Billy?"

"Tell us, Billy."

"It's—somebody that's come there—"

"What for?"

"To stay, I guess. Acts that way."

"Friends of the folks?"

"No, we've never seen 'em before."

"Do you mean some kind of a tramp?"

"What's he doing?"

"Seems to be building a house."

"A house? Well, that sounds queer."

"Whereabouts?"

"In my father's back yard."

"Billy, you're joking."

"It's as true as I stand here."

"Well, go on and tell more about it. Did he skulk 'round as if he was afraid?"

"Not a bit of it."

"Did he see you?"

"Well," Billy hesitated a little. "I didn't go so very near him."

"That's best for you," one of the boys shook his head wisely. "You never can tell what these tramp fellows may be up to."

"How do you mean—building?"

"Just what I say. He was picking up things in the yard to build with. Stuff to begin with."

"Your father's stuff?"

"Yes."

"What does your father think of it?"

"I don't believe he's seen him. Father goes to work early."

"Of course he'll drive him off."

"Another one came and helped him," said Billy. "They were both working hard when I came to school."

"Billy, you're fooling us."

"You can come and see for yourselves," said Billy. "You can see if it isn't exactly as I've said."

"Let's do it."

It was agreed, and after school a number of small boys took with him the road leading to Billy's home. As they went in by the shady back yard, Billy held up his hand, saying:

"S-h-h-h-h—don't scare 'em! Now—come this way—look up there!"

Billy led the way into a corner and pointed up into an oak tree.

"There—right above that branch—see? They've got their sticks for the foundation, and now they're finishing up. Quick—see that flash of blue just where the sun shines! Look! look! they're pulling at that bit of red yarn—I put it up there. My mother always hangs bits of string about for 'em. My mother likes blue-birds."—Written for Dew Drops by Sydney Dare.

When anyone speaks to us in anger, we should remember that it takes two to make a quarrel, and determine not to become one of the two.

The first robin had come, so had the first bluebird and the first hand-organ man; caterpillars were beginning to crawl along the sunny side of the fence rails and everybody was housecleaning, so it was quite certain that spring was here.

With it there came to the three little Ashley sisters three packets of seeds.

A lady friend of their mother had sent them. Every one of them had printed on it, "A Surprise Collection."

When the little, light-brown envelopes were opened, they were found to contain several varieties of seeds. Some were like little, round, brown pills—those were "sweet-peas," mamma said. Others were very small indeed, like grains of powder, and some were like tiny, grayish-green sticks—somebody said those were verbena seeds; and, well, dear me, there were all kinds and shapes and sizes and grays and browns.

Three neat, round beds were spaded up on the lawn, and Amy, Enid and Ruth raked them over, smoothed and patted the rich soil, and then planted their seeds.

Of course, you know what happened next. There had to be waiting, watching, weeding and watering. Most of the seeds sprouted and grew, and soon the dark brown earth was covered by green shoots and trailing sprays.

By and by, buds began to appear and tiny bits of color to show, and then how happy the little girls were!

All but Enid. She was pleased, but also a