I 
BY THE WAYSIDE. 
“Oh, you naughty bird!” cried Syl to the 
rarrot. “Now yon see what it is to meddle 
vith things that don’t concern you! Just 
hink of it! All Christie’s nice bread must go 
o feed the chickens, and von came near losing 
r our life! Don’t you ever meddle again, Polly; 
Jo yon hear?” 
Polly looked too comical. They had washed 
uer as well as they could, and tried to dry 
ler, and had set her on her perch as near as 
, hey dared to the lire. She was sio bedraggled 
nd forlorn, with her wet, ruffled feathers, and 
■ter lean, shivering body! Minzie sat and 
nicked up at her with sympathetic eyes. 
“Bless my soul! What does Polly want?” 
battered the poor bird. 
; “I should think you wanted to be punished 
)f you weren’t punished enough already,” 
aughed Christine, as she fastened the chain 
pore securely about the parrot’s leg. 
Then she proceeded, to make a fresh bowlful 
f bread in place of that which had nearly 
nade an end of poor Poky; and presently left 
I he two occupants of the kitchen to take care 
f each other till morning —Celia Thaocter, in 
lit. Nicholas. 
A Wee World of My Own. 
I There once used to be 
At the foot of a tree, 
j inhere the moss grew across and the violets 
were blue, 
A wee world of my own, 
Where I played all alone, 
F ly small naked fingers all dabbed with dew,— 
A green little world, 
Where the tansy uncurled, 
mall weeds dropped their seeds in the palm 
of my hand, 
And the snail in his castle 
Was my humble vassel, 
nd the cricket in caves—I was heir to the 
land! 
I I would creep 
Soft asleep 
To that wee world of mine, 
ubduing myself to the stillness of flowers, 
Breathing low, 
Hoping so, 
I might grow fairy-fine, 
And steal my long days out of other folks’ 
hours. 
I hoped to grow smaller 
As others grow taller, 
To brew draughts of dew in a brown acorn- 
cup, 
And sit in the shade 
That the white pebble made, 
But I never grew down, and I always grew up. 
The weeds have outgrown me, 
The crickets disown me, 
The snail moved away, I never knew where to, 
And it falls out today, 
In my big stupid way, 
I’m so blind I can’t find that Wee World I am 
heir to. 
—From St. Nicholas. 
Our Needy Wild Neighbors. 
In the absence of organized relief among 
the animals themselves, it seems reasonable 
to suggest that those of us who love them 
might at this season give them substantial 
evidence of our love. Few of them need shel¬ 
ter; most of them have snug homes of some 
sort, and about all of them have jackets of 
feathers or fur which under ordinary circum¬ 
stances will withstand very severe cold; but 
food as a rule is scarce in winter, and a little 
trouble and very little expense on our part 
will save a great deal of suffering. 
In giving our attention to this subject, 
naturally most of us think of the birds fir.-t 
of all. Indeed, it is often difficult for even 
thoughtless people to avoid feeding the birds, 
for when the snow comes and covers up their 
natural food supply, they come to cur door- 
yards and hop about beneath the windows, or 
sit in flocks upon the naked shrubs and trees, as 
though to remind us to do the decent thing. 
And it is not much they ask, these little pris¬ 
oners; they will be grateful for the sweepings 
from the tablecloth, if that is all*we have. But 
most of us can do at least a little better, for 
cracked oats, sunflower seed, and canary seed 
are cheap, and a cent’s worth will give many 
birds a breakfast. At a pinch, these seeds 
may be thrown out on the bare ground, or if 
there is deep snow a place may be swept clear. 
But it is better, perhaps, to serve them or 
portable trays which may be fastened in the 
