r, they changed their tune.
Vainly they coughed and a-hemmed and stirred;
Only the harder he trilled and slurred,
Until, in despair, and rather than grieve
The willing professor, they took their leave,
And left him singing this "sweet air,"
And that "pretty bit from Tootovere;"
And then the hostess, in sorry plight,
While yet he sang with all his might,
Let down the blinds, put out the light,
With "Thanks, Mynheer! Good-night! good-night!"

My moral, dear singers, lies plainly a-top:
Be always obliging, and willing--to stop.
The same will apply, my dear children, to you;
Whenever you've any performing to do,
Your friends to divert (which is quite proper, too),
Do the best that you can--_and stop when you're through_.

PUCK PARKER. BY LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY.

"Boom-er-oom, a boom-er-oom, a boom, boom, boom!
Zim-er-oom, a zim-er-oom, a zim, zim, zim!"

It was a familiar sound, that of the great bass-drum. Puck Parker and
Snarlyou and Kiyi had all heard it, time and time again. These little
friends lived in Paris during the late war between Germany and France,
when the German army was besieging the city, and soldiers were always
marching about to the sound of the drum. This morning all three of them
were at the kitchen door that opened into the corridor, which led into the
court where you had a view of the street. Snarlyou was a little white
Angora cat, and she puffed out her tail and waved it angrily over her back
as she snarled fiercely at Kiyi, who was a little Prussian pup. Unlike the
army he represented, he was getting the worst of the fray, and stood
yelping in a cowardly way behind the scraper. Puck was doing all he could
to encourage the dog by waving his porridge spoon at him, but it was of no
use.

[Illustration: "PUCK WAS LEANING OVER THE LITTLE GATE IN THE KITCHEN
DOOR."]

Puck Parker was a fat-faced little boy, who was leaning over the little
gate in the kitchen door. He had been very naughty this morning, having
run away with Kiyi, giving his nurse, Augustine, a regular hunt for him.
She found him at last, wandering quite independently in beautiful Park
Monceaux, a favorite resort for nurses and babies, where she had often
gone with him before; and she could have forgiven him easily enough for
running away, had he not sprawled himself upon the walk and kicked and
screamed so that she could scarcely get him home