“I daresay not, but what do you suppose makes your ball bounce? Why, the fairy inside it, to be sure.” Harry laughed at the time, but afterwards he couldn’t help thinking about it. Did fairies really live in india-rubber balls? If not, what made them bounce? He thought and he thought and he thought—and at last he took out the new brown-handled knife Uncle James had given him, and he cut a hole in his india-rubber ball. “Now I shall know!” he said. And he looked inside—but he was no wiser than before. But that night when he was in bed he saw a little lady, with gray gauze wings, sitting on his pillow. [Illustration] “Thank you so much,” she said, “for letting me out. A wicked enchanter shut me and my million brothers up in balls, and when we struggle to get out, the balls bounce.” Then she vanished. Next morning Harry thought he had only dreamed about her, so he ran to his ball; but there was the hole he had made, and sure enough the ball never bounced again. “Because there is no fairy in it,” Uncle James says. _E. Nesbit._ THE PROUD GILT BUTTON. THE gilt button shone and sparkled on Tommy’s coat and was absurdly proud of himself. Tommy had sewn him there with a piece of string and a packing-needle, one morning when his Mother was too busy with the baby to attend to him. He went to school with the little boy and listened with glistening contempt and dignity to all the master had to say. He had a very small opinion of the master, for _he_ hadn’t a gilt button upon his coat, and he couldn’t understand why Tommy’s heart went pit-a-pit at such a rate when the schoolmaster asked him a question. The rest of the boys rather made fun of Tommy’s button; but then, of course, that was jealousy on their part. They would have liked one well enough themselves; at least, so the button thought. At night, when his chubby little master was fast asleep, with the old coat folded up tidily on a chair beside the bed, the foolish button began to boast and brag about his grandeur, and this didn’t quite please the other buttons. They had lived on Tommy’s coat much longer than he, and they didn’t see why he should give himself such airs. They were quite ready to be friendly and kind, but they did _not_ want to be looked down upon, and so in a very little time they were all quarrelling. [Illustration] Presently Tommy’s Mother stooped over the child’s bed and kissed him. She was very fond of her boy, and with good reason too, for he was always bright and cheery, always helpful and loving, and only the poor overworked woman knew what the little lad was to her. As she turned from the bed the glitter of the gilt button on the worn old coat caught her eye and she smiled at the sight of Tommy’s tailoring. “Poor little lad,” she sighed; “it’s a shame to let him go so shabby,” and she carried the coat downstairs and began to mend it neatly.