tale, dear mother--
A fairy tale, do, please,
Take baby brother on your lap,
We'll sit beside your knees,
We will not speak, we will not stir,
Until the tale is told;
And we'll be, oh! so comfy,
And just as good as gold."

"What shall it be, my children?
Aladdin and his Lamp?
Or shall I tell the story
Of Puss in Boots--the scamp?
Or would you like to hear the tale
Of Blue Beard, fierce and grim?
Or Jack who climbed the great beanstalk?--
I think you're fond of him.

"Or shall I tell you, children,
About Red Riding Hood?
Or what befell those little Babes
Who wandered in the Wood?
Or how sweet Cinderella went
So gaily to the ball?"
"Yes, yes!" we cried, and clapped our hands;
"_We want to hear them all_!"

* * * * *

LITTLE RED HEN

Little Red Hen found a grain of wheat.

"Who will plant this?" she asked.

"Not I," said the cat.

"Not I," said the goose.

"Not I," said the rat.

"Then I will," said Little Red Hen.

So she buried the wheat in the ground. After a while it grew up yellow
and ripe.

"The wheat is ripe now," said Little Red Hen. "Who will cut and thresh
it?"

"Not I," said the cat.

"Not I," said the goose.

"Not I," said the rat.

"Then I will," said Little Red Hen.

So she cut it with her bill and threshed it with her wings. Then she
asked, "Who will take this wheat to the mill?"

"Not I," said the cat.

"Not I," said the goose.

"Not I," said the rat.

"Then I will," said Little Red Hen.

So she took the wheat to the mill, where it was ground. Then she
carried the flour home.

"Who will make me some bread with this flour?" she asked.

"Not I," said the cat.

"Not I," said the goose.

"Not I," said the rat.

"Then I will," said Little Red Hen.

So she made and baked the bread.

Then she said, "Now we shall see who will eat this bread."

"We will," said cat, goose, and rat.

"I am quite sure you would," said Little Red Hen, "if you could get
it."

Then she called her chicks, and they ate up all the bread. There was
none left at all for the cat, or the goose, or the rat.

* * * * *

IN SEARCH OF A BABY

BY F. TAPSELL

"Please, I'm lost." These words, and a thump! thump! on the door were
what Mrs. Stone heard as she sat at supper in her tiny house in the
wood.

She went to open the door, and there she saw a