felt 'em bitin' and crawlin', "Dog-days is come," says he, "for here's the flies worse and worse. So the summer's most over, and I'll get there in a jiffy now." "What am I stoppin' for," do you say, 'Miry? 'Cause that's all. You needn't make sech a fuss, child'en. It's done, this story is, I tell ye. Leastways I don't know any more on it. I told you all about them two horses, and which had a good time and which didn't, and what 'twas made the differ'nce 'twixt 'em. But you want to know whether Jack got there. Well, I don't know no more 'n the horses did what _there_ was, but in my own mind I b'leeve he got it. Mebbe 't was jest dyin' peaceful and quiet, and restin' after all that steppin' and climbin'. He'd a-liked that, partic'lar when he knowed the folks was sorry to have him go, and would allus rec'lect him. Mebbe 't was jest livin' on and on, int'rested and enjoyin', and liked by folks, and then bein' took away from the hard work and put out to pastur' for the rest o' his days. Mebbe 'twas--Oh! I d'know. Might 'a' been lots o' things, but I feel pretty certin sure he got it, and he was glad he hadn't gi'n up b'leevin' 't would come. For you 'member, all the time when Billy 'most knowed it wasn't, Jack 'most knowed 'twas. The Plant that Lost its Berry IV It was a sad day in Greenhills when we knew that Susan Holcomb's little Jerusha was dead. We all loved the child, and she was her mother's dearest treasure. Susan was a widow, and this was her only child. A pretty little creature she was, with yellow curls and dark-blue eyes, rosy and plump and sturdy. But a sudden, sharp attack of croup seized the child, and in a few hours she fell asleep. I need not tell you of the mother's grief. She could not be comforted because her child was not. One day a little neighbor, a boy with great faith--not wholly misplaced--in the helpfulness of Story-tell Lib's little parables, succeeded, with a child's art, in bringing the sad mother to the group of listeners. And it was that day that Lib told this new story. The Plant that Lost its Berry Once there was a plant, and it had jest one little berry. And the berry was real pretty to look at. It was sort o' blue, with a kind o' whitey, foggy look all over the blue, and it wa'n't round like huckleberries and cramb'ries, but longish, and a little p'inted to each end. And the stem it growed on, the little bit of a stem, you know, comin' out o' the plant's big stem, like a little neck to the berry, was pinky and real pretty. And this berry didn't have a lot o' teenty little seeds inside on it, like most berries, but it jest had one pretty white stone in it, with raised up streaks on it.