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f men and hay to mow, men and potatoes to dig,
men and miles of railroad to build.

The noise of scurrying feet grew fainter, the sound of children's voices
died away. The room settled into stillness, except for the solemn tick
of the clock and the scratching of Clarabel's pencil on the slate. There
were fractions in the problems, and fractions were always hard for
Clarabel. Her pencil stopped often while she frowned at the curly-tailed
figures. In one of these pauses the door squeaked open a little way. It
squeaked again, and some one sidled into the room; it was Josephine.

"Please may I go to my seat?" she asked.

"Certainly," said the teacher, and watched her curiously.

She tiptoed to the back seat, fumbled for a few minutes in her desk,
then slipped to a seat a few rows farther in front; then to another and
another, till she had reached the row in which Clarabel sat.

Clarabel, though she was bending over her slate, had heard every
hesitating move, and when the last halt was made she shook her curls
back from her eyes, looked around, and dimpled into smiles.

The teacher, watching, waited to see what would happen next. Nothing
did, except that the two little girls sat and smiled and smiled and
smiled as if they never would stop.

Presently the teacher herself smiled and spoke. She had a very sweet
voice sometimes--one that seemed to hint at happy secrets. That was the
way it sounded now.

"Would you like to help Clarabel, Josephine?" she asked. "You may if you
wish to."

"If she'll let me," answered Josephine, her eyes fixed on Clarabel's
face.

"I would love to have her," said Clarabel, _her_ eyes on Josephine. And
instantly the one narrow seat became large enough for two.

For ten minutes more there was great scratching of slate-pencils and
much whispering and some giggling. Then with cheerful clatter the slate
was borne to the platform. The teacher looked at the little girls more
than at the examples. "I'm sure they're right," she said. "Now, off to
your homes--both of you!"

"Good night," said Clarabel.

"Good night," said Josephine.

"Good night, dear little girls," said the teacher.

There was a soft swish of dresses and the children had reached the
dressing-room. Within its familiar narrowness, Josephine hesitated and
fingered her cloak-buttons.

"I think your Aunt Bessie"--it was very slow speech for Josephine--"is
ever so nice and knows a lot."

"Oh!" bubbled Clarabel, joyously, "I do love the color of your mittens!
Don't you--don't you"--she finished with a rush--"want to let me wear
them home and you wear my gloves?"

Josephine put aside the dazzling offer.

"Your gloves are prettier and you ought to wear them."

Clarabel thought a minute, a shadow in her eyes.

"I know what," she declared, the shadow vanishing. "You wear one glove
and mitten and I'll wear the other glove and mitten!"

"Oh!" said Josephine, with a rapturous hug, "that will be splendid!"

And thus they scampered home, the two mittened hands holding each other
tight, while the two gloved hands were gaily waved high in the air with
each fresh outburst of laughter from the little schoolmates.

A VERY LITTLE STORY OF A VERY LITTLE GIRL

BY ALICE E. ALLEN

Molly was such a little girl that she didn't seem big enough to have a
party all her own with truly ice-cream in it. But she had asked for one
so many times that at last Mother decided to give her one. And the party
was to be a surprise to Molly herself.

Early that afternoon Molly wanted to go for a little visit to Miss
Eleanor. Miss Eleanor lived up Molly's street, in a white house with
apple-green blinds. Molly often went all alone.

Miss Eleanor was always so sunny and full of songs and stories and games
that Molly loved her next best to Father and Mother and Baby.

"You may go, dear," said Mother, "if you will come home exactly at three
o'clock."

"You always say exactly three o'clock, Mother," said Molly.

"Well, five minutes after three, then," laughed Mother. "And, Molly, so
that you won't forget this time, all the way to Miss Eleanor's, say over
and over, 'Five minutes after three.' Then, just as soon as you get
there, say the words quickly to Miss Eleanor, 'Five minutes after
three.'"

"Five minutes after three," said Molly; "I can remember that."

"That will give me plenty of time to get ready for the party," thought
Mother.

Up the street with her white parasol flew Molly. "Five minutes after
three," she said over and over in a whisper until she began to sing it.
"Five minutes after three," she sang until she stopped a moment on the
bridge to see some boys fishing. Just about there, a big dog who was a
friend of Molly's ran out to say, "Good afternoon."

"Oh, Fritzie," cried Molly, "I'm going to Miss Eleanor's to make her a
visit. Want to come?"

But Fritz had the house to look after. So Molly gave him a hug and ran
along.

"Three minutes after five," sang Molly; "three minutes after five," over
and over until she ran into Miss Eleanor's sunny little sitting-room.

"Three minutes after five," cried Molly; "that's how long I can stay.
Won't that be nice?"

"Why, it's little Molly!" cried Miss Eleanor, "I'm all alone and so glad
to have company! We'll hear the clock strike five. Then, if you put on
your wraps, you'll be all ready to start home at three minutes past."

It seemed a very very short time to Molly before the little clock struck
five.

"There, deary," said Miss Eleanor. "Put on your things and hurry right
along!"

Molly put on her hat and coat. Then she kissed Miss Eleanor and hurried
down the street.

When she reached the corner, she saw that the parlor at home was all
lighted. And out of it came such a hubbub of little voices all laughing
and talking that Molly ran faster than ever.

At the door she met Mother.

 [Illustration: "SHE STOPPED FOR A MOMENT ON THE BRIDGE."]

"Oh, Molly, _where_ have you been?" cried Mother. "I couldn't go after
you because I couldn't leave Baby. And I couldn't take him."

Molly scarcely heard. "Oh, Mother, Mother," she cried, "it looks like a
party. And it sounds like one. Is it a party, Mother?"

"Yes," said Mother, "your own little party, Molly. And you're the only
one who is late. How could you forget?"

"But I didn't forget, Mother," cried Molly, hurrying out of her coat,
"truly I didn't. Every step of the way I said it, and I said it to Miss
Eleanor the very first thing."

"What did you say?" asked Mother.

"_Three minutes after five_," said Molly.

Mother laughed. "Why, Molly dear, you got the hour and minutes turned
around. I said _five_ minutes after _three_. Well, never mind. Run along
just as you are. It's a lovely party, dear, with truly ice-cream in
it."

EDITH'S TEA-PARTY

BY LOIS WALTERS

Edith was a little girl who was just learning to write. Her mother told
her one day that she could have a tea-party on the next Tuesday, if the
weather was fine, and that she could invite her little friend Helen, who
lived on the same street, though not very far away; but she must write
t

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