Next year, Halvor was out in the wood, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. He was cutting wood before the holidays, for he thought the Trolls would come again. And just as he was hard at work, he heard a voice in the woods calling out

"Halvor! Halvor !"

"Well," said Halvor, "here I am."

"Have you got your big cat with you still ?"

"Yes that I have," said Halvor; "she's lying at home under the stove; and what's more, she has now got seven kittens far bigger and fiercer than herself."

"Oh! then, we'll never come to see you again," bawled out the Troll away in the wood. And he kept his word, for since that time the Trolls have never eaten their Christmas brose with Halvor on the Dovrefell.*

Kitty and Mousie.

ONCE there was a little Kitty,

Whiter than snow;

In the barn she used to frolic,

Long time ago.

In a barn a little Mousie,

Ran to and fro;

For she heard the Kitty coming,

The Seven Piebald Mice.

Once on a time there dwelt some where in the country a farmer and his wife. The wife was a buxom, cheery body. She said her prayers night and morning, and went to church every Sunday; and she was a good woman into the bargain. She was never known to turn a deaf ear to distress; she had a good word for every body she met; and she minded her own business. Altogether, she was a great favorite among the folks of the country-side; and, no doubt, all the more so, in that she was always ready to do a neighbour a good turn.

Now, this good woman had seven children, every one of them girls. They were all young, the eldest being twelve and the youngest but two years of age. They were all dressed so much alike, they looked as like each other as seven peas. They wore tiny black petticoats, white pin-afores, and red caps. Shoes and stockings they had none; they could not afford them, so they went bare foot.

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But their mother made up for this by keeping them clean and tidy; indeed, the dairy milk-basin was no cleaner than the healthy skin of her chubby chicks. Scrub, scrub, scrubbing, seemed to be going on from morning till night. Their mother taught them to read, aye, and to sing too. Such well brought up and well-behaved children you could hardly find between John O'Groat's and Land's End.

Polly, the eldest, was truly a pattern of a girl. When the mother was out hoeing the potatoes, or marketing, she was the house keeper, and a capital little housewife she was, let me tell you. But her chief business was to look after her sisters, and they were never better behaved than when they were under her hands. She would tell them a funny story when they got rather rest less, and that put them in the best of spirits. Yes, they were no less fond of Polly, their little mother, than she was of them.

Well, an awful thing befell this nice little family. This is how it happened:-It was Whitsunday; the farmer and the good-wife had gone to church. Before leaving home, she had, of course, told them all to behave well; and Polly had a hymn to learn by heart, while her little sisters had pictures of the Bible to look at.

Well, at first they were as quiet as mice; you could have heard a pin drop on the brick floor. But at låst one of them spied some-thing hanging on a peg. So she squeaked out, "Look! oh, what a pretty "white bag!"

And a bag it was, to be sure; more than that, it was full of nuts and apples. Mother had bought it the evening before, and it was to be a birth day gift for a little god son of hers.

On spying the bag, such a to-do there was, you cannot fancy. There they were, rushing, tumbling,

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and toddling, and sprawling to the spot above which it hung so temptingly. Even Polly sprang to her feet, and peered hard at the wonder of a bag, along with the rest. Then there was such a whispering, as the one guessed this, the other that-curious as to what might be in the pretty bag.

At length they could bear it no longer; and, oh, fie for shame! one of the little girls climbed up on a chair, and brought the wonder down. And oh, Polly, Polly! you, who ought to have known better, undid the string.

Well, then, apples and nuts were inside, as I told you before. Out they all tumbled; some scattering here, some there-all over the floor. So one picked up just one, as it were, and ate it; another, another, and ate that. Almost before the little girls knew what a wicked thing they were about, apples and nuts were all gone all but the nut shells, to be sure.

Their mother, on her return from church, was not long in fixing her quick eye upon the place where the bag had hung, and she saw at once what was the matter. And oh, how angry she was! For the first time her whole life-long her temper completely got the better of her.

She stormed about, and scolded her children dreadfully. "You pilfering brats!" she cried, in a rage, "you are no better than mice, and in truth I wish you were mice."

Now this was a very wicked wish for poor enraged Goody to utter, and, I dare say, she did not really mean it. How so ever, no sooner had it passed her lips than whisk! the seven little girls seemed to vanish as in a gust of wind, and in their stead, there stood seven wee piebald mice. They had red heads, and were colored just as the tiny children's dresses had been.

Mother and father both stood horror struck at the sight. At that moment in came a neighbour, and the seven wee mice rush'd through the open door into the yard, and away they pattered, and never were seen any more.*

Little Poed Riding Hood.

FAR away in the heart of the country, near a pleasant village, there once lived a little girl. She was one of the prettiest and best children you ever saw.

Her Mother loved her dearly, and, as to her grandmother, she was doat-ingly fond of her. Grandma had given her darling a little hood of red vel-vet. This became her so nicely, that the folks of the country-side always called her by the name of Little Red Riding Hood.

Well, one day her mother baked a batch of cakes, and she said to Red Riding Hood:

"I hear your poor Grandma has been ailing; so I want you to go like a good child to see if she is any better. Take this cake and a pot of butter with you."

Little Red Riding Hood, who was a dear, willing child, put the things tidily into a basket, and off she set. The village where Grandma lived was on the other side of a thick wood.

On toddled Little Red Riding Hood; and, just as she came to the wood, what should she meet but a great

* "Fancy Tales,"