asked, in a tone of friendly interest.

"Clara," answered the child, hesitatingly;
then, having by another look assured herself of
his harmlessness, she added: "How very funny
you speak!"

"Yes," he said, stooping down to take he
tiny begloved hand. "I do not speak as well
as you do, yet; but I shall soon learn."

Clara looked puzzled.

"How old are you?" she asked, raising her
parasol, and throwing back her head with an
air of superiority.

"I am twenty-four years old."

She began to count half aloud on her fingers:
"One, two, three, four," but, before she reached
twenty, she lost her patience.

"Twenty-four," she exclaimed, "that is a
great deal. I am only seven, and papa gave me
a pony on my birthday. Have you got a pony?"

"No; I have nothing but what is in this valise,
and you know I could not very well get a pony into it."