e
winter.

I fell to moralizing presently; but I will not here write down my
reflections. Suffice it to say that every day in the year I meet
children, and grown people too, for that matter, who are "_wearing straw
hats in the winter_," and suffering various dreadful things in
consequence thereof. The very next time you get into trouble, before you
grumble and fret, see if it is not because you are _wearing a straw hat
in winter_.

[Illustration]

RUFFLES AND PUFFS.

She stood looking down upon her neat plaid dress with a very
dissatisfied face.

"Mamma," she said, "why can't I wear pretty clothes every day like Irene
Clarke? She always has puffs and ruffles, and her aprons are trimmed
_so_ nice."

Mamma finished buttoning the tippet and tied down the snug little hat.

"Puffs and ruffles and dainty aprons _are_ nice," she replied gently.
"Mamma likes pretty things as well as Lou, but always in their place,
dearie."

But mamma's words did not help. Little Lou went out with the same
dissatisfied face.

"They say mammas know best," she spoke. "It's funny, though. Irene's
mamma knows a different best from mine--O, there she is!" and Lou
hurried to meet the little city girl whose puffs and ruffles had made
her plaid frock seem so mean.

[Illustration: LOU.]

It chanced that Irene wore a fresh suit, one that Lou had never seen.
Delightedly she spied the dainty robe.

"Ain't that sweet!" she exclaimed, and feasted her eyes till, suddenly
looking down at Irene's gaiters, she caught a glimpse of a curious
field-bug trotting along on the ground. My little lady forgot the
ruffles, forgot everything but her desire for a closer view.

"O, see--see!" she cried excitedly, half-running, half-crawling after
the bug, "see this funny thing! I can't catch him! But, O my--ain't he
cunnin'! Irene, do get down here and see!"

Irene took a step forward, then stood still.

"I can't," she said, "I might soil my dress."

But Lou scarcely heard. She was absorbed in the funny bug. On she went
trying to catch him, till finally he slipped round a tree-root and was
seen no more.

Back came Lou to Irene brushing the dirt from her frock.

"It's cold standin' here," she said, "let's play tag."

"I can't," spoke Irene again, "I might trip and soil my dress."

Lou's eyes went up and down the dainty robe. "It isn't much of a
tag-frock," she thought. But she was a restless maid. Between hopping
and dancing she glanc