branches. They thought it wonderful that a cane should grow into
such a big tree.

Then came the great Civil War. Your mamma or auntie can tell you about
it. There were a great many wounded soldiers, and the people used to
send bandages and lint for their wounds. Do you know what lint is? It
is made of linen cloth. It is soft, like wool.

Grandpa Reed had a little granddaughter Clara. Clara saw the women and
girls making lint, and she wanted to make lint too. But aunt Mary said
she was not big enough to make lint.

[Illustration: CLARA.]

"But I will tell you," said aunt Mary, "where you can find some nice
lint;" and she took her out to the great balm-of-Gilead-tree in the
lane.

Now you have all seen the soft, white pussy-willows. Well, the pussies
are the willow flowers; and the balm-of-Gilead-tree has pussies too.
But they are not soft and white; they are brown. They look like brown
caterpillars.

After the blossoms wither the seeds come. These seeds are covered
with wool like that on the dandelion's ball.

The wind blows this wool from off the trees, and there it was that
morning. The ground was white with it.

"There is the lint," said aunt Mary, and she gave Clara a bag to put
it in.

It took a great many bits of wool to fill the bag. But Clara was
patient, and worked diligently, and when the bag was full, she went
with aunt Mary to carry it to the soldiers' camp.

Clara gave it to the surgeon. He said the balm-of-Gilead lint was much
better than the linen lint. So "Grandpa's cane" and little Clara
helped the sick soldiers to get well again.

MISS LOLLIPOP'S FANCIES.

Down by the seashore Miss Lollipop sat,
Dropping the little white shells in her hat;
"See!" cried the darling, and shouted with glee,
"These pretty things were all waiting for me;
Waiting for me!"

Creeping and curving across the gray sand,
The wavelets came dancing to kiss the fair land,
Wooing with murmurs the flower-gemmed lea;
"Ah," cried Miss Pops, "they are whispering to me,
Whispering to me!"

Darting and flashing the gay sunbeams flew
Down from a heaven of midsummer blue,
Smiling and dimpling all over the sea;
"There," cried Miss Pops, "they are laughing at me,
Laughing at me!"

In the green meadows the tall grass stood fair,
Waving and tossing in sweet summer air,
Dipping and be