[Illustration] Now, Ponto thought Tabby was a wonderful cat. He had seen her catch rats, and he knew that she could do some things that even he could not. "Surely she can cross that pond," thought he. He did not know what to make of it. He called to her, with a bark, to "Jump in and swim across." But she only replied with a cross "Meouw," which he did not hear. Then he said again, "It's easy to swim across--come on!" "As easy as for you to climb a tree," said Tabby, in an angry way. This was too much for Ponto! He could not climb a tree, and Tabby knew it. When he was too rough in his play, she would run up into the apple-tree, and there she was safe. So this reply made him angry. Tabby should not have said it--but then, she wanted the milk! "It is so easy that I can swim across and carry you, too," thought Ponto, and then he plunged into the water again. When he reached the shore, he seized Tabby by the back of the neck with his teeth, and rushed back into the water. Poor Tabby! She thought she certainly would be drowned. But Ponto knew better. He held his head so high that the water hardly touched her pretty little paws. So she kept quiet and did not struggle. It was not so bad after all! And besides, there was the milk! When they landed, Tabby had a stiff neck for a while, and Ponto had to shake his great shaggy sides until they were dry. Then they ran up the hill as fast as they could go, and into the barn,--and almost into the milk-pail before they could stop. Tabby was very thankful to Ponto for this ride. She said to herself that she would help him to climb a tree the next time that he tried. But as she drank her milk, she was glad that they both could follow Mary home by the long path through the orchard. Tabby did not forget her strange ride. But she has never taught Ponto how to climb a tree! She has not even helped him up to the lowest limb. Do you think she ever will? LULLABY. Little boy John is sleepy, Little boy John can rest, Now that the sun all its labor has done, And gone to its bed in the west. Rattle goes into the closet, Letter-blocks go there too; Wait till the morn for the cow in the corn, And the horn of the Little Boy Blue. Into the crib with Johnny, As soon as his prayers are said; Tuck him all in from the toes to the chin, Alone in his soft, downy bed. Then in the morning early, Soon as the sun shall rise, Little boy John, with the coming of dawn, Will open his pretty blue eyes. Butterflies in the garden, Roses, and lilies fair, Birds in the trees, and the big bumble-bees, Shall welcome our little one there. Yet if the day be rainy, Dreary and dark the sky, Still there is fun for our own little one, In the nursery cozy and dry.