gardener, and the dairy-maid, and the groom, and Sir John, and Grimes, and the ploughman all behind.

Through the wood he could see a clear stream glance, and far, far away the river widened to the shining sea, and this is the song Tom heard the river sing:

Clear and cool, clear and cool,

By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
Cool and clear, cool and clear,

By shining shingle, and foaming weir

Under the crag where the ouzel sings,

And the ivied wall where the church bell rings,
Undefiled, for the undefiled;

Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

Then he fell asleep and dreamed that the little white lady called to him, "Oh, you're so dirty; go and be washed"; and then he heard the Irish woman say, "They that wish to be clean, clean they will be."

And all of a sudden he found himself between sleep and awake, in the middle of the meadow, saying continually, "I must be clean, I must be clean." And he went to the bank of the brook and lay down on the grass and looked into the clear water, and dipped his hand in, and found it so cool, cool, cool; and he said again, “I must be clean, I must be clean." And he put his poor, hot, sore feet into the water; and then his legs. Ah," said Tom, “I must be quick and wash myself." Questions: Why did Tom want to be clean? What did he see when he looked in the glass? What did the little girl look like? Whose hands are the cleanest today? Who is going to try to be clean to-morrow? What is water good for? Have you ever seen a sparrow wash itself? A kitten? How do they learn to do it so well?

FEBRUARY: USEFULNESS

Show pictures of Lincoln or of Washington.

Tell the story of Lincoln's early life, in simple words. Among the best lives of Lincoln for our purpose are those by Ida M. Tarbell, by Morgan, and by Moores.

THE LAME BOY 1

He was little. He was lame. He was only six years old. His mother was a poor washerwoman, and they lived in a tiny room on a narrow street of a great city.

All day long he sat in his high chair, looking down into the narrow street. He could see, by leaning forward, a bit of blue sky over the tall warehouse opposite. Sometimes a white cloud would drift across the blue. Sometimes it was all dull gray.

But the street was more interesting. There were people down there. In the early morning men and women were hurrying to their work. Later the children came out, and played on the sidewalk and in the gutters. Sometimes they danced and sang, but often they were quarrelsome. In the spring came the hand-organ man, and then everybody seemed happy.

The boy's sad little face looked out all day long. Only when he saw his mother coming did he smile and wave his hand.

"I wish I could help you, mother," he said one night. "You work so hard, and I can't do anything for you."

"Oh, but you do!" she cried quickly. "It helps me to see your face smiling down at me from the window. It helps me to have you wave your hand. It makes my work lighter all day to think you will be there waving to me when I go home."

From The First Book of Religior, by Mrs. Charles A. Lane.

"Then I'll wave harder," said the little fellow.

And the next night a tired workman, seeing the mother look up and answer the signal, looked up too. Such a little, pinched face as he saw at the high window; but how cheery the smile was! The man laughed to himself and waved his cap, and the boy, a little shyly, returned the greeting.

So it went. The next evening the workman nudged his comrade to look up at the " poor little chap sitting, so patient, at the window," and again the gay smile shone out as two caps waved in the air below him.

Days came and passed, and the boy had more friends. Men and women went out of their way to send a greeting to him. Life did n't seem quite so hard to them when they thought how dreary it must be for him. Sometimes a flower found its way to him, or an orange, or a colored picture. The children stopped quarreling when they saw him watching them, and played games to amuse him. It pleased them to see how eager he was to share in their good times.

"Tell the lad we could n't get on without him,” said one of the weary laborers to the mother one night. ""T is a great thing to have a brave heart. It makes us all brave, too. Tell him that."

And you may be sure she did.

Learn the following poem:

LITTLE THINGS

BY EBENEZER C. BREWER

Little drops of water,

Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean,

And the pleasant land.

Thus the little minutes,

Humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages

Of eternity.

MARCH: KEEPING YOUR PROMISE

RAGGYLUG1

Once there was a little furry rabbit who lived with his mother deep down in a nest under the tall grass. His name was Raggylug and his mother's name was Molly Cottontail. Every morning when Molly Cottontail went out to hunt for food, she said to Raggylug, "Now Raggylug, lie still, and make no noise. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, don't you move. Remember you are only a baby rabbit and lie low." And Raggylug always said he would.

One day, after his mother had gone, he was lying very still in the nest looking up through the feathery grass. By just cocking his eye, so, he could see what was going on up in the world. Once a big bluejay perched on a twig above him and scolded some one very loudly; he kept saying, “Thief, thief!" But Raggylug never moved his nose, nor his paws; he lay still. Once a ladybug took a walk down a blade of grass, over his head; she was so topheavy that pretty soon she tumbled off and fell to the bottom and had to begin all over again. But Raggylug never moved his nose nor his paws: he lay still.

The sun was warm and it was very still.

Suddenly Raggylug heard a little sound, far off. It sounded like "Swish, swish," very soft and far away.

Adapted from Ernest Thompson Seton's Wild Animals I have Known, in How to Tell Stories to Children, by Sara Cone Bryant (Houghton Mifflin Co.).

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He listened. It was a queer little sound, low down in the grass, rustle rustle - rustle." Raggylug was interested. But he never moved his nose or his paws; he lay still. Then the sound came nearer, rustle rustle rustle;" then grew fainter, then came nearer; in and out, nearer and nearer, like something coming; only, when Raggylug heard anything coming he always heard its feet, stepping ever so softly. What could it be that came so smoothly, - rustle any feet?

rustle

without

He forgot his mother's warning, and sat upon his hind paws; the sound stopped then. "Pooh!" thought Raggylug, “I'm not a baby rabbit, I am three weeks old; I'll find out what this is." He stuck his head over the top of the nest, and looked straight into the wicked eyes of a great big green snake. "Mammy, mammy!" screamed Raggylug, "oh, Mammy, Mam-" But he could n't scream any more, for the big snake had his ear in his mouth and was winding about the soft little body, squeezing Raggylug's life out. He tried to call Mammy!" again, but he could not breathe.

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Ah, but Mammy had heard the first cry. Straight over the fields she flew, leaping the stones and hummocks, fast as the wind, to save her baby. She was n't a timid little cottontail rabbit then; she was a mother whose child was in danger. And when she came to Raggylug and the big snake, she took one look and then hop! hop! she went over the snake's back; and as she jumped she struck at the snake with her strong hind claws so that they tore his skin. He hissed with rage, but he did not let go.

Hop! hop! she went again, and this time she hurt him so that he twisted and turned; but he held on to Raggylug.

Once more the mother rabbit hopped, and once more she struck and tore the snake's back with her sharp