ul lake, we will be sure to tell
you all about it.

Near by is a grand old oak tree, standing alone and majestic, like a
king on his throne; and a lovely flower garden, at the side of the
house, is so bright in colors that one would suppose a company of
rainbows had gone to housekeeping there.

In the middle of this garden there stands, day and night, a beautiful
young lady, in a round straw hat; but I wouldn't kiss her for a dollar!
for her cheeks, as well as all the rest of her, are as white as chalk
and as hard as a stone. I dare say her heart is too, if she happens to
have any. Who wants to kiss stone people? I'd rather kiss _you_, and
ilken Annie, and that other sweet little Annie who came to see me.

Ilken Annie, when she was about four years old, was one pleasant day
sitting in her chair by the window, knitting a little white garter--that
is, she was learning to knit one.

"Oh my," she said, "the stitch is so naughty! It is running away! What
shall I do?"

You see, there were five stitches on the knitting needle, and Annie's
little fat fingers had hard work to keep them there.

So her kind mamma showed her very carefully how to pull a stitch through
with the other needle, before it had time to be off on its travels; and
the dear little child, with a bright smile, kissed her mother, and said,
"It is all tight now; oh, how glad I am!" And she put out her chubby
little leg to try how much larger that celebrated stitch had made the
garter.

Presently she cried out again, "Oh, mamma, here's a stitch all _climbed_
up, and another all rolled down; and one is so little I can't see his
eye to poke the needle through. Oh, what a bad children!"

Her mother laughed at this funny speech, and said pleasantly, "'Try, try
again,' ilken Annie." Then she pulled and twitched at the "bad
children-stitches;" and once more Annie sat down to knit, singing, with
a pretty little bird's note--

"'Tis a lesson you should heed:
Try, try again;
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again."

Of course you know all of this pretty little song, don't you? Just sing
it now.

By and by the little girl and her mother went down to luncheon; and
there, on the table, were such lots of nice cream and raspberries, and
white home-made bread! Oh! how I wish all the darling children in the
world could have such a delicious lunch--so much better for them than
pies or a whole bushel of sugar candy.

When this nice lunc