Said the dog, "I really would like to hear
Why you never stir nor frisk nor purr,
But sit like a mummy there."

Up spoke in a temper the china puss,
Glad of an opening for a fuss:
"Dear Mr. Puppy, I can't recall
That I ever heard you bark at all.
Your bark is a wooden bark, 'tis true,
But as to that," said the China Cat,
"My mew is a china mew."

So they bristled and quarreled, more and more,
Till the baby came creeping across the floor.
He took the cat by his whiskers frail,
He grasped the dog by his wooden tail,
And banged them together--and after that
Left them, a wiser Wooden Dog
And a sadder China Cat.

Now, children, just between you and me,
Don't you think in the future they will agree?

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

MY PLAYMATES

When Willie comes to visit me
We play menagerie.
He says, "Pretend that you're a lamb,
And I'll a lion be."
Then he begins to growl and roar
And make a dreadful noise.
I don't mind much when he goes home;
It's hard to play with boys.

When Julia comes to visit me
I am her waiting maid,
While she's a lady, grand and stern.
Of her I'm 'most afraid.
She sends me for my mother's hat,
Then takes her nicest skirt,
And trails it all around the house
Until it's full of dirt.

When Alice comes to play with me
She asks, "What shall we play?"
I answer, "Anything you like."
She coaxes, "Do _please_ say."
Sometimes it's dolls, sometimes it's games,
No matter what it be,
I have the very nicest time
When Alice plays with me.

REBECCA DEMING MOORE.

A PUZZLING THING

Eight of us went to a party--
The nicest ever given.
There was apple fluff, and frosted stuff,
And cake and candy and fruit enough,
But seats for only seven!

Eight of us hurried homeward
After the happy treat,
With run and bound; yet there were found
Only the tracks on the dusty ground
Of seven pairs of feet!

Eight of us got back safely,
And seven told with glee
Of all we'd done, and the feast and the fun--
But one of us was a silent one.
Now, which can that one be?

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

HER NAME

"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"
Poor little frightened baby!
The wind had tossed her golden fleece;
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;
I stooped and lifted her with ease,
And softly whispered, "Maybe;

Te