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  And here is another—­the third one, of course;
  But the driver’s Tom’s brother, and Tom’s his own horse.

THE CHICKENS THAT WOULD NOT BE TAME.

In a small village there lived an old woman who kept poultry.  One day this old woman went to see a little girl, who had some chickens which were so tame that they would eat corn and crumbs out of her hand.

“That’s nice,” said the old woman; “I shall teach my chickens to do that.”

So she went home, and got some corn and some crumbs, and went out into the yard and called the chickens; but they would not come to her.  They were afraid of her, because she used to shout at them, and throw sticks at them, every time they came into the garden, or near the house.

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When she saw that her chickens would not eat out of her hand, this old woman was very angry, indeed.

“You bad chickens!” she said, “I’ll catch you and make you eat out of my hand.”  So she ran after them and tried to catch them, but some ran one way and some another, and she could not lay hold of any of them.

The next day she went again to the house where the tame chickens were, and this time she saw the little girl’s mother, and told her about the trouble she had, and how her chickens would not let her come near them.

“I don’t see why they are not nice, gentle chickens like those your little girl has,” said the old woman.

“Well,” said the little girl’s mother, “perhaps they would be tame if you had always treated them as well as my little girl treats her chickens.  She has been kind and gentle with them ever since they came out of their shells, and they have learned not to be at all afraid of her.  But I think I have seen you throwing sticks at your chickens and chasing them about the yard.  If you do that, they cannot help being afraid of you, and they will never come to you and eat out of your hand.”

What the little girl’s mother said was very true, and if any of you have birds or animals which you wish to tame, you must always treat them so kindly that they will never have any reason to be afraid to come to you.

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JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

“Thirty days has September, April, June and November; all the rest have forty-three, except February, which is leap-year every four months.”  I may not repeat this correctly, but I heard a little boy saying something of the kind.  Perhaps you all know the jingle better than I do, so I’ll say no more about it.

NATURE’S PADDLE-BOATS.

A little bird has told me such a strange thing!  It’s about a kind of jelly-fish which he called a “Globe-Beroe,” I think; but you can find out for yourselves, if I caught the name aright or not.