LITMIR.BIZ

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what I am, and it’s the way my story begins.”

      “Who knows what the very large word used by the very small one means?” asked the Stick Doll, of the audience.

      The Pepper and Salt Twins now stepped forward. They swayed from side to side and in sing-song tones cried:

      “Un means not. Undeveloped means not developed; developed means finished.”

      “Excellent memory you have,” said the Stick Doll.

      “They’ve been peeking in that big book, too; I saw them,” cried the Vinegar Cruet. “Any one could do that.”

      “Tell tale tit, your tongue shall be slit,” sang the whole crowd.

      “Here! Here! This won’t do. Come, let us hear the rest of the story of this unfinished maid.”

      “It isn’t true that I am not finished! As a clove I am complete and perfect. It is only that the buds are used before they are quite ready to turn into blossoms.

      “If my buds were allowed to blossom there would never be a clove. What would the pickled peach do then, poor thing?”

      “She’d stay in her jar,

       And soon be sour,

       And moulder away on the shelf, poor thing!”

      promptly sang the audience.

      At this Jack and Mother hid their heads in the blankets, shaking with laughter, and came forth with very red faces just in time to hear Miss Clove continue her spicy tale.

      “The clove tree grows in the woods in hot countries, specially here and here, and here.”

      “She’s on roller skates,” whispered Jack, as the Clove Lady sailed quickly and gracefully around the globe, touching with her wheeled feet Zanzibar, Brazil, and the West Indies.

      “The audience need not note especially the countries pointed out,” said the Stick Doll, “but it is to me most interesting. You may continue.”

      The Clove Doll had snatched the moment while she waited to again improve her mind through the big book, and now announced importantly:

      “I am very pungent. That means aromatic.”

      “Oh!” cried the Vinegar Cruet, “you had to shut the book too quick to find the meaning of that, but I happen to know it.

      “Why are you like me?”

      “Happy thought,” said the Stick Doll; “let’s turn this into a puzzle contest. Why is the clove like vinegar?”

      “Give it up. Give it up. What’s the answer?” sang the audience.

      “Because we are both sharp,” politely answered the Vinegar Cruet, strutting about like a peacock.

      “Sharp! Ha! Ha!” cried Pepper and Salt. “S’pose you’ve been visiting the scissors’ grinder.”

      “Vinegar is right,” said the Clove Doll. “We are both smart.”

      “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Let’s all carry a pocket dictionary and we can be smart and sharp, too,” laughed some one.

      “Dear me!” cried the Clove Doll. “Did I really say smart? I mis-spoke. I am sharp. I mean stinging to the tongue.”

      Before she could say another word she was surrounded and tested so vigorously by the many tongues, she shrieked indignantly:

      “Stop! we don’t lick the ladder till the ice cream is done. Now let me finish.

      “My buds turn green, then red and hard. Then we are laid near the smoke of a wood fire in the sun to dry. We don’t like that smudge and are glad enough when we turn brown, then we know we are finished. I might say developed,” she added, with a triumphant glance at her hearers.

      DANCE OF THE ELVES

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      “The last night there in the woods we had a grand time. We looked like a lot of elves dancing in the red glow shed by the fire.

      “I’ll never forget what happened that night. We had just finished a weird dance and were huddled together watching the sparks mount to the sky, when there appeared in our midst a queer little Being, who seemed to spring from the fire.

      “She seated herself in our midst and told us the grandest stories I ever heard!”

      “Oh!” cried Allspice, “I wish she would come here!”

      At that instant they heard a far-off voice. It seemed to come from the flames. Singing, singing, nearer and nearer.

      THE STORY SPRITE’S TALE

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      Suddenly from the very centre of the fire sprang a wonderful vision, a tiny creature, who seemed clothed in wreaths of flame. With a joyous greeting, as jolly as the fire itself, she cried:

      “Your wish is granted. Behold, the Story Sprite! Since I attended the clove party I have been around the world and have a fine collection of tales.

      “I am fresh from Japan, now, where I saw enacted a most exciting tale. Creep close to my feet while I tell it. I wish you could see the children in Japan. They are so beautiful; clad in their brilliant coloured kimonos, they look like a mass of poppies nodding in the wind.

      “One dear little Japanese maid did such a splendid thing!

      “Without speaking a word, with only her dear two hands, she saved a young man from being imprisoned for life. He was an American gentleman, who had been sent to Japan on business.

      “He was lonely so far from home, and became very friendly with Cherry Blossom, the child of one with whom he had business relations.

      “He was very much interested in the queer games she played, and spent much time with her.

      “Great sport they had flying wonderful kites”

      “Great sport they had flying wonderful kites that looked like gorgeous birds with outspread wings, or maybe seated on the beach she would make sand pictures, which were her great delight.

      “They usually wound up these visits with a tea-party. The child seated opposite him, looking like a brilliant butterfly, poised for a moment as she handed him the fragile cup filled with the fragrant beverage.

      “In time he became very dear to her, and one day while playing with her dolly she overheard something that sorely troubled her little heart. Her father was talking in low mysterious tones to some Japanese friends. Suddenly she heard the American’s name. She pricked up her ears.

      “Dear! Dear! Such startling news she could hardly believe.

      “They thought he was a spy and were going to put him in prison very soon! They walked away, leaving the child grief-stricken.

      “What a spy was, she did not know; but what she did know was that her precious friend must be saved from that awful fate, for once in prison he might never be released.

      “He had told her of his own little girl, who was even now, in that far away land called America, watching for his home coming. As she gazed off seaward she saw a ship that might sail any day. He must go on it and she must tell him why, but how could she?

      “Never was she allowed to be alone with him for one moment. Always when playing her childish games with him, her nurse sat near by, within hearing of her voice, her beady eyes watching her every movement.

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