little tooth. Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into her heart every time she remembered the visit of the Three Kings.

After a while the thought of the Little Child became her first thought at waking and her last at night. One day she shut the door of her house forever, and set out on a long journey. She had no hope of overtaking the Three Kings, but she longed to find the Child, that she too might love and worship Him. She asked every one she met, and some people thought her crazy, but others gave her kind answers. Have you perhaps guessed that the young Child whom the Three Kings sought was our Lord himself?

People told Babouscka how He was born in a manger, and many other things which you children have learned long ago. These answers puzzled the old dame mightily. She had but one idea in her ignorant head. The Three Kings had gone to seek a Baby. She would, if not too late, seek Him too.

She forgot, I am sure, how many long years had gone by. She looked in vain for the Christ-child in His manger-cradle. She spent all her little savings in toys and candy so as to make friends with little children, that they might not run away when she came hobbling into their nurseries.

Now you know for whom she is sadly seeking when she pushes back the bed-curtains and bends down over each baby's pillow. Sometimes, when the old grandmother sits nodding by the fire, and the bigger children sleep in their beds, old Babouscka comes hobbling into the room, and whispers softly, "Is the young Child here?"

Ah, no; she has come too late, too late. But the little children know her and love her. Two thousand years ago she lost the chance of finding Him. Crooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry, she yet lives on, looking into each baby's face--always disappointed, always seeking. Will she find Him at last?

Come, Bossy, come Bossy! Here I am with my cup, Come give me some milk, rich and sweet. I will pay you well with red clover hay, The nicest you ever did eat.

DAISIES. 
Daisies! Low in the grass and high in the clover, Starring the green earth over and over, Now into white waves tossing and breaking, Like a foaming sea when the wind is waking, Now standing upright, tall and slender, Showing their deep hearts' golden splendor; Daintily bending, Airily lending Garlands of flowers for earth's adorning, Fresh with the dew of a summer morning; High on the slope, low in the hollow, Where eye can reach or foot can follow, Shining with innocent fearless faces Out of 

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