The children listened to his talk with great interest.  With many thanks for his kind attentions, they bade him “Good-by,” and, intent on collecting shells on another island near, stepped into their boat, and were rowed away, leaving the man and his friendly dog to enjoy each other’s company.

CHARLIE’S MAMMA.

GOING AFTER COWS.

When Edward was eight years old, his mother told him he might go with John, the hired man, to drive the cows from the pasture.  How happy the little boy was!

Every day he would be ready as soon as John gave the word; and off they would go, through the woods, over hills and rocks, and gurgling brooks, wherever the ding-dong of the distant cow-bells pointed the way.

Sometimes they had a long search before they could find all the cows; for the pasture was very large, and the cows would wander about in every part of it, to find the best feeding-places.

[Illustration]

On the way home, Edward would run ahead of the cows, and open the bars; and sometimes he would sit on the wall, and pat each cow as she came through.

When the cows reached the barnyard, Edward would help milk.  There was one old cow which he called his own, and which he named Carrie.  She always stood very still while being milked, and that was one reason why he liked her better than any of the rest.

After milking, he helped John to carry in the milk, and his mother often gave him a mug full.  Oh, how nice it was!

W.T.O.

[Illustration]

ROLY-POLY.

Roly-Poly is three years old,
Three years old, and a trifle over: 
Roly-Poly is round as a ball,
Jolly as larks, and sweet as clover.

    Roly-Poly has stars for eyes,
      A heavenly chin with a dimple in it,
    Peaches for cheeks, the bud of a nose,
      And a tongue that is never still a minute.

    Roly-Poly gets up in the morning,—­
      Morning, quoth I? it’s the crack of the dawn!—­
    Dresses himself in a boot and a stocking,
      Flies to his sister as swift as a fawn.

    Pulls at her eyes with his fat little fingers,—­
      Crazy for stories, that’s all the matter!—­
    “Oh!  I am sleepy and cross,” she cries;
      “You, Roly-Poly, disperse and scatter!”

    But Roly-Poly’s a resolute tyrant;
      Father and mother are captives wholly: 
    So what can a poor big sister do
      But yield to a king like Roly-Poly.

    Roly-Poly’s a man of business: 
      He canters to market on grandpa’s cane,
    Orders a breakfast of peppermint-candy,
      And gallops his pony home again.

Roly-Poly’s a man of pleasure: 
Sorrow and care are for grown-up stupids: 
Pictures and kisses, toys and caresses,
Fondling and fun, for dimpled Cupids.

After the sun has gone out of the south,
The night comes down on his eyelids slowly;
He topples asleep with his thumb in his mouth,—­
What an iniquity, Roly-Poly!