have lost all the plants in the greenhouse in the blight last May - I would rather the best tea-set were broken! The poor geranium I reared myself, than the dear, dear flowerpot Mr. Caxton bought for me on my last birthday! That naughty child must have done this!" Mrs. Primmins was dreadfully afraid of my father; why, I know not, except that very talkative social persons are usually afraid of very silent shy ones. She cast a hasty glance at her master, who was beginning to evince signs of attention. "No, ma'am, it was not the dear boy, it was I!" "You? how could you be so careless? and you know how I prized them both. O Primmins!" Primmins began to sob. "Don't tell fibs, nurse," said a small shrill voice; and Master Sisty, coming out of the house as bold as brass, continued rapidly: "Don't scold Primmins, mama. I who pushed the flowerpot out.' It was "Hush!" said nurse, more frightened than ever and looking aghast at my father, who had very deliberately taken off his hat, and was regarding the scene with serious eyes. "Hush! And if he did break it, ma'am, it was an accident. He was standing so, and he never meant it. Did you, Master Sisty? Speak? Speak (this in a whisper) or papa will be angry.' "Well," said my mother, "I suppose it was an accident; be more careful in future, my child. to have grieved me. There's a kiss; You are sorry, I see, "No, mama, you must not kiss me. I do not deserve it. I pushed the flowerpot out on purpose." "Ha! and why?" said my father, walking up. Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf. "For fun!" said I (for I am Master Sisty), hanging my head; "just to see how you'd look, papa; and that's the truth of it. Now beat me; do beat me!" My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped down, and caught me to his breast. "Boy," he said, "you have done wrong; you shall repair it by remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving him a son who spoke the truth in spite of fear! Oh! Mrs. Primmins, the next fable of this kind you try to teach him, parts us forever!" From that time I date the hour when I felt I loved my father and knew he loved me. Mr. Squills, who was a bachelor, and well to do, often gave me little presents. Not long after I broke my mother's flowerpot, he gave me one far exceeding in value those usually given to children. It was a beautiful large domino box in cut ivory, painted and gilt. This box was my delight. I was never weary of playing dominoes with Mrs. Primmins, and I slept with the box under my pillow. "Ah!" said my father one day, when he found me arranging the ivory pieces in the parlor. "Ah! you like that better than all your other playthings, eh?" "O yes, papa." "You would be very sorry if your mama were to throw that box out of the window, and break it just for fun.” I looked earnestly at my father, and made no reply. "But perhaps you would be very glad," he continued, "if suddenly one of those good fairies you read about could change the domino box into a beautiful geranium in a pretty blue-and-white flowerpot and you could have the pleasure of putting it on your mama's window-sill.' “Indeed, I would!" said I, half crying. "My dear boy, I believe you; but good wishes do not mend bad actions." So saying he closed the door and went out. I cannot tell you how puzzled I was to make out what my father meant, but I know I played at dominoes no more that day. The next morning my father found me seated by myself under, a tree in the garden. He paused and looked at me with his grave bright eyes very steadily. "My boy," said he, "I am going to walk to MWill you come? And, by the by, bring your domino box; I would like to show it to a person there." I ran at once for the box. "Papa,” said I, by the way, “there are no fairies now.” "What, then, my child?" "Why, how then can my domino box be changed into a geranium and blue-and-white flowerpot? "My dear," said my father, leaning his hand on my shoulder, "everybody who is in earnest to be good carries two fairies about with him one here,” and he touched my forehead; “and one here," and he touched my heart. "I don't understand, papa." "I can wait until you do, Sisty." My father stopped at a florist and after looking over the flowers, stopped before a large double geranium. "Ah, this is finer than the one your mother was so fond of. What is the price sir?" “Only seven and six pence,' said the man. My father buttoned up his coat, saying, "I cannot afford it to-day," and he walked on. On entering the town, we stopped at a chinaware house. "Have you a flowerpot like that I bought some months ago? Ah, here is one, marked three and sixpence. Yes, that was the price. Well, when your mama's birthday comes again we must buy her another. That is some months to wait, my boy; but truth that blooms all the year around is better than a poor geranium, and a word that is never broken is better than a piece of delf.” My head, which had been drooping before, rose again; but the rush of joy at my heart almost stifled me. "I have called to pay your little bill," said my father, entering the shop of one of the fancy stationers, common in the country towns, and who sells all kinds of pretty toys and knickknacks. "And, by the way," he added, as the smiling shopkeeper looked over his books for the amount, "I think my little boy here can show you a handsome piece of French workmanship. Show your domino box, my dear." I produced my treasure, and the shopman was liberal in his words of praise. "It is always well to know what a thing is worth, in case one wishes to part with it. If my son gets tired of his plaything, what will you give him for it?" "Why, sir," said the shopman, "I fear we could not afford to pay more than eighteen shillings for it, unless the young gentleman took some of those pretty things in exchange." "Eighteen shillings!" said my father, "you would give that? Well, my boy, whenever you do tire of your box, you have my permission to sell it.' My father paid his bill and went out. I lingered in the shop for awhile and then joined him at the end of the street. "Papa, papa!" I cried, clapping my hands, “we can buy this geranium; we can buy the flowerpot." And I pulled a handful of silver from my pocket. “Did I not say right?" said my father. "You have found the two fairies!" Oh, how proud, how overjoyed I was, when, after placing vase and flowers in the window-sill, I took my mother by the hand and led her to the spot. Adapted. Archimedes (ar ki me'dez): a Greek mathematician. Pompei: (pom pa'yē): a city of Italy, buried in the year 79. THE GOLD OF SPRING. LIZZIE TWIGG. There's gold on the greening hill, |