A critical observer might have facetiously agreed with him, but the boys were content with what they had, not being able to obtain anything better; and is not that one way to be happy?

“Well, they may not be beauties,” continued Jim; “and you can’t exactly call them racers; but, somehow, they keep afloat, and one can manage them first-rate.”

“And we’ve had enough fun with them to repay us for all the trouble we had in making them,” added Rob.

Jack laughed at the recollection.

“Yes,” remarked Uncle Gerald, who had just come up, on his way to the meadow pasture.  “And I think, boys, you will all acknowledge that you learned a good many useful things while building a boat.”

A MAY-DAY GIFT.

I.

Early on the morning of the 1st of May, Abby Clayton ran downstairs, exclaiming by way of greeting to the household: 

“A bright May Day!  A bright May Day!”

“It isn’t very bright, I’m sure!” grumbled her little brother Larry, who clattered after her.  “There’s no sunshine; and the wind blows so hard I sha’n’t be able to sail my new boat on the pond in the park.  It’s mighty hard lines!  I don’t see why it can’t be pleasant on a holiday.  Think of all the shiny days we’ve had when a fellow had to be in school.  Now, when there’s a chance for some fun, it looks as if it were going to rain great guns!”

“Well, it won’t,” said Abby, pausing in the hall to glance back at him, as he perched upon the baluster above her.  “It won’t rain great guns, nor pitchforks, nor cats and dogs, nor even torrents.  It’s going to clear up.  Don’t you know that some people say the sun generally shines, for a few minutes anyhow, on Saturdays in honor of the Blessed Virgin?”

“This isn’t Saturday,” objected Larry, somewhat indignantly.

“Yes, but it is the 1st of May; and if that is not our Blessed Mother’s day too, I’d like to know what is!” said his sister.

“I don’t believe that about the sun shining,” continued Larry.  “If you are ten—­only two years older than I am,—­you don’t know everything.  I’m going to ask mother.”

The children entered the breakfast room, greeted their father and mother, and then slipped into their places.

“Mother,” began Larry, as he slowly poured the maple syrup over the crisp, hot pancakes upon his plate, “is it true that the sun always shines on Saturday in honor of the Blessed Virgin?”

“It is a pious and poetic saying,” replied Mrs. Clayton.  “But a legendary sentiment of this kind often hides a deeper meaning.  For those who are devoted to the Blessed Virgin, there is never a day so dark but that the love of Our Lady shines through the gloom like a sunbeam, changing to the rosy and golden tints of hope the leaden clouds that shadowed their happiness; and blessing the closing day of life, which, to look back upon, seems but as the ending of a week.”