The Nursery, No. 169, January, 1881, Vol. XXIX | Page 5

rope, he pulled the boat up to the shore. "What a nice little boat!" said he. "I will get into it, and rock it, as I once saw a big boy do."
So he got into the boat, and began to rock it. The boat got loose, and drifted down the river. Walter did not notice this until he was quite a distance from the shore; then, turning round, he saw what had happened. Every moment the current was carrying him further from home.
Walter was not a timid boy, and, instead of crying, he began to reason in this way: "The boat does not leak. It is safe and sound. There are no waves to make me afraid. The wind does not blow. Here on a seat is a thick blanket. In this box is a loaf of bread and a knife. The water of the river is good to drink, and here is a tin mug. I think I will not cry, but hope for the best."
So he sat down. He called to some people on the shore; but they did not hear him. He stood up, and waved his hat to a man in a passing boat, and cried, "Help, help!" But the man thought it was some little fellow making fun of him.
Meanwhile Walter's mother had become anxious. She ran down to the river, and followed his foot-tracks to the edge of the water. Then she ran back to her husband; but he was not in the house. In about an hour he came back, and she said, "Quick, quick! Get a boat, and call John to help you. Walter is drifting down the river in that little green boat, I am sure."
Mr. Dale ran out of the house, called his man John, and they went down to the bank. Here they took a good fast boat, pulled it out into the stream, and began to row with the current.
It was getting late. A mist was creeping over the great city of London. They could hardly see the tall stores, the masts and steeples on one side. But on they went, rowing swiftly with their good oars, as if for dear life.
[Illustration: Searching for Walter.]
They looked out sharply on both sides to catch a sight of the little green boat. At last, when they had rowed about two miles, with the tide in their favor, Mr. Dale cried out, "I see it! I see it! But, ah! it is empty. I see no sign of a boy in it. What can have become of poor Walter?"
On they rowed, and at last, came up with the boat. Still no Walter was to be seen. The poor father was in despair, when all at once Walter started up from under the great blanket, where he had been hiding. He cried out, "Here I am, papa, safe and sound!"
"Oh, you little rogue! Come here and let me pull your ears!" They all got back to their home in time for a late tea, which mother had kept warm for them. Walter was kissed and then cuffed; but the cuffs were so tender, that they made him laugh even more than the kisses.
ALFRED STETSON.
* * * * *

"FLUTTER, FLUTTER!"
Flutter, flutter, with never a stop, All the leaves have begun to drop; While the wind, with a skip and a hop, Goes about gathering in his crop.
Flutter, flutter, on bustling-wings, All the plump little feathered things: Thrush and bobolink, finch and jay, Follow the sun on his holiday.
Flutter, flutter, the snowflakes all Jostle each other in their fall. Crowd and push into last year's nest, And hide the seeds from robin-redbreast.
Flutter, flutter, the hours go by; Nobody sees them as they fly; Nobody hears their fairy tread, Nor the rustle of their wings instead.
MARY N. PRESCOTT.

[Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON.]

CHRISTMAS BELLS
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS BELLS.]
"Are you waking?" shout the breezes To the tree-tops waving high, "Don't you hear the happy tidings Whispered to the earth and sky? Have you caught them in your dreaming, Brook and rill in snowy dells? Do you know the joy we bring you In the merry Christmas bells? Ding, dong! ding, dong, Christmas bells!
"Are you waking, flowers that slumber In the deep and frosty ground? Do you hear what we are breathing To the listening world around? For we bear the sweetest story That the glad year ever tells: How He loved the little children,-- He who brought the Christmas bells! Ding, dong! ding, dong, Christmas bells!
GEORGE COOPER.

JACK THE MAGPIE.
One day last summer, a man in Colorado found a magpie by the roadside. Its wings had been clipped, so that it could not fly. The man gave it to a little boy named Ernest Hart.
He lived with his parents in a neat cottage near by a mountain stream. He ran home, and showed