“Didn’t use to seem ’s if I was selfish if I kept the cows waiting while I picked some wild flowers for Mrs. Warner. But I _really_ suppose it was.” Dear little Ned! God bless him! ------------------------------------ [Illustration] THE GOLDEN RULE. -------------- LIZZIE had a present of a wild bluebird from her auntie, who caught it when it was a wee baby bird. It was a beauty, and Lizzie was very happy with her pet. One day she hung the cage on the veranda and saw how pleased the little creature was. Pretty soon it burst into a beautiful song, and she saw another bird near by, and that was a bluebird, too. Lizzie fancied her bird looked sad when the other one flew away, and that made her wonder if she had a right to keep a wild bird shut up in a cage. “I wouldn’t like to be caught and shut up, I know,” thought Lizzie, “and what I would not like to have done to me I ought not to do even to a bird.” And so Lizzie wrote a letter to her auntie, asking if she might set her dear bird free. Auntie said she might, and the very next morning Lizzie opened the prison door and birdie went free, all because a loving-hearted little girl was willing to do as she would like to be done by. ------------------------------------ [Illustration] A LITTLE FLOWER MISSION OF HER OWN. ------------------ “PICK your poppies every day,” said grandma, “and then others will come to take their place; and if you leave a fine one here and there with a bit of thread of the same color tied to its stem, you will know how to sort them.” So all summer Bessie picked the poppies and gave them to her friends, who cried out with delight over their lovely colors; and she did not forget the poor children who live in tenements without gardens, and who looked longingly at the bright bed as they passed. The seeds had only cost a nickel in the springtime; and caring for the flower beds made the little girl well and strong. So it was wise in Uncle Harry to suggest this pleasant task to Bessie. ------------------------------------ AN EASTERN LEGEND. ------------------ THERE’S a tender Eastern legend, In a volume old and rare, Of the Christ-child in his garden, Walking with the children there. And it tells—this strange, sweet story— (True or false, ah, who shall say?) How a bird with broken pinion Dead within the garden lay. And the children, childish cruel, Lifted it by shattered wing, Shouting, “Make us merry music, Sing, you lazy fellow, sing.”