It was not only in the matter of toys that Charlie failed to receive his just share. When black Biddy had a brood of seven chicks, and each of the children claimed one as a special pet, it was the lame one that was called Charlie’s. One day, Mother found her little lad sitting by himself on the doorstep, with Hopperty, as the lame chick was called, huddled up in his pinafore. “What’s the matter, Charlie boy?” said she, for she noticed that the little cheeks were very white and the pretty blue eyes heavy. “My head’s so funny, Mother!” said Charlie. The next day there were six children playing in the field behind the house, and one little boy lay tossing on his bed upstairs. Now, you would have thought that amongst so many children one would scarcely have been missed, but _Charlie_ was. The children felt as though they could not play, now that he was not with them. Then they remembered what a sweet, unselfish little fellow he had been. “We gave him the lame chicken!” said Dora regretfully. “I never once offered him a ride on Dobbin,” sighed Tommy. “I don’t think any of us were _very_ kind to him,” said Alice. “He was so contented that we thought anything would do for him.” The week that Charlie was ill was the most miserable the children had ever spent, and when at the end of that time the Doctor said the worst was over and Charlie began to mend, there was _nothing_ his brothers and sisters would not have given him, they were so thankful. The chickens were secretly carried up to Charlie’s bedside, but Mother said she could _not_ have the sick-room turned into a poultry-yard. “But we gave him the lame chicken,” the children pleaded; “and oh! Mother, we _are_ so sorry!” “Well,” said Mother, “he loves Hopperty best now; but, my darlings, Charlie will be down amongst you all soon, I hope, and then you must remember to try and be as unselfish to him as he has always been to you.” The children did not forget Mother’s words, and as for Charlie, he is the happiest little boy in the world, and the other children are all the happier too, I know, for having learnt to be a little more like their unselfish little brother. _L. L. Weedon._ [Illustration] OUR CAT’S TALE. THIS is a true story, but you needn’t believe it unless you like. It happened to a cat I know, who has never said anything untrue in her life. One day when this cat had gone down to the sea to bathe, she was standing on the steps of her bathing-machine looking at the sea and wondering whether it would be cold—as I daresay you have often done—when she saw something golden and gleaming in the water. She thought it was a fish, and dived into the water at once. But it was no fish; it was a yellow sea-cat, with fins and a fish’s tail—a sort of cat-mermaid.