Laura was a bad girl. Like Topsy, she acknowledged her naughtiness, but never attempted to reform. A considerable quantity of milk had disappeared from a jug, and her mistress asked--"You been drink milk, Laura?" "No, missis, me no drink 'em." But the tell-tale moustache of cream still lingered on her lips. Laura lived in a quiet home, where there were no children, and few dishes to wash. The State Orphanage was not far away, and the children thereof paraded every day on their way to the State school. Gazing at the long procession marching two by two Laura, with a far away look in her eyes, said--"Missis. Me no like wash 'em plate belonga these fellas!" Laura was wont to be sent to Sunday school, where her ways were precise and demure, and where her natural smartness gained her credit, and many good conduct tickets. Once she was overheard at her devotions--"Please, Mr God, make missis strong woman, make missis good woman!" She was sick, and her mistress insisted upon administering castor oil, but Laura made a fuss. At last her mistress said--"All right, Laura, suppose you no take 'em medicine, I go for doctor." "No, no, missis. Me die meself!" A variety troupe visited the town, and Laura was taken to a performance. Among the "freaks" were General Mite and his consort. Laura came back with this proud boast--"I bin shake hands alonga piccaniny!" ROYAL BLANKETS Nelly was extravagantly fond of pictures; anything, from an illustrated advertisement up, pleased her, and when the subject was not very obvious to her she would indifferently gaze lovingly upon it upside down. A pair of fine photographs of King Edward and Queen Alexandra in all the sumptuousness of their coronation robes was shown her, and she was told that "fella King belonga whiteman. That fella Queen wife, you know." Putting her democratic forefinger on each alternately, Nelly said--"That fella man; that fella Missis! My word! Got 'nother kind blanket!" HIS DAILY BREAD The Government of Queensland is conscientiously performing the duty of smoothing the pillows of the dying race. On the coast several mission stations have been established where the blacks of the neighbourhood are gathered together and, under discipline tempered with a strong religious element, taught to take care of themselves. The system is under the supervision of an experienced official, entitled the "Chief Protector of Aboriginals," and he tells a story which throws rays of light in more than one direction. A plump boy, who several months before had been consigned to a mission station quite out of the neighbourhood, presented himself at the head office, and with a rather rueful countenance answered a few of the preliminary inquiries of the Protector. Confidence having been gained, particular questions were asked. "Yis," said the boy, "me bin stockrider belonga Yenda. Come down alonga town have spell." "But you belong to Fraser Island mission station!" "Yis, me bin alonga that place."