“And what is it, _you_?” answered Dora. “Let’s ask Him,” said Deb. “Let’s,” answered Dora, “but what?” “To give us our own papa back again.” “Agreed, Deb; and let’s begin now.” And away they ran down, down the dirty street. Dogs barked; ragged boys laughed and hooted, but Deb and Dora were soon up the old stairs, into the little dark bedroom, on their knees. Just one thing they plead, they two; first Deb, “Give back our papa,” then Dora, the same. Then with radiant faces to poor mamma. Wednesday they two went through the market. Turkeys, chickens, ducks, by the ton. So many were buying, their eyes were hungry. But they could not buy one cent’s worth, not having even that. Still, somehow, they murmured not, nor charged God foolishly. They _knew_ there was a good time coming. They looked from the fat stalls and smiled into each other’s face. That evening it was a bare floor at their home, an almost empty grate, little or no bread, mamma sad as usual. But Deb and Dora laughed and chatted joyously as though they were at a king’s banquet. They had come from their knees. Then a knock, and the door slightly opened, and a turkey, ready for the oven, looked in and a hand came after it and—dear poor papa after the hand, and mamma sobbed out something. Deb and Dora seized the turkey and cranberries, then bounded into papa’s outstretched arms. Then they danced about the room as though they were mad. Papa had that very morning signed the pledge and found work, and there was his wages—that turkey with needful sauce and vegetables. He was trusted for half a ton of coal. Just then the coal man rapped at the door to know where to put it. The next day was Thanksgiving. They four went to church. They were shown into a seat near Miss Raines. Deb and Dora whispered to her. She whispered back, “Did not I tell you so?” That day “poor papa” asked the blessing. And so ever after. /* REV. C. M. LIVINGSTON. */ BEING TRUE. [Illustration: S]HE was four and he was six. She sat on the piano stool, and he stood beside her; and I, behind the curtain, heard their talk. “I picked out the biggest one there was, and brought it on purpose for you and me.” “But we mustn’t eat it, because mamma wouldn’t like it; you know she wouldn’t, Freddy.” “She wouldn’t care if it didn’t hurt us, and it _wouldn’t_. Who ever heard of an apple hurting anybody? You just take a big bite, and then I will.” “No, Freddy, I can’t, and you can’t. Mamma said if they were hard, we mustn’t.” “That ain’t so very hard. Mamma is in a worry. Aunt Mag said it wouldn’t hurt us; she said mamma worried about things. If she doesn’t know, she can’t worry. Let’s go behind the curtain and eat it, then if mamma comes up, she won’t see us.” “No, Freddy. God can see us behind the curtain, as well as he can in this room, and this apple is as hard as a rock. Now, Freddy, let’s be _true_.” “Well,” said Freddy, “we will.” /* PANSY. */ [Illustration: “NOW, FREDDY, LET’S BE TRUE.”]