piece of good luck, and, creeping slyly through the hole, stood quite still for a minute or two to see if his entrance had been observed. It had evidently not, for there was the silence of sleep upon the unsuspecting fowls; so, cautiously, and with a beating heart, he softly climbed the ladder, and crept toward an open coop which was standing on the floor. There was a nice fat chicken inside, which stirred a little as Renard approached, and fearing it was going to wake up and cackle, he made a dash and caught it by the neck. The chicken struggled fiercely, one of its wings got caught in the bars of the coop, and the scuffling that followed soon woke the whole roost. Then began such a cackling, and screaming, and quacking as Renard had never heard before, and he tugged at his chicken in despair, expecting the farmer's wife to appear every minute. At last he got free of the coop, and was just going to descend the ladder, when the door opened and a woman came in with a lantern. Renard saw in a moment that escape by the door was impossible, and instantly his quick brain had planned a bold scheme. Dropping the chicken from his mouth, he stumbled on the top step of the ladder and rolled heavily to the bottom. The farmer's wife ran forward, stick in hand, to put an end to the thief; but seeing he lay quiet in a huddled-up heap, she seized his tail, and dragged him toward the door. Feeling his stiff and lifeless body somewhat heavy, she tum bled him into a thicket of nettles, and he almost barked with delight. True, he had lost his chicken, but had gained in cunning, and cunning is honor among foxes. -B. GRIEVE. Renard (ren' ord): a name given to a fox, usually in poetry or fables.spurt: a sudden dash.-brush: the bushy tail of the fox.-pheasant (fěz'ant), par'tridge: kinds of birds, noted as game birds.-forʼaging: searching for food.-poacher: one who catches game or fish contrary to law. SWEET AND LOW Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon: Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. -ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. THE CHINESE BOYS' GAMES The active sports of Chinese boys are few. There are hardly any sports that develop the muscles and make a lad graceful and agile. The Chinese boy at sixteen is as grave and sober as an American grandfather; and if he happens to be married soon after, he throws aside most games as being childish. At the best, he has nothing corresponding to baseball, football, cricket, bicycle-riding, skating, sliding, or tennis. Nor is he fond of exerting himself. He would rather sit for hours talking and joking than waste time in running or jumping. His elders, too, frown upon noisy games. They approve quiet, thoughtful lads who are given to study. But you must not suppose that the Chinese boy never plays at all. In spite of many obstacles, he proves that he is a boy still, and I will describe those outdoor amusements that he has. Kite-flying is a national pastime. Young and old take part in it, and it is not unusual to see a gray-haired man enjoying it in company with a ten-year-old youngster. Kites are of all sizes. I have seen kites that were six or seven feet from wing to wing. The frame is made of bamboo slips which can be easily bent. Over this is pasted very stout rice-paper, upon which strong figures are painted-sometimes the face of a man, sometimes a bird. On the larger kites a bow is fastened at the top, with a reed instead of a string, and when the wind blows upon this reed, a melodious sound is heard. through the air, that greatly delights everybody; it seems to the watchers a mysterious voice from a different world. Kite-flying in America can be much improved. Kites should be constructed of the Chinese shape. The rib that runs through both wings should bulge out so that the paper on both sides may cave in. This is for the purpose of catching and holding the wind as well as of steadying the kite. For a kite of this shape a tail is not needed. To fly such a kite, the cord must be very strong, and often it requires two or three men to hold it. When the kite gets among the clouds and the flyer's enthu siasm is at its boiling-point, a paper butterfly, beautifully colored, is fastened on the cord, and the wind sends it up with a whizzing sound to the kite itself. But when it touches the kite, the butterfly's wings come together, and down it returns, by its own weight, bringing a message from the skies, and its graceful approach is watched breathlessly. The ninth day of the ninth month, which in China comes in October, is "Kites' Day." On that day it is the fashion to go up on high hills and fly kites. Such a scene is inspiring. Men and boys, of all ranks, sizes, and ages, are seen with cords in their hands, pulling, yanking, and jerking, or letting loose all sorts of agile rice-paper monsters in the windy sky. The fun consists in making the kites fight—in entangling them and cutting one another's strings by sudden jerks. There is a story to account for the origin of Kites' Day. Back in the world's history, when Time was yet a boy, a man, while working in the field, was told by a passing stranger that a terrible plague was about to visit his house on the ninth day of the ninth month, and that the only way to escape was to flee to a high hill near by. After giving this warning, the stranger disappeared mysteriously. This man, who was, by the way, a very good man, went home, and getting his whole family together before the fatal day arrived, set out with them to the hill and remained there all day. To pass away the |