having you. If it were just you, Pixey, I wouldn't mind, but your Polly will drive me crazy.

And I

do think, if I say it myself, I've been a saint, a perfect angel, about that bird. There isn't a piece of furniture in the house that she hasn't chewed. She has made holes in the carpets and the lace curtains, and in the tablecloths and napkins, and eaten the buttons off my shoes, and last night she ate a hole right through the crown of your Uncle Edward's silk hat, and he is furious about it. But this last is just too much. Now isn't it, Pixey?' Y-yes," Pixey admitted sorrowfully, "but she doesn't mean to be bad, Aunt Letty, and, besides, she never was so bad as this before, not so much,

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you know, all at once. But I won't go fishing any more; I'll stay at home and watch her all the time, if you'll just forgive her this time."

After supper Aunt Letty said, "Pixey, we've been talking it over, your Uncle Edward and I, and we've decided that if you will give up Polly, and let us send her away, you can stay with us, and not go away at all."

"Give up Polly-my little sister Polly?"

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Pixey looked at her aunt in open-eyed astonishment. Why, Aunt Letty, what can you be thinking of?"

"Now, see here, Pixey," said Uncle Edward, "be a sensible little girl, and listen to reason. We don't want to send you away. You are really a nice little girl, and we should like to keep you, but we just can't stand Polly any longer. Now, just let us send Polly off, and you stay. Say now, Pixey, won't you?

Pixey drew herself up to her full height and turned upon her uncle in a blaze of indignation. "Send my Polly away? No, Uncle Edward, no! If you send my Polly away, you send me too. I go with my Polly."

"Want to go want to go want to go," cried Polly through the open window.

Yes," answered Pixey, with a sudden flush of enthusiasm, "we want to go."

And so it was

Pixey were to go.

that evening, and

Uncle Hal told her wonderful

stories about the snow and the ice, and the fields

and the houses all covered with white. He had told it many times before, but somehow it had never seemed so real as now. So Pixey began to feel somewhat reconciled, though her heart was still very sore.

But that night, in the dark, after she had gone to bed, the anxious fears came back. Touching Polly's cage, which always stood by her bedside, she whispered, "Polly, do you really want to go?" "Want to go- want to go!" answered Polly. "All right, Polly," laughed Pixey, softly, "then we'll go. Good night, Polly."

"Good night, Pixey," said Polly, "good night."

Then Pixey turned over on her pillow and soon fell asleep, to dream of the strange country where Polly "wanted to go."

THE KING OF GLORY

LIFT up your heads, O ye gates;

And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors;

And the King of glory shall come in.

Who is this King of glory?

The Lord strong and mighty,

The Lord mighty in battle.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates;

Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors;
And the King of glory shall come in.

Who is this King of glory?

The Lord of hosts,

He is the King of glory.

THE CHILDREN OF THE FLOOD

LONG before the children of men came to their earthly dwellings, when the granite floors had been laid, but before the green carpets and draperies had been added, or the bright flowers set in their places, the All-Father said to his servants, "Who will fashion this rocky wilderness into an abode fit for my children?"

"I," said Frost, "will break up the solid fields into pebbles that poor little man will be able to manage when he comes."

"And I," said Flood, "will wash away some of the traces of my brother's rough work, and will

open channels and shape valleys where rivers may run and men may live."

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We," said the little Streams, "will chisel out the mountain sides into beautiful forms and will take tribute of the rocks to make rich gardens and fields where man may raise his food."

"And we," said the Rivers, "will gather up the treasures of the brooks into our broad bosoms and spread them out in the valleys, where cities will be built and the busy life of man will find its best abode about our banks."

So all the Children of the Flood began their work in the world. The rough rocks gave up to them their treasures, and these were spread out along the valleys, making smooth ledges for roads, and broad intervales for meadows and grain fields.

Soon gray lichens began to dot the rocks, and beautiful mosses to embroider the banks, and multitudes of green, growing things thronged by the sides of the brooks; for they loved the faithful, busy workers who were toiling so hard for the coming creatures whom they had never seen. the mosses were not long alone; for graceful,

And