Pages for Laughing Eyes | Page 2

soon was fast asleep. When we reached Boston she awoke, and saw her little friend disappearing. Josie waved her hand to her, and then, to my great surprise, shut her eyes tight.
"Why, darling," I said, "didn't you hear mamma tell you this was Boston? Don't go to sleep again; there are auntie and little Bess."
"Mamma," she answered gravely, "I was not going to sleep. I was asking God to let that little girl be my friend."
"But, my dear," I said, "you live in Newport, and you have only seen her in the cars. She probably lives in Boston. Come, auntie is hunting for us."
Josie had a fine time at auntie's, and her cousin Bess for a while filled completely the position of friend. But the week over, and we were aboard the train for Newport; and Josie's mind was again filled with the all-engrossing subject of--a friend.
We arrived at home in time for luncheon. Immediately after, Josie was in her room telling her sister all about her visit. Suddenly I heard a cry of joy. "O mamma! mamma! There she is! God did send her."
I hurried into Josie's room, and there at the window stood Josie, holding up her doll, and smiling at the window of the next house.
A second glance showed me that this was the very child we had seen in the cars.
The little girls soon became acquainted, for little Carrie had come to spend the winter with the Endicotts, who owned the house next our cottage.
No words can tell how happy my Josie has been with the little friend God sent her.
[Illustration]

BUTTERFLY WISDOM.
[Illustration]
A butterfly poised on a wild-rose spray, As a child tripped by one summer day, And he thought: "How sorrowful she must be To know she can never have wings like me!" But the child passed on, with a careless eye Of the gay-winged, proud, young butterfly, While he fluttered about, as butterflies will, Sipping of honey and dew his fill.
The butterfly spread his wings to the sky, As the sweet-faced child again tripped by, And he thought: "How envious she will be My beautiful azure wings to see!" But the child passed, with a lightsome heart, Where never had lodged a poisonous dart, While he fluttered about, as butterflies will, Sipping of honey and dew his fill.
[Illustration]
When the child again passed the wild-rose sweet, A bit of azure fell at her feet; She lifted it from the moss, and said:-- "Poor little butterfly, it is dead!" Then she tossed it up towards the wild-rose spray, And, singing merrily, went her way, With never a thought, the summer through, Of the butterfly and its wings of blue.
[Illustration]

MR. MONKEY.
Oh, fun, fun, fun! Is there anything half so funny in this world as a monkey?
[Illustration]
Just listen a moment, and I will tell you of one that I saw the other day.
[Illustration]
Think what a proud monkey he must have been, dressed in a fine suit of clothes! Then to have every one look out of the window when he rung the bell, while he sat up on the corner of the hand-organ. And how the children laughed to see him! After he had called every one within hearing to look at him, he made a little bow and took off his hat very politely.
[Illustration]
Then he put down the bell, and his master gave him cymbals, which he banged together in a lively way.
How delighted all were to see that Mr. Monkey was a student! It was so very queer to see the little scholar wearing those spectacles which the hand-organ man put on his nose; how well he held the tiny book, no matter if it was wrong side up!
[Illustration]
Mr. Monkey would have made a good farmer, we all said, when we saw him churn. The way that handle flew up and down would have made milk into butter very shortly, if there had been milk there.
[Illustration]
Next came the fiddle, a nice little one, just the right size for a monkey to play. The hand-organ sounded very slowly while the little monkey played his fiddle. For fear that his master would feel badly because he was so far behind, Mr. Monkey put away his instrument, and bowed very low to the people, taking off his hat to thank them for the many pennies showered upon him.

[Illustration: A Ride in A Water Wheel]
A TRUE STORY.
Bertie Gale lived near a noisy little brook, which went singing through the meadow. Just below the house in which he lived was a dam. It made a large pond above it, and the water was used to turn the wheel of a small woollen-mill.
It was such fun to watch the water pouring over the wheel, turning it swiftly round and round.
Bertie was never tired of looking at it, but it made his mother very