u going?" politely said I;
To which he replied, with a groan and a sigh,
"I've been doing my Latin from breakfast till dinner,
And pretty hard work that is for a beginner."

"But now I suppose you are going to play
And have pleasure and fun for the rest of the day?"
"Indeed, but I'm not--there's that bothering sum;
And then there's a tiresome old copy to come."

[Illustration: JOHNNY DAWDLE.]

"Dear me!" I replied, and I thought it quite sad
There should be such hard work for one poor little lad;
But just at that moment a lady passed by,
And her words soon made clear that mistaken was I:

"Now, then, Mr. Dawdle, get out of my way!
I suppose you intended to stop here all day;
The bell has done ringing, and yet, I declare,
Your hands are not washed, nor yet brushed is your hair."

"Ho, ho!" I exclaimed; "Mr. Dawdle, indeed!"
And I took myself off with all possible speed,
Quite distressed that I should for a moment be seen
With one who so lazy and careless had been.

So now, if you please, we will wish him good-bye;
And if you should meet him by chance, as did I,
Just bid him good-morning, and say that a friend
(Only don't mention names) hopes he soon may amend.

THE MOTHERLESS BOY.

One day, about a year ago, the door of my sitting-room was thrown
suddenly open, and the confident voice of Harvey thus introduced a
stranger:

"Here's Jim Peters, mother."

I looked up, not a little surprised at the sight of a ragged, barefoot
child.

Before I had time to say anything, Harvey went on:

"He lives round in Blake's Court and hasn't any mother. I found him on
a doorstep feeding birds."

My eyes rested on the child's face while my boy said this. It was a
very sad little face, thin and colorless, not bold and vicious, but
timid and having a look of patient suffering. Harvey held him firmly
by the hand with the air of one who bravely protects the weak.

"No mother!" said I, in tones of pity.

"No, ma'am; he hasn't any mother. Have you, Jim?"

"No," answered the child.

"She's been dead ever so long; hasn't she, Jim?"

"Yes, ever since last winter," he said as he fixed his eyes, into
which I saw the tears coming, upon my face. My heart moved toward him,
repulsive as he was because of his rags and dirt.

"One of God's little lambs straying on the cold and barren hills of
life," said a voice in my heart. And