I have heard of a cat in a bird-shop, that was trained to take care of birds, instead of harming them; but this is a rare case. It is hard to keep a cat from catching birds, and from troubling the little young ones in their nests. Anna is so fond of Tot, that she will not let a cat come into the room where he is. Tot can whistle a tune. He likes to light on Anna's head, and will sometimes almost hide himself under her thick hair. She feeds him, and gives him a bath every day, and lets him fly about the room. [Illustration] If Tot were to fly out of the window, I think he would try to get back to his own little cage, so fond is he of Anna. ANNA'S AUNT. THE STORY OF THE SQUASHES. I KNOW of two little boys, twin-brothers, who are just five years old. They are so nearly alike that their best friends can scarcely tell them apart. Sturdy little men they are; so strong and fair and stout, that I should be glad to kiss them even when they have come from the dirtiest depths of their mud-pies. I fancy their mother sighs often over their torn pantaloons, their battered hats, and their soiled boots; but for all that, they _must_ play, and things will wear out. One day in the fall, their papa sent up to the house a farmer's wagon full of great beautiful squashes, to be put into the cellar for the winter's use. The farmer put the squashes on the ground close by the cellar-door ready for storage. But, when their papa came home, the squashes had disappeared, and he inquired who had put them into the cellar, and went down to see if they had been properly stored. But there were no squashes there. And he inquired again where they were; but no one knew. He called to the boys, who were playing horse on the sidewalk, to ask if they knew any thing of the squashes. Oh, yes! and they ran to the barn, he following; and where do you suppose the squashes were? In the pig-pen--every one of them! They had toiled and tugged, and carried every squash--and many of them were large--out there, and fed them to the pigs. The mischief done, who could scold those two bright, hard-working little men? I think their papa had to console himself with thinking if only they would work as well at something useful when they were grown up, he could forgive their rather wasteful business when they were little. C. D. B. CHARLIE'S COMPOSITION. CHARLIE was ten years old, and his teacher thought he should begin to write compositions. So she gave him a list of words, and told him to write a letter or story, and put them all in. The words were these: Begun, Write, Boy, Hook, Two, Black, Said, Basket, Knife, Chair, Eyes, Ground. Charlie went home; and, before he went out to play in the afternoon, his mother said, "You had better work a while on your composition."