to give it to?"

"Oh, sir!" said the bigger boy, "we are partners. I shovel, and Mike sweeps."

"And what are your names?"

"Mine is Tom Murphy, and his is Mike Flynn."

"Then," said Mr. Prim, "the firm is 'Murphy & Flynn.'"

"That's it," said both boys with a grin.

"Well, Murphy & Flynn, I will employ you to do my shovelling to-day, and I will give you fifty cents for the job; but I am very particular. You must not leave a bit of snow anywhere about the steps or sidewalk."

"All right, sir," said the boys; and they went to work, while Mr. Prim went back to his newspaper. He had not been reading many minutes, when a loud shout in front of the house led him to look out of the window. The picture shows what he saw.

There were the two boys, each mounted on one of the stone lions at the head of the steps, and shouting at the top of his lungs in the excitement of an imaginary race.

Mr. Prim was first astonished, then angry, then amused, at this performance. He opened the window, and called out sharply, "Look here, boys! do you call that work, or play?"

The boys jumped down, and began to ply their broom and shovel with great vigor. But Murphy looked up roguishly, and said, "We were just polishing off the lions, sir."

"Yes," said Mr. Prim, "and a paroxysm of fun got the better of you. Well, it's excusable on New Year's Day. But, if the firm of Murphy & Flynn expect to succeed in business, they must not mix so much play with their work." And Mr. Prim shut the window.

"I say, Mike," said Tom, "what was it the old man said had got the better of us?"

"That's more than I can tell," said Mike. "I can't remember such hard words. But I know what he meant, and I guess he was about right."

BUMBLE-BEE.

BILLY AND TOM.

When I was a little boy, six or seven years old, my father had two white horses, named Billy and Tom. Billy had one black foot, and a little dark spot on his face; but Tom did not have a black hair on his whole body.

Billy was the old family horse, kind, gentle, and loving. Anybody could catch him, or lead him, or drive him. He liked to be petted, and in return seemed to take pride in being kind to all in the family.

Tom was a good horse too; but we had not owned him so long, and he did not care much to have any one pet him.

Billy was a little lame; and though he worked everywhere on the farm, and in drawing loads on the road, yet he was generally excused from going with the carriage, except when it was necessary for some of us children to drive.

One day my father went to the village with Tom, leaving Billy at home alone, in a field near the house. He missed his old friend Tom. They had worked together so much, that they had become great friends; and either one was very lonesome without the other.

Billy ran about here and there, neighing loudly whenever another horse appeared in sight upon the road, hoping that it might be his friend Tom coming back.

At last I went out to comfort him. I patted his head and his neck, and leading him by the mane to the fence, climbed first upon the fence, and then upon his back.

He seemed pleased, and started in a gentle walk along the farm-road leading down into the field, away from the house. When he had gone as far as I wished to ride, I called out, "Whoa!"

But he was a wise old horse. Instead of stopping in the middle of the road, where he then was, he turned out at one side, and stopped close by the fence, for me to get off upon that; as much as to say, "A boy that is not large enough to get upon my back without climbing a fence, is not large enough to climb from my back to the ground."

THE WISE HARE AND HER PURSUERS.

A poor little hare was one day closely pursued by a brace of greyhounds. They were quite near her, when, seeing a gate, she ran for it. She got through it easily; but the bars were too close together for the hounds to get through, so they had to leap over the gate.

As they did so, the hare, seeing that they would be upon her the next instant, turned around and ran again under the gate where she had just before passed. The hounds, in their speed, could not turn at once. Their headway took them on some distance; and then they had to wheel about, and leap once more over the upper bar of the gate.

Again the hare doubled, and returned by the way she had come; and thus she went backward and forward, the dogs following till they were fairly tired out, while the little hare, watching her chance, happily made her escape.

Thus you see that wit and self-possession are sometimes more than a match for superior strength and speed. If the little hare could not run so fast as the greyhounds, she could outwit them, and they saw no way to prevent it.

GENTLE JESSIE AND THE WASP.