"Olí, üear." said Farmer Urown, one day, " I never saw such wealher ! The ruin wtll Bpotl iny meadow hay And all my crops together." Hls Httledaughter cllmbed his knee; "I guess the suu wili shlue," sald she. "But Jf tlie Htin," sald Farmer Browo, ¦ 'Slioulii trl 11 tí a dry September, Wiih vlnesand stalks all wüted down. And ilriiN acorched to un i-mber " ¦ Wi'y, then, 'Iwill rain," sald Marjorle, The lUtleglrl upon hia knee. "Ah, rae!" slirhed Farnior Brown, that fiill. "No, what'N the use of living ? N pluu of mine aacceeds at - " "Why, uext month comes 'J Imnk-nl vi nu', And then, ol course," sald Marjorle, "We're all as bappy asean be.' "Well, whatshonld Ibethankful for?" Asked Farmer lïrown. ".My trouble Thls summer has grown more and more, íly liisses have been (loable, 1'venothluR lefl- " "Why.you'vegol me!"' Siinl Marjorle apon lits knee.