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MAY 13, 1899.
GOOD NIGHT.
BY SARAH DOUDNEY.
Sleep, sister, sleep, while the lovely light Shines still through the dark old firs; The birds sleep sound in their nests all night, And only the wild wind stirs; Far over the hills and far away The earth is losing its gold; And sheep-bells chime through the twilight grey, While the flocks come home to fold.
Lie down, my dear, in your own warm nest, And sister will sit and sing When mother watches her darling's rest, And the stars are clustering Like silver flowers in the darkened sky, And the toil of man is done; Sleep, baby, sleep to my lullaby, And wake with the waking sun!
THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.
THE ROOTS OF HOSPITALITY.
Lucy paid no heed to her sister's words, being diverted by another bit of by-play. "Jessie Morison's" keen grey eyes had fallen on little Hugh, and her face had instantly broken into a smile. Could this superior, experienced, well-trained woman really want a general servant's place?
"Yes, ma'am," said Jessie Morison, "I'm wanting a quiet place that I could keep nice and comfortable."
"But I have hitherto had quite a young woman," urged Mrs. Challoner. "There are only myself and the little boy--until my husband comes home from a voyage," she explained.
Jessie Morison pondered.
"That will suit me nicely," she said. "Did the girl do the washing, ma'am?"
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