"Only this: I thought I would apply papa's rule, and learn to do well what I was trying to do. So I have been threading and unthreading the needle, till now I can thread it easily." "You have done well to heed your father's advice," said Mrs. Ludlow. "If you do not see the importance of it now, you will see it often in your life as you grow older." It was not many months before Lucy comprehended how wise her father had been in training his little girl. She was gathering violets in a field one day, when she heard a trampling sound, and, looking round, saw a fierce bull plunging and twisting himself about, and all the time drawing nearer and nearer to her. Suddenly he made a rush towards her in a straight line. Not far off was a high stone-wall. It would once have seemed to Lucy a hopeless attempt to try to get over it before the bull could reach her; but now she felt confident she could do it: and she did it bravely. Confidence in her ability to do it kept off all fear; and she did not even tremble. The bull came up, and roared lustily when he found she had escaped, and was on the other side of the wall. But Lucy turned to him, and said, "Keep your temper, old fellow! This child's father taught her how to get over a stone-wall in double-quick time. You must learn to scale a wall yourself, if you hope to catch _her_." "Boo-oo-oo!" roared the bull, prancing up and down, but not knowing how to get over. "Why, what a sweet humor you are in to-day, sir!" said Lucy, walking away, and arranging her bunch of violets for Cousin Susan as she went. IDA FAY. [Illustration] THE BUTTER SONG. WHEN I was a little boy, I often helped my mother when she was making butter. I liked to stand in the cool spring-house, and churn for a little while; but I liked better to look out of the window, and watch the ducks swimming in the creek, or the little shiners and sunfish darting back and forth through the clear bright water. Sometimes I would forget all about my work, and stand watching the insects, ducks, and fishes, until some one would call me, and tell me to go to work again. One day I wanted to churn very fast; for my mother had told me that I might take a swim in the creek when my work was done. So I sang a little song that our German girl Bertha had taught me. She called it the "Butter Song;" and here it is:-- Come, butter, come! Little Harry at the gate For his buttered bread does wait: Come, butter, come! Come, butter, come! Fish for Lent, eggs for Easter, Butter for all days, butter, come faster: Come, butter, come! I thought then, as Bertha told me, that if I sang that song a hundred and eleven times, and didn't stop churning once while singing it, the butter would soon be made. I believe so yet; but I think now, that the _steady work_ had more to do with it than the song had.