"What ails sister?"

The little fellow looked puzzled for a moment, then confidently
answered, "Her stomach has settled on her bowels!"

It is a perplexing diagnosis, but a few skillful questions draw out the
fact that she has a bad cold, and some chamomilla is sent at a venture.
Word comes back the next day that "Sister is well: that medicine did her
_all_ the good."

Next comes, one after another, a perfect rush of small boys and big
girls, with now and then a man or woman for variety, on various errands.
"Please ma'am, give me a settin' of eggs. Our old hen wants to set, and
we haint got no eggs." The great brown eyes grow round with astonishment
when we tell them that the hens are A.M.A. hens now, and not ours, and
these hungry teachers eat every egg they lay. Two or three others, who
have been accustomed to rely on our good nature for their winter supply
of greens and salad, receive the same reply, and it is evident that the
new order of things is very unsatisfactory and perplexing to them.

"Please ma'am, give me some castor oil for the baby; she's awful sick;
Doctor says it's indigestion of the lungs."

She gets the castor oil, but soon comes back to say in most cheerful
tones--"Baby is dead. She died at ten o'clock, but she's better off, and
please, ma'am, give mother a black basque to wear to the funeral."

Heartless? Oh no. There was great wailing and moaning at the funeral,
and when the one carriage, with as many of the family as could crowd in
beside the poor little coffin, started for the cemetery, this same child
stood in the doorway, waving her handkerchief, and shouting tragically,
"Fare thee well, baby! Fare thee well!"

A half-grown girl came up the steps with two tiny chickens about as
large as pigeons, their legs tied together, their voices lifted up in
shrill squawks.

"Father sent you these two chickens for a Christmas present, and says
please send him a coat and pair of breeches, and a vest, too, if you
can. And mother sent you these eggs for a present, and please send her a
warm underskirt and a pair of shoes!" A modest request, surely.

Next, a great girl, barefooted, though it was a raw, cold day that made
us huddle gladly over a big fire, and with her a small boy, literally
naked so far as his bony little legs were concerned. A few fluttering
rags that had once been pants depended from the remnant of what had once
been a calico waist. An old bag was pinned around his shoulders, wh