“Yes, we can all speak on Temperance Day; we will have a great platform meeting. That is what they call it at Chautauqua when a great many speak about one thing. I heard a man telling his little girl about it on the boat,” said the fish. And the woodpecker wrote it down. “What was that other you said?” asked a sharp little chipmunk. “Missionary Day,” said the fish. “And what is that?” “Why, there are home missions and foreign missions,” said the fish. “And they talk about them both. I think they have a day for each, or maybe two or three. Missions are doing good to some one, but I don’t exactly see the difference between home and foreign missions.” “Why, that is plain to me,” said Bachelor. “Home missions is when some one does something kind to you, and foreign missions is when you do something kind to some one else.” “Of course; why didn’t I think of that before?” said the fish. “One day last year I was very hungry,” said a robin, “very hungry and cold. I had come on too early in the season. There came a cold snap, and the ground was frozen. I could find nothing at all to eat. I was almost frozen myself, and had begun to fear that my friends would come on to find me starved to death instead of getting ready for them as they expected. But a little girl saw me and threw some crumbs out of the window. I went and ate them, and every day as long as the cold weather lasted she threw me crumbs—such good ones too—some of them cake; and she gave me silk ravelings to make my nest of. I think that was a home mission, don’t you?” “Yes, my dear, it was,” said Bachelor. “You might tell that as one thing,” said the wind. “I will,” said Birdie. Said a daisy, “When I was very thirsty, one day, and the clouds sent down no good rain, the dear brook jumped up high here, and splashed on me so I could drink, and I think that was a home mission.” “Yes, yes,” said the elm, “it was.” “I know a story I could tell,” said the ferns. “And I,” said the elm; “one of many years ago, when I was but a little twig.” “I know a home mission story too,” said White Violet. “And I,” said the brook. “Once I was almost all dried up and could hardly reach the lake, and a dear lovely spring burst up and helped me along until the dry season was over.” [Illustration: “YES, YES,” SAID THE ELM, “IT WAS.”] “And I, and I,” chorused a thousand voices. “But what about foreign missions?” said the fish. “I sang a beautiful song to a sad old lady in a window, this morning,” said a mocking-bird. “That’s foreign missions,” said the chipmunk. “Some naughty boys hid another boy’s hat yesterday, and I found it for him and blew it to his feet,” said the wind. “I sent a bunch of buds to a sick girl, this morning,” said the rose-bush with a blush. “I think we shall have no lack of foreign missions,” remarked Bachelor. * * * * *