ng of Everything fashioning the stars, and who knew the
sun in his childhood, forgive this poor little animal. Your sacred
hunger shall be my care. I am your servant."

"It is well," said Popocatepetl at once, for his spirit was ever kindly.
"And now, what will you do?"

The little animal put his hand upon his chin and reflected. "Well, it
seems you are hungry, and the King of Everything has forbidden you to go
for food in fear that your monstrous feet will riddle the earth with
holes. What you need is a pair of wings."

"A pair of wings!" cried Popocatepetl delightedly.

"A pair of wings!" screamed the eagle in joy.

"How very simple, after all."

"And yet how wise!"

"But," said Popocatepetl, after the first outburst, "who can make me
these wings?"

The little animal replied: "I and my kind are great, because at times we
can make one mind control a hundred thousand bodies. This is the secret
of our performance. It will be nothing for us to make wings for even
you, great Popocatepetl. I and my kind will come"--continued the crafty,
little animal--"we will come and dwell on this beautiful plain that
stretches from the sea to the sea, and we will make wings for you."

Popocatepetl wished to embrace the little animal. "Oh, glorious! Oh,
best of little brutes! Run! run! run! Summon your kind, dwell in the
plain and make me wings. Ah, when once Popocatepetl can soar on his
wings from star to star, then, indeed--"

* * * * *

Poor old stupid Popocatepetl! The little animal summoned his kind, they
dwelt on the plains, they made this and they made that, but they made no
wings for Popocatepetl.

And sometimes when the thunderous voice of the old peak rolls and rolls,
if you know that tongue, you can hear him say: "Oh, traitor! Traitor!
Traitor! Where are my wings? My wings, traitor! I am hungry! Where are
my wings?"

But the little animal merely places his finger beside his nose and
winks.

"Your wings, indeed, fool! Sit still and howl for them! Old idiot!"

WHY DID THE YOUNG CLERK SWEAR?

OR, THE UNSATISFACTORY FRENCH.

All was silent in the little gent's furnishing store. A lonely clerk
with a blonde moustache and a red necktie raised a languid hand to his
brow and brushed back a dangling lock. He yawned and gazed gloomily at
the blurred panes of the windows.

Without, the wind and rain came swirling round the brick buildings and
went sweeping over the streets. A