le of mullein leaves round the sufferer's throat. Instant
relief ensued, the dying child sat up and demanded baked beans. The
grateful parent offered fifty dollars; but Mother Know-all indignantly
refused it and went smiling away, declaring that a neighbourly turn
needed no reward, and a doctor's fee was all a humbug.

The audience were in fits of laughter over this scene, for Rose imitated
Mrs. Atkinson capitally, and the herb cure was a good hit at the
excellent lady's belief that "yarbs" would save mankind if properly
applied. No one enjoyed it more than herself, and the saucy children
prepared for the grand finale in high feather.

This closing scene was brief but striking, for two trains of cars
whizzed in from opposite sides, met with a terrible collision in
the middle of the stage, and a general smash-up completed the word
catastrophe.

"Now let us act a proverb. I've got one all ready," said Rose, who was
dying to distinguish herself in some way before Uncle Alec.

So everyone but Mac, the gay Westerner, and Rose, took their places on
the rocky seats and discussed the late beautiful and varied charade, in
which Pokey frankly pronounced her own scene the "bestest of all."

In five minutes the curtain was lifted; nothing appeared but a very
large sheet of brown paper pinned to a tree, and on it was drawn a
clock-face, the hands pointing to four. A small note below informed the
public that 4 A.M. was the time. Hardly had the audience grasped this
important fact when a long waterproof serpent was seen uncoiling
itself from behind a stump. An inch-worm, perhaps, would be a better
description, for it travelled in the same humpy way as that pleasing
reptile. Suddenly a very wide-awake and active fowl advanced, pecking,
chirping, and scratching vigorously. A tuft of green leaves waved upon
his crest, a larger tuft of brakes made an umbrageous tail, and a shawl
of many colours formed his flapping wings. A truly noble bird, whose
legs had the genuine strut, whose eyes shone watchfully, and whose voice
had a ring that evidently struck terror into the catterpillar's soul, if
it was a catterpillar. He squirmed, he wriggled, he humped as fast as
he could, trying to escape; but all in vain. The tufted bird espied
him, gave one warbling sort of crow, pounced upon him, and flapped
triumphantly away.

"That early bird got such a big worm he could hardly carry him off,"
laughed Aunt Jessie, as the children shouted over the j