We sat in a row, with our dolls in our laps: The dolls behaved sweetly, and met no mishaps. No boys were admitted; for boys will make fun: Now which do you think was the dolly that won? Soon all was commotion to hear who would get The prize; for the dollies' committee had met: We were the committee; and which do you think Was the doll we decided on, all in a wink? Why, each of us said that our own was the best, The finest, the sweetest, the prettiest drest: So we _all_ got the prize--we'll invite you to go The next time we girls have our doll-baby show. GEORGE COOPER. THE CHICKENS THAT WERE WISER THAN LOTTIE. Lottie is always asking, "Why?" When mamma calls from the window, "Lottie, Lottie!" she answers, very pleasantly, "What, ma'am?" for she hopes mamma will say, "Here's a nice turnover for you;" or, "Cousin Alice has come to see you." But when the answer is "It is time to come in," the wrinkles appear on Lottie's forehead, and her voice is a very different one, as she says, "Oh, dear, I don't want to! _Why_ need I come in now?" When papa says, "Little daughter, I want you to do an errand for me," Lottie whines, and asks, "_Why_ can't Benny do it?" Out in the field Old Biddy Brown has four wee chickens, little soft downy balls, scarcely bigger than the eggs they came from just one week ago. They are very spry, and run all about. When the mother Biddy finds any nice bit, she clucks; and every little chick comes running to see what is wanting. When it grows chilly, and she fears they will take cold, she says, "Cluck, cluck, cluck!" and they all run under her warm feathers as fast as they can. Just now Mother Biddy gave a very loud call, and every chicken was under her wings in a minute; and up in the sky I saw a hawk, who had been planning to make a good dinner of these same chickens. I could not help thinking, how well for them, that they did not stop, like Lottie, to ask, "Why?" Down came the hawk with a fierce swoop, as if he meant to take the old hen and the chickens too; but Mother Biddy sprang up and faced him so boldly, that he did not know what to make of it. [Illustration: The Chickens That Were Wiser Than Lottie] She seemed to say, "Come on my fine fellow, if you dare. You have got to eat me before you eat my chicks; and you'll find me rather tough." So the hawk changed his mind at the last moment. He thought he would wait till he could catch the chickens alone. The chickens were saved, though one of them was nearly dead with fright. RUTH KENYON. A HUNT FOR BOY BLUE. We have a little three-year-old boy at our house, who likes to hear stories, and his mother tells him a great many. But there is one which pleases him more than all the rest, and perhaps the little readers of "The Nursery" will like it too.