BY THE WAYSIDE 
27 
pail, and though it made a heavy load he 
started gaily off thinking, “Now I’ve got the 
money;—no more worry about that. Good 
little Jep you showed me the secret, didn’t 
you?” 
This brought to mind his own secret—the 
precious tin box hidden in the oat bin. What 
if he should find that some one had stolen it? 
Yes, Stolen, for no honest fellow finding it 
by chance would take it. The very idea made 
his heart beat fast. He began to hurry to 
make sure that all was right when his atten¬ 
tion was again called to Jep, who was still 
yelping at the old tree where he had the angry 
squirrel beseiged. 
“Poor little fellow,” thought Max, “I sup¬ 
pose you are mad at me, too; beside being 
driven from your home you saw me take all 
your nuts. Your nuts,—well, they were yours, 
but now they are mine. You must have been 
a long time getting them together. Of course 
you think it mean of me, but I need them so 
much.” 
He felt troubled by this time and doubtful 
what he should do, so he sat on the grass and 
looked first into his pail and then at the 
angry squirrel. At last he Avent to th'e tree 
and put back the nuts, fastened the bark in 
place as well as he could, and hurried off. He 
must find some honest way to earn his money, 
and he was glad that not even a chipmunk 
could call him a thief. 
Next morning he went to his uncle, told 
him all about his disappointment, and beg¬ 
ged him for some work about the store. 
“Of course,” his uncle said, “there are plenty 
of things you can do to help one here, and 
here is the fifty-cents in advance, since you 
may be trusted. Run now and buy the cape 
that suits you best, and come to me when your 
mother can spare you.” 
Max was as happy as a robin in May that 
night, for he had no hidden treasure, he had 
no secret from his mother, and she had a 
beautiful new cape. When he kissed her good 
night, she said, “You are a darling child to 
think of it, and to work so hard for me, and 
how glad I am that Mr. Squirrel will enjoy 
his own.” X. 
TITMICE. 
I wonder how many of you children know 
the jaunty little crested Tomtit? He is one 
of the Titmice and I must tell you how well 
I know them and how well they have come to 
know me. Last fall I put up a shelf hinged to 
my study window. The first cold day I put 
some cracked walnuts on it. Pretty softn I 
heard something squeaking like a mouse; I 
looiced out and there sat four, eating out of a 
big walnut. After this two or three of them 
came every morning. Sometimes they would 
try to fiy off with a nut so heavy they would 
drop it, but they always picked it up again 
and went on. I thought it would be fine if 
they would eat out of my hand, so one morn¬ 
ing when they came they found nothing on the 
shelf. I saw them and took some nuts in my 
hand and held them out of the window. One 
of the Titmice flew by once or twice and looked 
at me. I kept so still I hardly looked at him; 
then he lit once on my hand and flew away, 
but in a minute or two he was back and this 
time he took a nut with him. After that, the 
others came and they would eat out of my 
hand any time. It was great fun. You know 
St. Valentine is Love’s Saint, and on his dav 
one of my Toms brought a mate with him and 
fed her. Until February they had only squak- 
ed like mice, but then they began to sing and 
we have heard “Peto, peto, peto” almost every 
day since then. x4bbie Vredenburgli, 
Curran, Illinois. 
Our Birds and Their Nestlings is an attrac¬ 
tive book by Margaret Coulson Walker, of Des 
Moines, Iowa, just published by the American 
Book Co. It is intended as a reading book for 
children, but older readers will find much in 
its pages to interest them. There are several 
excellent colored plates and numerous text 
illustrations from the photographs of well 
known bird students. 
“Begin near home; go through the garden 
first, then to the nearest field and the bit of 
marsh-bordered wood. Do not go farther than 
where you may walk without ceremony or 
fuss. Never make a laborious tour of the 
bird-quest, or think that you must live in a 
tent remote from people, in order to name the 
majority of our every-day birds.”—Bird- 
Craft, by Mabel Osgood Wright. 
Does the Quail sit up and whistle in a dis 
appointed way, 
Or hang his head in silence and sorrow all the 
day ? 
James Whitcomb Riley. 
