cups last fall when I was looking for an ash-tray, but I knew how badly you ’d feel over it, so I just ordered another, and thought I would n’t say anything about it until—”
“I broke it when I was after some of those dandy pear preserves, but the dealer could n’t get me another until last week, because he had to order them from France, so—”
“It was just carelessness on my part, Mother. I was looking for a corkscrew in the dark, and you see the result. But—”
“I wanted to use those cups one day last fall when some of the college girls were here, and in some way—”’
“It just happened—I don’t know how, and I thought it would n’t worry you so much if I bought another just like it. The man said he ’d ordered some for some one else, and so—”’
Mrs. Gordon pushed her chair back from the table and hurriedly left the room. Her family faced each other in blank consternation.
“Do you suppose she ’s angry?” gasped Hilda. “Or hurt?” added Robert. “I thought she was laughing,” mused their father.
At that moment, Mrs. Gordon reëntered the room and deposited two more cups beside the others on the table, then faced her family with wet, laughing eyes. “My mind has n’t yet had time to grasp all the amazing details of the situation, but of one thing I feel very sure: I’m the real culprit. I broke that cup one day last summer when I was washing it, but I felt so ashamed of my awkwardness after the dire threats I had made to my family, that I decided to try to replace it before ‘’fessing up.’ My cup came last week (with all these others, I suppose), just a few days after I had discovered that I could have my broken cup mended and made as good as new at that funny little Chinese shop on Carson Street.” She held the fateful cup up for their inspection. “So now I ’m a whole set of cups richer than I was!”
THE FIR-FREE
BY ANNA B. BRYANT
To the lowering sky—
The poor little posies, the lilies, and roses
Looked ready to die!
But bravely the Fir-tree,
The evergreen Fir-tree,
Was pointing on high.
Through the wintry rain;
The roots of the roses, the seeds of the posies—
He heard them complain;
But always the Fir-tree,
The uplooking Fir-tree,
Saw blue sky again.
Like a prophet of cheer;
And if, like the posies, the lilies, and roses,
You worry or fear,
Look up to the Fir-tree!
“You know,” says the Fir-tree,
“’T is God’s world, my dear!”
