "But please open
the windows and let all the sickness out." Then mamma put on the soft
red wrapper and knitted slippers that auntie had made for her to wear
on this very day. How pleasant it was to lie on the lounge with her
own dearest doll Belinda Button, tucked away under the afghan! She
could see the children at play through the open window and hear their
merry laughter.

"Mamma," she said, "I am so glad to be well. I want to make a present.
May I give some things to Bobby's lame sister? Not Belinda: she knows
how sick I have been, and would not leave me. But I want to give her
my red leather ball, and white rabbit and the picture book cousin
George sent me. And mamma, will you buy a new dolly who has no mother,
for Nellie?"

Was not that a kind thought of Janey's? and you may be sure Nellie had
them.

GOOD OLD ROSE.

Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems. Her tail
waves like a great feather duster.

When we say "Good dog," it thumps like grandpa's cane when he walks
up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her "Good old Rose."

One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old. The store
is just beyond the railroad track.

"Rose, tak