A. B. C.

[Illustration:  My Dog]

MY DOG.

I have a dog, and his name is Don.  He is nine years old.  His master is in Boston, and I call Don my dog, because I like to have him here.  He is a black-and-white dog, and measures six feet in length, and about two feet in height.

When I go on errands, Don takes the basket or pail, and trots away to the store; and sometimes I have to pull him, or he will go the wrong way.

He is a lazy old fellow, and he likes to sleep almost all the time, except when he is asked if he wants to go anywhere; and then he frisks around, and seems as if he had never been asleep.

When he wants a drink, he goes around to the store-room door, and asks for it by looking up in our faces; and I dare say he would say, if he could speak, “Please give me a drink?”

I have a little brother, and he sits on my dog a good deal.  And I have a cousin of whom the dog is very fond and when she is at the table, he will put his paw on her lap, and want her to take it.

My little baby-brother tumbles over the dog, and sits on him; and sometimes when I am tired, I lie down and take a nap with my head on Don’s back.  He likes to have me do it, and he always keeps watch while I am asleep.

LYNN, MASS.  WILLIE B. MARSHALL.

MAY.

    Pretty little violets, waking from your sleep,
    Fragrant little blossoms, just about to peep,
    Would you know the reason all the world is gay? 
    Listen to the bobolinks, telling you ’tis May!

    Little ferns and grasses, all so green and bright,
    Purple clover nodding, daisies fresh and white,
    Would you know the reason all the world is gay? 
    Listen to the bobolinks, telling you ’tis May!

    Darling little warblers, coming in the spring,
    Would you know the reason that you love to sing? 
    Hear the merry children, shouting as they play,
    “Listen to the bobolinks, telling us ’tis May!”

[Illustration:  Dot and The Lemons]

DOT AND THE LEMONS.

Dot’s father is a funny man.  One night, he brought home some lemons for mamma,—­twelve long, fat, yellow lemons, in a bag.  Dot was sitting at the piano with mamma when his father came in, and did not run, as usual, to greet him with a kiss.  So Dot’s father opened the bag, and let the lemons drop one by one, and roll all over the floor.

Then Dot looked around, and cried, “Lemons, lemons!  Get down; Dot get down!” And he ran and picked up the lemons one by one, and put them all together in the great black arm-chair.  As he picked them up, he counted them:  “One, two, three, five, six, seven, nine, ten!”

When Dot got tired of seeing them on the chair, he began to put them on the floor again, one at a time, and all in one spot.  While he was doing this, his father stooped down, and when the little boy’s back was turned, took the lemons, slily from the spot where Dot was placing them, and put them behind his own back,—­some behind his right foot, and some behind his left.