t of cakes. It is charming to see the red lips and the beautiful
teeth of the people. If they have still a king, he may well be proud
to be their ruler.

Does this story teach that tarts and pies should never be eaten? No;
but there is reason in all things.

The doctors alone did not profit by this great revolution. They could
not afford to drink wine any longer in a land where indigestion had
become unknown. The apothecaries were no less unhappy, spiders spun
webs over their windows, and their horrible remedies were no longer of
use.

Ask no more about Mother Mitchel. She was ridiculed without measure by
those who had adored her. To complete her misfortune, she lost her
cat. Alas for Mother Mitchel!

The King received the reward of his wisdom. His grateful people called
him neither Charles the Bold, nor Peter the Terrible, nor Louis the
Great, but always by the noble name of Prosper I, the Reasonable.

THANKFUL[1]

BY MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN.

This tale is evidence that Mrs. Freeman understands the
children of New England as well as she knows their parents.
There is a doll in the story, but boys will not mind this as
there are also two turkey-gobblers and a pewter dish full of
Revolutionary bullets.

Submit Thompson sat on the stone wall; Sarah Adams, an erect, prim
little figure, ankle-deep in dry grass, stood beside it, holding
Thankful. Thankful was about ten inches long, made of the finest
linen, with little rosy cheeks, and a fine little wig of flax. She
wore a blue wool frock and a red cloak. Sarah held her close. She even
drew a fold of her own blue homespun blanket around her to shield her
from the November wind. The sky was low and gray; the wind blew from
the northeast, and had the breath of snow in it. Submit on the wall
drew her quilted petticoats close down over her feet, and huddled
herself into a small space, but her face gleamed keen and resolute out
of the depths of a great red hood that belonged to her mother. Her
eyes were fixed upon a turkey-gobbler ruffling and bobbing around the
back door of the Adams house. The two gambrel-roofed Thompson and
Adams houses were built as close together as if the little village of
Bridgewater were a city. Acres of land stretched behind them and at
the other sides, but they stood close to the road, and close to each
other. The narrow space between them was divided by a stone wall which
was Submit's and Sarah's trysting-plac