nging long,
That belongs to Joe,
Big and strong;
Little, wee, pink mite
Covers Baby's toes--
Won't she pull it open
With funny little crows!
Sober, dark gray,
Quiet little mouse,
That belongs to Sybil
Of all the house;
One stocking left,
Whose should it be?
Why, that I'm sure
Must belong to me!
Well, so they hang, packed to the brim,
Swing, swing, swing, in the firelight dim.

[Illustration]

'Twas the middle of the night.
Open flew my eyes;
I started up in bed,
And stared in surprise;
I rubbed my eyes, I rubbed my ears,
I saw the stockings swing, I heard the stockings sing;
Out in the firelight
Merry and bright,
Snug and tight,
Six were swinging,
Six were singing,
Like everything!
And the red, and the blue, and the brown, and the gray,
And the pink one, and mine, had it all their own way,
And no one could stop them--because, don't you see,
Nobody heard 'em--but just poor me!

"All day we carry toes,
To-night we carry candy;
Christmas comes once a year
Very nice and handy.
Run, run, race all day,
Mother mends us after play,
We don't care, life is gay,
Sing and swing, away, away!

"Boots and little tired shoes,
We kick 'em off in glee;
It's fun to hang up here
And Santa Claus to see.
Run, run, race all day,
Mother mends us after play,
We don't care, life is gay,
Sing and swing, away, away!

"To-morrow down we come,
The sweet things tumble out,
Then carrying toes again
We'll have to trot about.
Run, run, race all day,
Mother'll mend us after play,
We don't care, we'll swing so gay
While we can--away, away!"

MARGARET SIDNEY.

JOE LAMBERT'S FERRY.

It was a thoroughly disagreeable March morning. The wind blew in sharp
gusts from every quarter of the compass by turns. It seemed to take
especial delight in rushing suddenly around corners and taking away
the breath of anybody it could catch there coming from the opposite
direction. The dust, too, filled people's eyes and noses and mouths,
while the damp raw March air easily found its way through the best
clothing, and turned boys' skins into pimply goose-flesh.

It was about as disagreeable a morning for going out as can be
imagined; and yet everybod