“Why are you walking slipshod? no one must walk slipshod with me.  Why, Rosamond,” said he, looking at her shoes with disgust, “I thought that you were always neat; no, I cannot take you with me.”

Rosamond colored and retired.

“Oh, mamma,” said she as she took off her hat, “how I wish that I had chosen the shoes!  They would have been of so much more use to me than that jar:  however, I am sure, no, not quite sure, but I hope I shall be wiser another time.”

THE THREE CAKES

By ARMAND BERQUIN

“There was a little boy named Henry,” said Mr Glassington “about your age.  His parents had but lately fixed him at a boarding-school.

“He was a special boy, forever at his book, and happened once to get the highest place at exercises.  His mother was told it.  She could nohow keep from dreaming of the pleasure; and when morning came, she got up early, went to speak with the cook and said as follows: 

“’Cook, you are to make a cake for Henry, who yesterday was very good at school.’

“‘With all my heart,’ replied the cook, and set immediately about it.  It was as big as—­let me see—­as big as—­as a hat when flapped.  The cook had stuffed it with nice almonds, large pistachio nuts, and candied lemon-peel, and iced it over with a coat of sugar, so that it was very smooth and a perfect white.  The cake no sooner was come home from baking than the cook put on her things, and carried it to school.

“When Henry first saw it, he jumped up and down like any Merry Andrew.  He was not so patient as to wait till they could let him have a knife, but fell upon it tooth and nail.  He ate and ate till school began, and after school was over he ate again; at night, too, it was the same thing till bedtime—­nay, a little fellow that Henry had for a playmate told me that he put the cake upon his bolster when he went to bed, and waked and waked a dozen times, that he might take a bit.  I cannot so easily believe this last particular; but, then, it is very true, at least, that on the morrow, when the day was hardly broke, he set about his favorite business once again, continuing at it all the morning, and by noon had eaten it up.  The dinner-bell now rung; but Henry, as one may fancy, had no stomach, and was vexed to see how heartily the other children ate.  It was, however, worse than this at five o’clock, when school was over.

“His companions asked him if he would not play at cricket, tan, or kits.  Alas! he could not; so they played without him.  In the meantime Henry could hardly stand upon his legs; he went and sat down in a corner very gloomily, while the children said one to another:  ’What is the matter with poor Henry, who used to skip about and be so merry?  See how pale and sorrowful he is!’

“The master came himself, and, seeing him, was quite alarmed.  It was all lost labor to interrogate him.  Henry could not be brought to speak a single word.