in the house
they went to live in, and that took her mind off herself. And that's all
of that," said Rosanna, smiling.

"That's a nice story," said Minnie. "Now let's hear what Myron has to
tell."

Myron shook his head. "Oh, go on, Myron," said Helen. "Tell us a story,
please, even if it _is_ short!"

"Once there was a little boy," said Myron, without waiting to be teased.
"Once there was a little boy and he had a mamma and two brothers and
three sisters, and he grew up and made lots of money, and bought lots of
nice things for his mamma, and his two brothers and his three sisters
and that's all."

"The dear lamb!" said Minnie. "That's the best story of the lot."

"Mine was better," said Tommy. "Mine was a real feller."

"Oh," murmured Minnie, "Louisa Cordelia has just _got_ to get hold of
you, young man!"

"I suppose it is my turn now," said Mary, "as long as you want to save
Minnie for the last. Could you let me say you a little poetry, or was
Luella's enough? I think some poetry sort of mixes things up a little."

"I think poetry is _lovely_," said Rosanna sweetly. "We loved Luella's
verses."

"Well, then I will say some instead of a story." Mary cleared her throat
and, rising, made a little bow.

UNAFRAID

The day I die, I'll quickly go
Past all the angels, row on row,
Straight up to God; I'll know His face
Even up there in that new place.

In Sunday School, the way they teach,
God is almost too great to reach.
They act a little bit afraid;
Because the world and all He made.

But if He made the heavens blue,
He made the sweet wild violets too;
And Oh, what careful work it took
To plan the small trout in the brook.

I know He's just the very size
Of father; with most loving eyes.
Just big enough so one like me
Can safely lean against His knee.

"Those were lovely verses," said Minnie when Mary had finished. "I
wonder who wrote them."

"My teacher wrote them," said Mary. "I think they are real nice."

"I do think it is a waste of time for me to tell a story," said Minnie.
"First you know the machine will be here and then we will have to hurry
home."

"I would like to hear you tell a story ever so much," said Mary. "I know
it would be a nice one, but I must be starting along pretty soon. It is
a long way from here to the car track, and I have to stop so often on
account of the baby being so heavy. It is so funny about babies, they
seem to get so heavy toward night."

"In