THE NOAH'S ARK


"Now, what comes next?" Miss Terry rummaged in the box until her fingers
met something odd-shaped, long, and smooth-sided. With some difficulty she
drew out the object, for it was of good size.

"H'm! The old Noah's ark," she said. "I wonder if all the animals are in
there."

She lifted the cover, and turned out into her lap the long-imprisoned
animals and their round-bodied chief. Mrs. Noah and her sons had long since
disappeared. But the ark-builder, hatless and one-armed, still presided
over a menagerie of sorry beasts. Scarcely one could boast of being a
quadruped. To few of them the years had spared a tail. From their close
resemblance in their misery, it was not hard to believe in the kinship of
all animal life. She took them up and examined them curiously one by one.
Finally she selected a shapeless slate-colored block from the mass. "This
was the elephant," she mused. "I remember when Tom stepped on him and
smashed his trunk. 'I guess I'm going to be an expressman when I grow up,'
he said, looking sorry. Tom was always full of his jokes. Now I'll try this
and see what happens to the ark on its last voyage."

Just then there was a noise outside. An automobile honked past, and Miss
Terry shuddered, recalling the pathetic end of the Flanton Dog, which had
given her quite a turn.

"I hate those horrid machines!" she exclaimed. "They seem like Juggernaut.
I'd like to forbid their going through this street."