and one by one the walnuts vanished 

 from the ambitious young tree in our 

 back yard, till it was left with only a 

 few brown, uncertain leaves to flutter 

 defiance at the autumn winds. 



These winds came soon after, bring- 

 ing with them snow, and my friends 

 the Bushytails disappeared. I supposed 

 them snug in their tree-hollow, and 

 sometimes wondered if the rigors of 

 our ''old-fashioned winter" would not 

 reach them even there. My sympathy 

 was quite wasted, as I learned in due 

 time. One day, sitting in the broad- 

 gabled house next door to my own, I 

 h^rd strange noises in the walls; a 

 rumbling that reminded me of the game 

 of nine-pins in ''Rip Van Winkle" and 

 now and then a cracking sound which 

 suggested insecure rafters. I was then 

 informed that the cheeky little woods- 

 men had so heartily approved civiliza- 

 tion that they had abandoned their tree 

 in favor of the dwelling house. A branch 

 of the big butternut, pressing itself con- 

 veniently against a broken pane of the 

 attic window, had presumably been their 

 means of ingress, and for provender — ■ 



not only had their own supply been 

 safely stored within various crannies of 

 the walls (whence the rumbling and 

 cracking issued) but a bushel of nuts 

 which had been drying on the attic floor 

 had also gone to fill a secret larder. The 

 little lady of the gabled house and her 

 big kind-hearted lord were fortunately 

 not averse to furry lodgers, but laughed 

 appreciatively as they told of the feath- 

 er-bed laid away under the eaves for 

 safe keeping, from which, upon a sud- 

 den disturbance, would pop in quick 

 succession five little round heads set 

 with beady black eyes. , 



Thus the Bushytail family lived in 

 luxury throughout the long winter 

 proving the wisdom of the couple in 

 "moving! into town." What has become 

 of the young Bushytails now that spring 

 is here is a question which puzzles me; 

 for though the parents are whisking 

 about as usual, the youngsters are not 

 to be seen. I have a suspicion that 

 they have gone courting, perhaps to the 

 land of their forefathers, like Jacob of 

 old, and I shall be on the lookout for 

 bridal pairs all summer. 



Alice Crittenden Derby. 



MORNING. 



Streams of light illume the east. 



Heralding the sun ; 

 And twinkling stars in thousands 



In giving place to one. 



fade 



The dew drops pendant on the leaves 



In myriads untold. 

 Pay to the sun in generous wealth 



Their silver for his 



gold. 



The rosy morn adds greater charms 

 To nature's verdant bowers, 



Illumes the sky with golden glow, 

 And decks the trembline flowers. 



The air is full of scents and songs 

 From birds and blossoms gay. 



And everything with joy combines 

 To usher in the day. 



-George Gee. 



