he grumbled, and walked on. Next, the miller came along. "Somebody will get a bad fall over that stone," said he, as he passed.

So it was all day. They all complained. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, all scolded about the stone, but no one tried to move it.

Well, just at night, a farmer boy came whistling merrily along, his dog at his heels. The boy was tired and hungry, but he stopped when he saw the stone.

"A horse might stumble in the night and break his leg," thought he. "I must get it out of the road if I can."

It was hard work; but he pushed and pulled and tugged away, until at last he succeeded. There, under the stone, he found a bag of gold, more money than he had ever seen in his life. On the bag were written these words: "This gold is for the one who moves the stone out of the road."

Then quickly the lad ran home to tell his mother of their good fortune. How glad and happy he was! And how happy his mother was to think that her boy was willing to do hard things.

A kind heart and a helping hand are worth far more than gold.

THE STONE IN THE ROAD

There was once a rich man who lived in a beautiful castle. He was very rich. He had houses and land, which he rented to the farmers and to other workmen in the village.

This man was, of course, not obliged to work. He might have spent all his time in idleness, but he would not do that. He wished to spend his time and to use his money for the good of others.

He built good, warm houses for the people, and he helped them to make their homes prettier and more comfortable. The poor and the sick always found in him a true friend. He spent all his time and a great deal of his money in doing good.

But the people were not grateful. Many complained because they were not rich like him, and because they were obliged to work. One day they learned a very good lesson which they never forgot.

Early one morning, this man placed a large stone in the road near the castle gate. Then he hid behind the hedge and watched to see what would happen.

The first who came in sight was the blacksmith. "Why doesn't some one take away that stone?"

he grumbled, and walked on. Next, the miller came along. "Somebody will get a bad fall over that stone," said he, as he passed.

So it was all day. They all complained. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, all scolded about the stone, but no one tried to move it.

Well, just at night, a farmer boy came whistling merrily along, his dog at his heels. The boy was tired and hungry, but he stopped when he saw the stone.

"A horse might stumble in the night and break his leg," thought he. “I must get it out of the road if I can."

It was hard work; but he pushed and pulled and tugged away, until at last he succeeded. There, under the stone, he found a bag of gold, more money than he had ever seen in his life. On the bag were written these words: "This gold is for the one who moves the stone out of the road."

Then quickly the lad ran home to tell his mother of their good fortune. How glad and happy he was! And how happy his mother was to think that her boy was willing to do hard things.

A kind heart and a helping hand are worth far more than gold.

Little Gustava sits in the sun,

Safe in the porch, and the little drops run
From the icicles under the eaves so fast,
For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,
And glad is little Gustava.

She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,

And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,
Filled with bread and milk to the brim,
And a wreath of marigolds round the rim:
"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.

Up comes her little gray, coaxing cat,

With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?” Gustava feeds her, she begs for more;

And a little brown hen walks in at the door:

"Good day!” cries little Gustava.

She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.
There comes a rush and a flutter, and then
Down fly her little white doves so sweet,
With their snowy wings and their crimson feet:
"Welcome!" cries little Gustava.

So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.
But who is this through the doorway comes?
Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags
Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:
"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.

"You want some breakfast, too?" and down
She sets her bowl on the brick floor brown;
And little dog Rags drinks up her milk
While she strokes his shaggy locks, like silk.
"Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.

Waiting without stood

sparrow and crow, Cooling their feet in the melting snow,

"Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried. But they were too bashful, and stayed outside, Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.