Their kitchen was the cleanest, brightest, cheeriest place you ever saw, and the molasses taffy was splendid. I had a lovely time; but there was such a dreadful storm that Edward could not get back that night, and Jim had lamed himself somehow in stumbling through deep drifts; and it cost four dollars to mend the sleigh, which Edward had to pay, because my father said he did not believe in boys having their own way and not being willing to take the consequences. To be sure he gave the money back again, and more too, when Edward’s next birthday came. But I don’t think Edward ever forgot the lesson. I ought to have been punished too, for I pretended to agree with Edward, even when I thought he was foolish; but some way I slipped through the trouble and had all the pleasure, just as girls often do, I think. [Illustration: THEY STARTED FOR AUNT MARGARET’S. (“_Mother Dunlap’s Story._”)] “Mother,” said little Cathie Dunlap, “father’s middle name is Kirke; did he have anything to do with the nice boy who took care of you?” “Why, yes,” said Mother Dunlap, laughing, “come to think of it, his full name was William Kirke Dunlap.” MYRA SPAFFORD. HUNGER AND THIRST. THERE is a story of a little boy who was very fond of angling, and who one day told his grandfather that he had caught a fish as large as a horse. “Look here, Tom,” said the old man, “don’t you know it’s wrong for a little boy like you to tell such a big untruth? You are not six years, are you?” “No,” said Tommy; “I am only five, and I’ll not do it again. After this I’m going to tell only little bits of fish stories.” That boy often reminds one of people who talk about being “temperate” and “moderate” in the use of things which they ought to let alone altogether. A little glass of strong drink, a little cigar, are just as certainly wrong as a little untruth.