uncle understood all her
past troubles.
"Why, Bessie," he said, "did you think I would kill your pet? No,
indeed, but I told you he should be on the table Thanksgiving Day, so
here he is."
Then Bessie's uncle struck the turkey gently with his carving-knife, the
way the queen strikes a man with a sword when she makes him a
knight.
"Behold!" said Bessie's uncle, "I dub you 'Sir Gobble;' you shall never
be killed, but die a natural death, and never be parted from Bessie."
WHAT IS IT?
What is that ugly thing I see Which follows, follows, follows me,
Which ever way I turn or go? What is that thing? I want to know.
If I but turn to left or right It does the same with all its might; It looks
so ugly and so black When o'er my shoulder I look back.
Sometimes it runs ahead of me, Sometimes quite short it seems to be,
And then again it's very tall; I don't know what it is at all.
I'll climb into my little bed, And on my pillow lay my bead, For when
I'm there I never see That thing in front or back of me.
JOHN'S BRIGHT IDEA.
Mrs. Meredith was a most kind and thoughtful woman. She spent a
great deal of time visiting the poor. One morning she told her children
about a family which she had visited the day before. There was a man
sick in bed, his wife who took care of him, and could not go out to
work, and their little boy. The little boy--his name was Bernard--had
interested her very much.
"I wish you could see him," she said to her own children, John, Harry,
and Clara, "he is such a help to his mother. He wants very much to earn
some money, but I don't see what he can do."
After their mother had left the room, the children sat thinking about
little Bernard.
"I wish we could help him to earn money," said little Clara.
"So do I, said Harry.
For some moments John said nothing, but, suddenly, he sprang to his
feet and cried:
"I have an idea!"
The other children also jumped up all attention. When John had an idea,
it was sure to be a good one.
"I tell you what we can do," said John. "You know that big box of corn
Uncle Sam sent us for popping? Well, we can pop it, and put it into
paper bags, and Bernard can take it round to the houses and sell."
When Mrs. Meredith heard of John's idea, she, too, thought it a good
one.
Very soon the children were busy popping the corn, while their mother
went out to buy the paper bags. When she came back, she brought
Bernard with her.
In a short time, he started out on his new business, and, much sooner
than could be expected, returned with an empty basket.
Tucked into one of his mittens were ten nickels. He had never earned
so much money before in his life. When he found that it was all to be
his, he was so delighted he could hardly speak, but his bright smiling
face spoke for him. After he had run home to take the money to his
mother, John said:
"We have corn enough left to send Bernard out ever so many times.
May we do it again?"
"Yes, said Mrs. Meredith, "you may send him every Saturday morning,
if you will pop the corn for him yourselves. John, will you agree to take
charge of the work?"
"Indeed I will," replied John, and he kept his word. For many weeks,
every Saturday morning, no matter what plan was on foot, no matter
how good the coasting or skating, he saw that the corn was all popped,
the paper bags filled, and arranged in the basket when Bernard arrived.
People began to watch for the "little pop-corn boy," and every week he
had at least fifty cents to take home, and often more. And all this was
because of John's bright idea, and the way he carried it out.
A SAD THANKSGIVING PARTY.
Four hungry-looking animals All seated in a row; Why does not some
one speak to them? That's what I want to know.
They all of them were bidden to A fine Thanksgiving feast, And now, it
seems to me, their host Might welcome them, at least.
'Twas Master Pug invited them, Why does he not appear? 'Tis plain
they think his absence looks Extremely rude and queer.
Alas! poor Pug's in trouble sore, The host he cannot play; No feast for
self or friends has he On this Thanksgiving Day.
He saw a turkey, large and fat, Upon the kitchen shelf.
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