sensible gift like that, to keep the dear missionary lady warm during the long, cold winter nights in far North Dakota!

Presently, a round, fluffy, white something tumbled off the quilting-frame and rolled along on the carpet beneath.

"Oh, there goes my ball of Saxony!" exclaimed Mrs. Dalton. "I was trying to thread my needle—my eyes aren't as good as they used to be—and the yarn slipped out of my hand."

Now, Mrs. Sargent didn't have to tell her daughter to pick up the worsted ball, for Ruth was a polite little thing, and the ball had hardly ceased rolling, before she had scrambled under the quilting-frame and picked it up. Then she thought of another polite thing to do.

"Please let me thread your needle, Mrs. Dalton," she said sweetly.

"Oh, thank you, deary, that will be such a help!" the lady replied.

"My! my!" laughed the other ladies. "Now, Mrs. Dalton, you will beat us all in tying, for you've got a fine assistant!"

"Why, I can thread all the needles," Ruth said, her eyes shining. And so she did. Needle after needle was threaded with the white yarn, and it really was surprising to see how much faster the ladies could work. It wasn't long before all the surface of the comfortable was filled with rows of neat, white tufts and was ready to be ripped from the frame and have its edges finished with herringbone stitches.

And Ruth felt very happy, for though she was only seven years old, she had helped in the making of the pretty comfortable for the dear missionary lady away out in Dakota.

—Written for Dew Drops by Mary E.Q. Brush.

THE SANDMAN.

The Sandman comes at set of sun,
Just when the happy day is done,
And when the quiet night's begun.

You hear him softly, softly creep,
And if you turn around to peep
He throws the sand that makes you sleep!

But don't be frightened—he is kind:
His sand will never make you blind,
But only close your eyes, you'll find.

He's like a dear and gentle friend:
His pleasant task it is to send
Sweet dreams to follow playtime's end.

I've stayed up late, and tried to see
The Sandman passing close to me—
I've been as still as still could be.

But he is quicker than a wink!
He didn't give me time to think,
But made me yawn and stretch and blink.

He buried me so deep in sand
I dropped right into Slumberland—
Though how I cannot understand!

—Written for Dew Drops by Rose Ralph.

For a long time Teddy had wanted a cart, and when his seventh birthday came, there by the back door stood the "Eastern Mail" with a birthday letter from grandpa on the seat:

"Dear Teddy," it said, "I know you've wanted a cart for a long time so I hope you will like my birthday present. Have a good time with it, and give somebody else a good time with it, too."

"Your loving,
"Grandpa."

Teddy played nearly all day with his new present, and for a week he cared for very little else. One day he raced up the walk, dragging his cart behind him, and dropped down on the piazza steps near where mother was sitting.

"That's a dandy cart, mother," he