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nistered under the table. "He won't let me tell," said Sammy. "He's always telling what I say," said Roy. "Why don't he speak for himself?" "Well, I never!" said Sammy. "I thought you was too bashful to speak, and so I'd do it for you." "What was it, Roy?" "Why, I said, when I owned a horse, if he should happen to shy, you know, I'd cure him of it just as that minister cured Peter." Here there was a pushing back of chairs and a stir and commotion, for the last stitch was set to the quilting. Then the binding was put on, and the quilt was finished; but the September afternoon was finished too, and Lovina Tibbs lighted the lamps in the dining-room before she rang the bell for tea. Lovina had exerted herself in her special department to make this last meeting of the Society a festive occasion. She gave to the visitors what she called "a company supper"--biscuits deliciously sweet and light, cold chicken, plum-preserves, sponge-cake, and for a central dish a platter containing little frosted cakes, with the letters "P.Q.S." traced on each in red sugar-sand. When the feast was over, one last-admiring look given to "our quilt" and the girls and boys had all gone home, Susie and Mollie sat with their mother in Miss Ruth's room. "Auntie," said Susie, who for some moments had been gazing thoughtfully in the fire, "I have been thinking how nice it would be if, when our quilt goes to the home missionary, all the interesting stories you have told us while we were sewing on it could go too. Then the children in the family would think so much more of it--don't you see? I wish there was some way for a great many more boys and girls to hear those stories." "Why, that's just what Florence Austin was saying this afternoon," said Mollie. "She said she wished all those stories could be printed in a book." "You hear the suggestion, Ruth," Mrs. Elliot said. But Ruth smiled and shook her head, "They are such simple little stories," said she. "For simple little people to read--'for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' Think, Ruth, if, instead of one Eliza Jones 'making butterflies out of fennel-worms' next summer, and in that way getting at some wonderful facts far more effectively than any book could teach her, there should be a dozen, aria perhaps as many boys resolving, like Roy, to use kindness and patience instead of cruelty and force in their dealings with a dumb beast. But you know all this without my prea
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