Bend lower and let me whisper a secret in your ear: it is not five minutes since that boy’s mother said to him: “Charlie, can’t you run upstairs and get that letter on my bureau and mail it for me?” And Charlie, with three wrinkles on his forehead, and a pucker on each side of his mouth, said: “O, mamma! I don’t see how I can! I’m late now; and the office is half a block out of my way.” And the mother said, well then he needn’t mind, for she didn’t want him to be late at school. So he didn’t mind, but left the letter on the bureau, and went briskly on his way until stopped by Mrs. Hampstead. What was the matter with Charlie Holland? Was he an untruthful boy? He did not mean to be. He prided himself on his strict honesty. It _was_ growing late, and he felt in a hurry, and he hated to go upstairs. Of course it would not do to refuse Mrs. Hampstead, and by making an extra rush, he could get to school in time; but the other lady was only his mother. Her letter could wait. “Only his mother!” Didn’t Charlie Holland love his mother, then? You ask him, with a hint of doubt about it in your voice, and see how his eyes will flash, and how proudly he will toss back his handsome head and say: “I guess I _do_ love my mother! She’s the grandest mother a boy ever had.” Oh! I didn’t promise to explain Charlie’s conduct to you; I am only introducing him; you are to study for yourselves. Do you know any boy like him? PANSY. [Illustration: LOST.] _Volume 15, Number 4._ Copyright, 1887, by D. LOTHROP COMPANY. _November 26, 1887._ THE PANSY. [Illustration: A LARGE FAMILY.] THE OLD BRIMMER PLACE. BY MARGARET SIDNEY. CHAPTER I. THE air was clear and fresh; a slight fall of snow just conveniently stopping at the point of becoming higher than the overshoes of the pedestrians, lay on the ground. It was an early fall, as the old farmers say when there is snow at Thanksgiving, and every sign gave promise of winter shutting in rapidly. The old gray house set back from Cherryfield high road, had its chimney smoking by break of day, for Mother Brimmer tied on her baking apron as soon as she had told Rosalie how to prepare the simple breakfast “to hurry forward those pies,” as she said. “All that can be done to-day, Rosy,” she observed, in the midst of the bustle that now ensued, “is clear gain toward to-morrow. Always remember that, child; don’t leave a lot of odds and ends to do when you’re going to have company, thinking you’ll have time. You never do; and the last minute catches you before you know it.” “It’s such fun,” hummed the one girl of the family, stirring the cornmeal mush in the kettle vigorously, “to have company. I don’t ever remember having any before.” “You forget the parson coming to tea,” said Mrs. Brimmer, bringing out her pie-plates from the pantry. “Let me see; I shall make four mince ones.”