"Well, mind you put a bell round her neck, then," laughed the master of the
house, "so that she may know that she's not a real mouser."

That night there was joy unheard of among the mice. They scampered about
happily, and ran away chuckling when pussy came tinkling along. The
strategist was crowned king.

Next day the real mouser arrived. His first victim was the strategist.

* * * * *

Illumination.

"In my youth I had learnt, by sedulously imitating the pantaloons in
the harlequinades, to drop flat on my face instinctively, and to
produce the illusion of being picked up neatly by the slack of my
trousers and set on my feet again."--_Mr. Bernard Shaw in "The Daily
Chronicle."_

This revelation of youthful self-culture helps one to understand so much
that Mr. SHAW does to-day.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE SCARECROW.]

* * * * *

A SONG OF FOOD-SAVING.