day is too long, a winter's day is not long enough."

Then the boy, asking the sage, said, "How many stars are in the sky?”

Confucius said, "At this time ask something about the earth. We can know nothing sure about the sky."

The boy said, "Very well; will you, then, tell me how many houses are on the earth?"

The sage replied, "Come, now, my boy, speak about something that is before our eyes. Why must you talk of the earth and the sky?"

"To please you," said the boy, "we will speak about what is before our eyes. How many hairs are in your eyebrows?"

Confucius smiled, but did not answer. Turning to his friends he said, "I will go home, now. I need not go about teaching the people, for by and by this child can teach them."

This is a tradition long told by father to son in China. Perhaps it has grown bit by bit in the telling, just as stories do when you play "Gossip."

What questions could you ask which no one could answer?

Çon fu' ci us (she us)

A CHESTNUT BURR.

A wee little nut lay deep in its nest
Of satin and brown, the softest and best,
And slept and grew while its cradle rocked,
As it hung in the boughs that interlocked.

Now, the house was small where the cradle lay,
As it swung in the winds by night and day;
For a thicket of underbrush fenced it round,
This lone little cot, by the great sun browned.

This little nut grew, and ere long it found There was work outside on the soft, green ground;

It must do its part so the world might know It had tried one little seed to sow.

And soon the house that had kept it warm
Was tossed about by the autumn storm;
The stem was cracked, the old house fell,
And the chestnut burr was an empty shell.

But the little tree, as it waiting lay,
Dreamed a wonderful dream one day,
Of how it should break its coat of brown,
And live as a tree, to grow up and down.

What was the chestnut's cradle? Its house? Its fence? What work was there for the chestnut to do?

In' ter locked'

un' der brush'

au' tumn

THE STORY OF KING MIDAS.

It happened once upon a time in the days when other beings besides men and animals were said to live upon the earth, that a certain king, Midas, did a kindness to one who was employed as a servant by the gods of the vineyards and the cornfields. This god, hearing of it, said to King Midas, "Ask any gift you choose; it shall be yours."

"Grant me," said Midas, "that everything I touch shall turn to gold."

"It is a fool's wish," said the god, "but so be it. Everything you touch shall turn to gold." King Midas was very happy. He would now be the richest king in all the world. He opened his palace door, and lo! the door became gold. He touched the vines and they were golden leaves and flowers. He touched the fruit and it was carved in gold.

He went from room to room touching everything, till his house was furnished in gold. He climbed upon a ladder, which turned to gold in his hands, and touched every brick and stone in his palace till all was pure gold. His cooks boiled water in golden kettles, and swept away golden dust with golden brooms.

He sat down to dinner in a golden chair, his garments of spun gold, and his plate of solid gold, and the table linen cloth-of-gold.

With delight at the richness of his house and the riches he was yet to gather, Midas helped himself from the golden dish before him. But suddenly his teeth touched something hard, harder than bone. Had the cook put stones into his food? It was nothing of

the kind. Alas! his very food, as soon as it touched his lips, turned to solid gold.

His heart sank within him, while the meat before him mocked his hunger. Then was the richest king in the world to starve? A horrible fear came upon him as he poured out drink into a golden cup, and the cup was filled with gold. He sat in despair.

What was he to do? Of what use was all this gold, if he could not buy a crust of bread or a sip of water? The poorest plowman would now be richer than the king. Poor Midas wandered about his golden palace, the dust becoming gold under his feet, until he was all of a fever with thirst, and weak and sick with hunger.

At last, in his despair, he set out to find the god of the cornfields and vineyards again, and beg him to take back the gift of gold. By and by, when nearly starved, he found the god, who cried to him, "Ha! Midas, are you not content yet? Do you want more gold?"

แ "Gold!" cried Midas. "I hate the horrible word. I am starving. Make me the poorest man in the whole world, for I have learned