the school-house, which is only about as far as two blocks in a
city.

When we see these sights, Jack Frost cannot paint his delicate
pictures on the windows, for a thick white frost covers them all
over, or rubs them out.

We like the St. Nicholas very much, and even our little sister,
Mary, likes to look at the pictures, and she said that she wished
she could see Jack-in-the-Pulpit. We intend to introduce her next
summer to some of your relations that live by the big brook.
We live about one hundred miles north-west of Concord, in the
Connecticut valley, about half a mile from the Connecticut River.
I am thirteen years old.--Good-bye,

E. A. M.

* * * * *


A TURTLE CART.

DEAR JACK: Looking over the fence into my neighbor's yard last
summer, I saw what seemed to be a Liliputian load of hay in a tiny
cart, going along the path. Whatever power drew it, was hidden
from my sight; but the motion of the cart made me half expect to
see a yoke of tiny oxen turn the corner. In a few moments, a small
turtle appeared in sight, plodding leisurely along and drawing
behind him the cart I had seen, which was very small and light.