s'pose. But it's layin' so still I'm
afraid you'll lose it."

"Charity says only hens _lay_, Ma," replied Ellen Eliza, suggestively,
at the same time hurrying to the box in great solicitude.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Danby, laughing lightly. "Them children"
(here the proud mother turned to Dorothy), "with their lessons and what
not, are gettin' to be too much for me. I have to speak as ac'rate as a
school-teacher to satisfy 'em. Only the other day, little Fandy took me
by surprise. He's the brightest of the lot, you know. Well, I wanted to
start the fire, and the matches had given clean out. 'Here's a pretty
fix!' says I. 'A fire to light, and no matches!' 'I can help you, Ma,'
says Fandy. 'Can you dear?' says I, pleased enough; 'have _you_ got some
matches?' 'No, Ma,' says the child. 'Well, how can you help me then?' I
says; 'there isn't a spark or a live coal anywhere in the house. I can't
light the fire without matches, that's certain.' 'Yes, you can light it
without _matches_, Ma,' says he, in his 'cute, pos'tive way; 'yes, you
can.' 'How _can_ I?' says I, more to draw him out than with any hope o'
gettin' help from him. 'Why,' says he, bowin' to me as grand as the
best, and takin' somethin' out o' his little wescut pocket, 'you can use
_a match_, Ma, and here's one; it's the only one I've got!' Now wasn't
that a good catch, Dorothy, for a child o' his tender years?"

"Yes, indeed it was," assented Dorothy, heartily.

"Ma," began Ellen Eliza, who had been listening with much interest,
"did--"

"Why, Ellen Eliza! Are you standing there yet? Now don't lay your wet
apron down on your sister's poetry you forlorn, distres-sed lookin'
child! She's been writin' like wild this mornin', Mandy has, but I
haven't had time enough to read it. It's a cryin' shame, Dorothy, her
poetry isn't all printed in a book by this time. It would sell like hot
cakes, I do believe,--and sell quicker, too, if folks knew she wasn't
going to have much more time for writin'. She's going to be a teacher,
Mandy is. Young Mr. Ricketts got her a situation in a 'cademy down to
Trenton, where she's to study and teach and make herself useful till she
per_fects_ herself. 'Tisn't every girl gets a chance to be per_fect_ed
so easy, either. Oh, Charity--there's so much on my mind!--I forgot to
tell you that Ben found your 'rithmetic in the grass, 'way down past the
melon-patch where baby Jamie must have left it. There, put up your
sewing, Charit