“I don’t want to eat with Jule,” Dick said.  “He eats too fast.”

The young people paired off, leaving out Bob.  Then they all looked at him in a shame-faced, apologetic way.

“You needn’t mind me,” said Bob, interpreting their glances.  “I don’t want to heat with none of you.  I’ve got some wittals down to the wagon.”

“Why, what have you got?” said Sarah Ketchum.  She felt cheap, and so did the others.

“Some boiled heggs and some happles and some raw turnups,” said Bob.

Eight mouths watered at this catalogue.  Sarah Ketchum whispered: 

  “For a generous slice of turnip,
  I’d lay me down and die.”

“I don’t keer for nothing but a hegg and a happle, myself,” said Bob.  “May be you folks would heat the hother things.  There’s a good lot of happles.”

The eight protested that they could do with the milk and bread, but urged the milk on Bob.

“No, I thank you,” he said.

“He’s mad at us yet,” Mat whispered.

“Look here,” said Sarah Ketchum to Bob, “if you don’t eat some of this milk, none of us will.  We’ll give it to the cow.”

“No, we won’t do that,” Julius said:  “we’ll hold you and make you drink it.  If you have more apples than you wish, we’ll be glad of some; but we aren’t going to take them unless you’ll take your share of the milk.”

“And we’ll get mad at you again,” said Clara.

“I’ll drink hall the milk necessary to a make-hup,” said Bob.

When the lunch was eaten, Mat said she didn’t think they ought to have milked the cow.  The folks would be so disappointed when they came to milk her at night.  May be a lot of poor children were depending on the milking for their supper.  Val, too, showed that his conscience was disturbed.

“You needn’t worry,” said Dick.  “They’ll get this milk back from the lunch she stole.”

“But they couldn’t help her stealing.”

“And I couldn’t help milking her,” said Dick.

At this there was a burst of laughter.  Then Mat wrote on a scrap of paper:  “This cow has been milked to save some boys and girls from starvation.  The owner can get pay for the milk by calling at Mr. Snead’s, Poplar street, Budville.”

“Who’ll tie it on her tail?” asked Mat.

“I will,” said Val, promptly, glad to ease his conscience.

And this he did with a piece of blue ribbon from Mat Snead’s hat.

MRS. PETER PIPER’S PICKLES.

By E. MUeLLER.

[Illustration:  Two crows.]

“There’s nothing in that bush,” said one old crow to another old crow, as they flew slowly along the beach.

“No, nothing worth looking at,” answered the other old crow, and then they alighted on a dead tree and complained that the egg season was over.

That was because they were fond of sandpipers’ eggs, and there were none in that bush.  No eggs were there, to be sure, but there sat Mrs. Peter Sandpiper, talking to two fine young sandpipers, just hatched.