"I stick to it that it was a bear," said Joe, as the boys were wrapping themselves in their blankets. "Cows go to roost at sunset. Suppose it did bellow: how do you know that bears don't bellow when they are shot?" "How about the horns, Joe?" asked Tom. "There's horned owls--why shouldn't there be horned bears? Anyway, I believe it was a bear, and I shall stick to it." And to this day Joe believes--or thinks he does--that he had a very narrow escape from a ferocious bear on the banks of the Schroon. [TO BE CONTINUED.] [Illustration] THE IDLE HOUR The robin sings on the topmost bough of the spreading maple-tree, Where the cool green leaves to the whispering breeze are nodding merrily; The sunbeams bright from the azure sky go frolicking here and there, And the breath of the clover blossom lies sweet on the summer air, And under the trees so restfully, where the shadows softest lie, Like a woodland nymph in her netted couch between fair earth and sky, Behold our dainty darling, safe hidden from friends away, Content with the merry sunshine, the robin, and breeze to stay. LITTLE MADGE. BY MARY D. BRINE. "Oh dear! such fun! Don't I wish just for once _I_ could be a rich lady's little girl, and wear a white dress and slippers, and a blue sash ever so wide, and curls in my hair! I do wish a fairy could fly right out of the sky this minute, and give me things I want! Oh, dear me!" Little Madge sat perched on the iron fence surrounding a handsome house, within which a birthday party was going on merrily. It was dark outside, and the street lamps were not bright enough to betray this little watcher to the gaze of the young people who were dancing under the light of brilliant chandeliers, and sending the sweet music of their happy voices out through the open windows into the silent street, where a few moments before little Madge Lee had been trying to sell matches. So she had ceased her cry of "Matches! matches!" which seemed so feeble in comparison to the sounds of merry music that filled the street as she came slowly along, and had clambered like a little monkey to the top of the iron fence, where at last she sat securely, watching the good time going on inside the beautiful rooms. Madge had never in all the eight years of her life owned such things as a white dress, slippers, or sash. And as for "curls in her hair," her own round head was like a boy's, so closely was the dark hair cut.