A little girl who had visited an Episcopalian church for the first time described the service as follows: 

“When we went in they were standing up, singing, but pretty soon they sat down and played hide-and-seek.”

“Did what?” asked her mother.

“Well, of course no one went and hid, but they all covered up their faces and counted to themselves.”

Training the Other Woman’s Child

They all sat round in friendly chat
Discussing mostly this and that,
And a hat.

Until a neighbor’s wayward lad
Was seen to act in ways quite bad;
Oh, ’twas sad!

One thought she knew what must be done
With every child beneath the sun—­
She had none.

  And ere her yarn had been quite spun
  Another’s theories were begun—­
      She had one.

  The third was not so sure she knew,
  But thus and so she thought she’d do—­
    She had two.

  The next one added, “Let me see;
  These things work out so differently.” 
      She had three.

  The fifth drew on her wisdom store
  And said, “I’d have to think it o’er.” 
      She had four.

  And then one sighed, “I don’t contrive
  Fixt rules for boys, they’re too alive.” 
      She had five.

  “I know it leaves one in a fix,
  This straightening of crooked sticks.” 
      She had six.

  And one declared, “There’s no rule giv’n,
  But do your best and trust to heav’n!”
      She had sev’n.

  —­Alice Crowell Hoffman.

Tom, the country six-year-old, presenting himself one day in even more than his usual state of dust and disorder, was asked by his mother if he would not like to be a little city boy, and always be nice and clean in white suits and shoes and stockings.  Tom answered scornfully:  “They’re not children; they’re pets.”

Up-to-date

KIND STRANGER—­“How old is your baby brother, little girl?”

LITTLE GIRL—­“He’s a this year’s model.”

The lawyer was sitting at his desk absorbed in the preparation of a brief.  So intent was he on his work that he did not hear the door as it was pushed gently open, nor see the curly head that was thrust into his office.  A little sob attracted his notice, and turning, he saw a face that was streaked with tears and told plainly that feelings had been hurt.

“Well, my little man, did you want to see me?”

“Are you a lawyer?”

“Yes.  What do you want?”

“I want”—­and there was a resolute ring in his voice—­“I want a divorce from my papa and mamma.”

“Well,” mused six-year-old Harry, as he was being buttoned into a clean white suit, “this has been an exciting week, hasn’t it, mother?  Monday we went to the Zoo, Wednesday I lost a tooth, Thursday was Lily’s birthday party, Friday I was sick, yesterday I had my hair cut, and now here I am rushing off to Sunday-school.”