THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



51 



at all to spend at "home," said Mrs. Griffin, 

 "I heard a story once which aptly illus- 

 trates this fault in the American club 

 woman. Three little boys were together 

 and their childish talk finally drifted to 

 the question of where they were born. One 

 little boy said: 



"I know where I was born. I was born 

 at No. 38 Washington street, and I know 

 where the house is, too." "And one of 

 the other little boys said. 



" "I know where I was born, too. Ic was 

 at No. 50 Pennsylvania avenue, and I can 

 take you right to th : house. 



The third boy hesitated and finally said: 

 "I don't know where I was born, but 

 I know when I was born. I know there 

 wasn't anybody home at the time but me 

 and grandma, 'cause mother was at the 

 club. Buffalo Com in crcial 



to the dust? "I am on to you, and your 

 name is mud!" 



AS THE PUPILS UNDERSTOOD IT. 



A teacher, says the Boston Trans- 

 cript, had been reading to her young pu- 

 pils an account of a man who had lived 

 some years upon the frontier. When the 

 story was reproduced by a child, to her 

 surprise it read that he had lived for some 

 years on his "front ear!" 



Another teacher read that a gentleman 

 had occupied for some time a fine coun- 

 try-seat. Upon asking the children what 

 was meant by a 'country-seat' a dead 

 silence reigned, until one little fellow said 

 he thought he knew, and to the inquiry of 

 the teacher replied "a milking-stool." 



Still another teacher had been reading 

 to her pupils about the rain. Asking one 

 of them to write a little story about the 

 rain he, after declaring his inability to do 

 so, upon the teacher's insistence produced 

 -the following: "What does the rain say 



Now. Harry, asked the teacher of the 

 juvenile class, what is the meal we eat in 

 the morning called?" "Oatmeal," was 

 the little fellow's prompt reply. School 

 Journal. 



AND EASIER HAULING. 



Here is a drought story told by & travel- 

 ing man; 



"I was driving across the country to a 

 little town in Western Kansas the other 

 day when I met a farmer hauling a wagon 

 load of water. 



"Where do you get water? ' said I. 



"Up the road about seven miles," he 

 replied. 



"And you haul water seven miles for 

 your family and stock?" 



"Yep.'' 



"Why in the name of sense don't you 

 dig a well?" 



"Because it's jest as far one way as the 

 other, stranger." Chicago Journal 



Exact Statistics. "I can tell you," said 

 he, "how much water runs over Niagara 

 Falls to a quart." 



''How much?" asked she. 



"Two pints." Chicago Journal. 



AS IT'S WROTE. 

 She calls herself Cathryn Mae, 

 And yet there are gossips who sae 

 Cathetiue Mary's her naym, 

 Yn supporting which claym 

 They ynsyst she was chrystened that wae. 

 Exchange. 



