lies still plague her. She splashes the water to drive the flies
away.

[Illustration]

By and by the milk-maid comes out, and calls, "Co-boss, co-boss!" The
cow hears her, and walks slowly along to the barn.

[Illustration]

The cow stands quite still while the maid is milking her. But is not the
maid seated on the wrong side of the cow? My cow would kick the pail
over if I should milk her in that way.

W. O. C.

NAMING THE KITTEN.

"WHAT shall be the kitten's name?" asked Rachel of her younger sister,
who stood holding up her apron, and begging to take the little pet.

"It is _my_ kitten," pleaded Alice; "and I ought to have it."

"The old cat evidently thinks it is _her_ kitten. Hark! Hear her mew!
'Mine, mine, mine,' she seems to say."

"Oh!" said Alice, "I can soon quiet the old cat with a saucer of milk.
Come, give me the kitten; that's a good Rachel!"

"Well, I will give it to you on one condition."

"Name it: perhaps I can grant it."

"The condition is, that you give the kitten a name,--a name that I shall
approve of."

"Oh! that I can do right off. We will call her Arabella."

"Nonsense! that is too long and grand a name for a kitten. It will do
very well for a proud lady-doll from Paris, but not for this little
scratcher."

"How would you like the name of Betsy?"

"Not at all. I think it a homely sort of name."

"Well, will any of these do?--Pet, Muff, Tabby, Tit, Tip-top, Scamper,
Nap, Mop, Pop, Grab?"

"I think you must have got those from some story-book."

"You guessed right that time," said Alice. "Name the kitten yourself, if
none of my names will satisfy you. Put her in my lap, and I will get
some cream, and let her lap it."

"Lappit, did you say? That's a new name, and a good one!" cried Rachel.
"You have hit upon a name at last. We will call the kitten Lappit. Now
hold up your apron, and I will put Lappit in your lap."

Alice laughed at her sister's play upon the word; and, taking the kitten
in her apron, she ran off into the garden, followed by the old cat.

[Illustration: NAMING THE KITTEN.]

LITTLE GILBERT.

A TRUE STORY.

MANY years ago a little boy, named Gilbert, lived in a small town in New
Brunswick, on the banks of the St. John River. The river is deep and
swift; and Gilbert's papa had often warned him not to go too near the
brink.

One day, when the little fellow was about six years ol