said Emma.

So I went on,—

The three children, who had listened very attentively to the story, now talked it over; and they came to the conclusion that Toss received a good lesson, and was probably a better dog after it. "For," said Herbert, "a dog who abuses a smaller dog is almost as mean as a big boy who tyrannizes over a little boy."

PLAYING THE CHINAMAN.

Franz is a little boy about four years old, who lives in Brooklyn, California. His favorite play is to take some pieces of cloth, fill his mouth with water, turn his head from side to side, letting the water squirt from the corners of his mouth upon them (as he has seen the Chinamen do at the laundry), fold them, turn the iron-stand on its back, and carefully smooth them. This is Foo Lee, washing and ironing.

Sometimes the clothes are not wet enough, and the sprinkling goes on with the ironing.

"Your clothes will smell of tobacco and opium, if you sprinkle them so much," says Franz's elder brother.

"No, they won't," says the little wash-man. "Me do them good; me do them cheap."

When he gets tired of this, he puts his wash into a piece of paper, and takes the bundle to mamma. "I hope the clothes are not too blue, John," says mamma.

"No," answers Foo Lee. "They done good this time."

"And did you find my stockings, which were missing from last week's wash?"

"Yes, they all here. I found them: they all right this time,—fifty dozen."

"How much shall I pay you?"

"Six bits." (Seventy-five cents.) "I do them velly cheap."

Mamma gives him two buttons,—one large one for the four-bit piece, (fifty cents), and a smaller one for the two bits (twenty-five cents).

"Thankee. Good-baah!" says Foo Lee. "Good-by," returns mamma.

PANSY'S SECRET.

Pansy had a secret, and nobody could find it out. She would come down stairs in the morning, and seat herself at the breakfast-table, and then papa would say, "Well, Pansy, are you going to tell us your secret to-day?"

Pansy would shake her head, and reply, "You must guess it, papa! Can you not guess it?"

"Well, I guess you have a new tooth coming."

"Oh, no, that is not it. Mother can guess better than that, I think. It concerns you, mother."

"Well, I guess," said mother, "that you are to have the present of a kitten from aunt Julia."

"And I guess," said brother John, who was five years older than Pansy, "I guess you are knitting a pair of woollen cuffs for papa."

"You are all wrong," cried Pansy, "and I shall not tell you my secret to-day."

The next morning, as she was coming down stairs, she paused, and said to herself, "Shall I tell them my secret now? No, Pansy, let them see that you can keep a secret."

No sooner was she seated at the table in her high-chair, than papa said, "Well, Pansy, how much longer are you going to keep us in the dark? Are you going to tell us your secret?"

"Not yet, papa," said Pansy, looking up with a roguish smile.

"What can it be?" said mother, laying down her knife and fork, and putting her hand to her head.

"I don't believe it is any thing of any account," cried brother John. "She wants to keep us curious."

"Well, I think Pansy must be learning a new piece to recite," said her mother.

"That's not it," said Pansy. "It's a 'portant secret: one that my mother will like to hear."

"Oh, it's important, is it?" said papa. "I do wonder what it can be."

"Mother, what day was it that you lost your wedding-ring?" said John.

"Don't speak of it, John. It was more than a month ago. I have hunted high and low, and cannot find it. I would have given all my other jewelry rather than have lost it."

Here Pansy turned red in the face, got down from her high-chair, and ran out of the room.

"Did you see that?" said papa. "The little rogue has found the ring, and that's her 'portant secret."

In a minute Pansy came back, holding up the ring, and her face radiant with delight. "I found it, mother, among my doll's things. You must have dropped it there when you were fixing them."

And so little Pansy's secret was out at last!

A TROTTING SONG.