My Treasure Part 6

[Ill.u.s.tration: POOR JOE.]

SICK MOLLY.

"GUESS I'll hurry home," said the rough miner when some of his mates urged him to go to the saloon, "Molly'll miss me."

Nothing seemed so pleasant at night as to see his little Molly standing in the doorway to greet him when he came home. But to-night she was not in her usual place.

"Where's Molly?" he quickly asked, entering the kitchen. Before his wife could speak, he saw Molly in her mother's arms with her eyes closed.

"What is it?" he asked, in a hushed voice.

"I--don't--know," sobbed the poor mother. "She complained--of being tired. And she wanted--me to hold her. I've held her--nearly all day.

I'm _so_ glad--you've come, Jake. Do run for the doctor."

"Yes, I will;" and without another word he hurried to the village.

"Will she live?" were his first words after the doctor entered the house.

"I hope so," was the cheery answer. "Put her feet in warm water as soon as possible. And here is a powder for her. I'll come over in the morning. Think she'll be better then."

To the miner's great delight, Molly's blue eyes opened the next morning.

But if he had gone to the saloon, it might have been different.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SICK MOLLY.]

BABY RALPH'S LETTER.

GOLDEN-HAIRED, blue-eyed, sweet-mouthed Baby Ralph lay, a cunning little white heap, in his willow cradle.

While he slept, papa and mamma came softly into the room--dropped the lightest and sweetest of kisses on the dear baby face, then stole quietly out and away to the big city. Did Baby Ralph like this? You will hardly think so when you read his letter. Here it is:

"MY OWN PAPA AND MAMMA,--Does you want to hear 'bout me? You thinked I didn't know you runned way off and left your little baby boy all 'lone. But I did. And I waked up and cried--and cried. And Auntie May looked sober--and grandma looked sober--and grandpa whistled--and I cried hard. Then Auntie May put something in my bottle. 'Twas good, and I didn't cry. But Auntie May bringed water, and put some on my face, and I didn't like it. And I cried awful--so awful Auntie May stopped. Wish you's here, 'cause I don't feel good. If my papa and my mamma's here I'd feel gooder--wouldn't fuss any bit. Wish you's here, I do, to kiss your own

BABY RALPH."

Did this bring Baby Ralph's papa and mamma? Yes, indeed. And they took him and Auntie May back to the big city.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BABY RALPH'S LETTER.]

OUR LITTLE HAND-ORGAN MAN.

NEARER and nearer the sitting-room door came the patter of little feet.

And this queer song was heard over and over:

"Herbie--is--_organ_-hand man!"

Then in pranced our little three-year-old Herbie, his eyes bright, his right hand going round and round to imitate the hand-organ man. Under his left arm was a cricket.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Look here!" said papa, laughing heartily, "you've got the cart before the horse. It's hand-organ, not organ-hand."

"Herbie--is--_organ_-hand-man!"

His eyes only shone the brighter as he persisted in his funny mistake.

GOING TO BOSTON.

"WHERE let's go to-day?" asked Elsie, as the three children ran out of doors.

"Guess we'll go to Boston," answered Abe. And little Andy echoed, "Boston--Boston to-day."

So all three ran to the trunk of a large tree, lying on the ground. Tip, their dog, followed. They never went anywhere without Tip.

Andy held the whip, so he sat nearest the horse and drove. Careful Abe sat next. He had to hold Andy for fear of a fall. Elsie had nothing else to do so she held her hat up on a stick. "So folks'll see we're comin',"

she told Abe.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MR. FOX IS SURE.

FOXES are very sly. If they want a tender chicken for dinner, they don't walk into the poultry yard in broad daylight. Our Mr. Fox knows better than that. He waits till all is still at night. Then he steals across the yard, and peeps into the hen-house.

All is quiet, so he steps in. Now he stops a moment to listen. He wants to be sure that the big dog asleep near the house isn't after him. He hears nothing, so he looks around for the hens.

There they are, asleep on a high roost. Can he get them? His eyes s.h.i.+ne.

His mouth waters. He must have one somehow.

He is careful not to make a bit of noise--the sly fellow.