So Miss Dean took Skye on her lap, and stroked him gently, and talked lovingly to him, calling him "Poor doggy!" and "Dear Skye," while the doctor made the splints, and pressed the broken bones back into their place. Then the doctor sent for some plaster of Paris, and made a soft mortar of it, and put it all around the mended leg, and let it harden into a little case, so that the bones would have to stay just as he put them till they grew together again. All the time the doctor was doing this, Skye kept as still as a mouse; but, when it was all done, the little creature laid his head on Miss Dean's shoulder, and cried great tears, just like a child. Miss Dean had to cry, too, at the helplessness of her poor dumb darling. For a good many weeks, Skye could only hobble about on three legs, and had to keep still on his cushion, or lie on his mistress' lap, most of the time; but he was very patient. And at last, when the good doctor said it would do to remove the plaster and the splints, we did so; and Skye ran around the room as well and lively as ever. Wasn't he glad to have his liberty again! MUZ-MUZ. [Illustration] BLOSSOM AND I. I WILL tell you a true story about my sister and me. I am five years old, and Fanny (papa calls her Blossom) is three. We are in Germany now, but our home is in America; and, when I go out to play with the boys here, they call me "America." We came over the ocean in a big ship. Papa and mamma were seasick; but Fanny and I were not, and we liked to live on the water. [Illustration] When mamma packed our trunks, I wanted her to put in my little pails and wheelbarrow; and she said there wasn't room, but that we could bring as many numbers of "The Nursery" as we pleased. So we brought all we had. We have used them so much, that papa says they are not fit to be bound; but I don't want to put them away on a shelf to be kept nice. I like to have them every day; and so does Fanny. When we were coming on the steamer, Fanny used to sit in the captain's lap, and tell him the stories. [Illustration] Our auntie sends us a new "Nursery" every month. One was lost, and we were very sorry; for we can't read other picture-books so well. Fanny always has a "Nursery" to take to bed with her; and in the morning, when I wake up, I hear her talking to the boys and girls in the pictures. C. [Illustration] [Illustration] HOW NORMAN BECAME AN ARTIST. THE landscape-painter sat on a camp-stool with an umbrella over his head. His palette and his box of paints were on the ground by his side. He was there to draw a picture of the village of F----. Hardly had he begun his crayon outline when he heard a boy's voice behind him. "May I look on? sir?" said the boy. "Yes, look as much as you please, but don't talk," said the painter without turning his head.