n-ed down so tight that she
on-ly had room for a lit-tle bit of a smile, which did not come ver-y
oft-en, be-cause it felt so crowd-ed; and, when she was ver-y an-gry, it
just slip-ped a-way al-to-geth-er--"

"Stop there!" said grandma, in such a funny tone that Nell looked up to
see what she meant. Grandma stood beside her, holding a little mirror so
that Nell could not help seeing her own face in it.

She looked and looked, and her face grew as red as the cover of her
book, and she wanted to cry, but at last she thought better of it, and,
looking up shyly, said:

"Grandma, I know! I'd do for a picture to put to this girl's story! My
face is just like that! But see now!"--and she opened her eyes very
wide, and raised up her eyebrows so far that the two little frowns in
them got frightened and tumbled off, and the wee smile that came to her
lips found so much room that it stretched itself into a real good laugh,
and grandma laughed too, and they were very merry all that day.

[Illustration: "THE FROWNS TUMBLED OFF."]

Grandma's little mirror taught Nell a lesson, and now, when she feels
the frowns coming back, she lifts her eyebrows almost up to her hair,
and runs for her red book, and she and grandma both laugh to think how
Nell was made into a picture to fit the naughty girl's story.

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

Well, here's July come again, warm and bright and happy, and the
children of the Red School-house are as busy as bees getting ready for
the Fourth. I suppose you are, too, my dears. Have as good a time as you
can, and help some other body to have a good time, too. But don't blow
yourselves up, for that is not the proper way to rise in the world.

For my part, I don't quite see the use of burning so much gunpowder by
way of celebrating the Fourth of July. From all I can make out, the mere
making sure of that day burned up quite enough of it.

But then, I'm only a peaceable Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and, of course, I
can't be expected to understand all these things.

Now, to work! But take it coolly and quietly, my dears. Don't treat
business as though it were a lighted fire-cracker with a short fuse.

First comes a message from Deacon Green about

ARIOSTO'S FAIRY-STORY.

The Deacon says that, as preaching is warm work just now, he will do no
more than give you a text, this time, and you can have a try at the
sermon all by yourselves. Here is what he sends you as the text:

Ariosto, the Italian poet