“Sh!” said Murphy.  “I only brought six.”

CHILD LABOR

SOUTHERNER—­“Why are you Northerners always harping on the children employed in Southern factories?”

NORTHERNER—­“Well, for one thing, it detracts people’s attention from the children employed in ours.”—­Life.

CHILDREN

JOHNNY—­“What makes the new baby at your house cry so much, Tommy?”

TOMMY—­“It don’t cry so very much—­and, anyway, if all your teeth were out, your hair off, and your legs so weak you couldn’t stand on them, guess you’d feel like crying yourself.”

A little girl was entertaining the visitors while her mother added the finishing touches to her toilet.  One of the ladies said with a significant look:  “Not very p-r-e-t-t-y,” spelling the last word.

“No,” said the child quickly; “but awful s-m-a-r-t.”

It was time for “baby girl” to be in bed, but no amount of coaxing could get her there.  At last her father offered to lie on the bed till the “sandman” arrived.  Off she went “pick-a-back,” and the tired mother leaned back in her chair with a sigh of content, ready for a hard-earned rest.

Ten minutes—­twenty—­half an hour, and she was wondering when her husband would be down, when all at once she heard a soft, stealthy pit-a-pat.  Nearer came the steps, and then a little white-robed form, with a tiny finger on her lip, stood in the doorway.

“Hush, hush, muvver,” she said.  “I’se got farver to sleep.”

Taking a Chance

Junior was in the habit of coming to the table with a dirty face and, of course, had to be sent away to wash.

One time his mother, nearly losing patience, said:  “Junior, why do you persist in coming to the table without washing?  You know I always send you away.”

“Well,” said Junior, meekly, “once you forgot.”

TOMMY (after a thumping)—­“You’re awful hard on me, ma.”

MOTHER—­“That’s because you’ve been very naughty and wicked.”

TOMMY—­“Well, gee!  You should remember that you didn’t die young yourself.”

“Can your little baby brother talk yet?” a kindly neighbor inquired of a small lad.

“No, he can’t talk, and there ain’t no reason why he should talk,” was the disgusted reply.  “What does he want to talk for when all he has to do is yell a while to get everything in the house that’s worth having?”

Mrs. Jones was getting dinner ready when in came little Fred with a happy smile on his face.

“What has mamma’s darling been doing this morning?” asked his mother.

“I have been playing Postman,” replied little Fred.

“Postman?” exclaimed his mother.  “How could you do that when you had no letters?”

“Oh, but I had,” replied Fred.  “I was looking in your trunk up in your room and I found a packet of letters tied ’round with a ribbon, and I posted one under every door in the street.”