During the afternoon there were several slight accidents at the fountain. Some of the children delighted in digging all the meat from their eggs through the smallest possible aperture and then floating the empty shells in the lower basin of the fountain where the water was undisturbed. In trying to keep their improvised ships from sailing away, two little girls fell into the water, but they were quickly rescued by their nurses and taken home to be dried. At five o'clock the crowd began to disperse, and at a little past six the small guests of the President had all left the lawn and were on their way to their various homes. Such a variety of homes, indeed, they went to! Some to magnificent mansions on Connecticut Avenue. Their fathers were high Government officials, Senators, members of the Cabinet, and their mothers well-known society women. Other little boys and girls went to very humble homes and minded their little baby brothers and sisters while their mothers got supper; and then there were the homes in the localities given over almost entirely to the negro population. Before the War their parents and grandparents had been slaves, little dreaming that their descendants would ever be invited along with the children of the aristocratic whites to play in the President's "back yard"! By the way, what a sight that "back yard" did present on the morning following Easter Monday! There were four gardeners busily at work with rakes and brooms and baskets. They were gathering up the litter of eggshells, breadcrumbs, bits of paper, lost playthings, and tiny bits of muslin and calico that had somehow got torn off the dresses of some of the children. At the fountain one of the gardeners was fishing out pieces of string and floating shells. It was four o'clock when the garden was finally "picked up" and shorn of its festive appearance. It was then absolutely "spick and span," and no one could ever have guessed that the day before it had been a playground for several thousand children! ELIZABETH L. BANKS. [Illustration: decorative] FORGIVENESS. Within a spacious hall, before a fire Whose flick'ring light danced weirdly on his brow, Stood Peter mutely brooding o'er his vow To die with Christ, though thousands should conspire To wreak their vengeance, profitless and dire, On Christ and all who faith in Him avow. With sin the soul of Peter struggled now, When, "Known, or not, to Jesus?" men inquire. "I know Him not"--thus, falsely, thrice he swore; And think you that because this weak man fell The God-Man would deny him evermore? Christ looked upon him, and that look did spell: "For thee My soul shall on the Cross be riven, And, therefore, Peter, is thy sin forgiven!" LOUIS H. VICTORY. [Illustration: OUR ROLL OF HEROIC DEEDS