"DON'T you want to read to me a little while, Jennie; my poor old head is so tired?"

"Oh dear! Grandma, you're always wanting me to read or do something for you when I'm busy. I'd try and get along without quite as much waiting on, if I were you;" and Jennie Colman impatiently threw down the tidy she was embroidering, and with a heavy frown took up the paper her poor old grandmother had laid down.

"Never mind, dear, I can wait till Floy gets home," said grandma sadly. 

"I didn't notice you were doing any thing in particular."

"Well, I was," Jennie snapped out. 

"There's that tidy must be done Thursday for the fair, and it isn't hardly begun yet. But there, who could do anything if they had to leave their work every ten minutes to wait on somebody else? Well, there's no use talking. What do you want me to read? Come, hurry up."

"I don't want you to read at all. Jennie," said grandma, in a trembling voice. "I wouldn't have asked you if I'd known you had anything to do.  Go right on with your work."

"O well, if you don't want me to very well. I'm not at all anxious,' and Jennie returned to her work.

Grandma sat a while with closed eyes, thinking of the happy past, when there were always willing hands and happy hearts at her service, when suddenly a click of the gate latch aroused her from her musings, and a glad smile lighted up the tired old face.

"There's Floy!" she exclaimed brightly.

"O yes, 'there's Floy,' of course. 

You think Floy is almost an angel, I do believe, grandma Colman."  

"Well, who don't love Floy?"  Grandma responded. "No one could help it."

And, indeed, few could help loving the bright-faced young girl of fourteen, who came bounding into the room, seeming to bring with her a touch of the outside glow and bright- ness of the January day.

"Well, grandma, how do you feel? 

Is your head any better? Isn't there something I can do for you?" and the rosy lips met grandma's lovingly.

"No, dear, my head is no better, but you must sit down and get warm, and not be thinking what you can do for me, the first thing."

"O yes," said Jennie, discontentedly, “of course Floy must not hurt herself. 

It don't make any difference about me."

"Jennie Colman!" Floy burst forth indignantly, "I'd be ashamed to talk so to dear old grandmother. You know she thinks just as much of your comfort as she does of mine. But you think so much of yourself, nobody need worry about your getting along without any trouble."

"You look out for yourself, and I'll do the same," was Jennie's response.  Floy had hardly seated herself when she espied the paper grandma had been reading.

"O, sha'n't I read to you, grandma dear?" she asked, "I feel just like it."

"If you are not too tired," said the old lady wistfully, I should like you to read a little while. I was in the middle of that article," pointing to the one she had been reading.

"All right," said Floy cheerfully, though the article in question was dull reading for a girl of her age. And for several hours she read patiently on, while Jennie sat sulkily bending over her embroidery.

And which, think you, enjoyed the afternoon more Floy, who gave up her own wishes to minister to her grandmother's, or Jennie, in her utter disregard of all but her own selfish desires? Which are you like, reader? And which do you wish to be like? 

Remember the Master has said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 

Little Pilgrim.

WE have not Moloch, with his great red teeth and grinning mouth a bloody monster as was ever made; or Ganesa, with an elephant's head, riding on the back of a huge rat; or the snake god, or monkey god, or little mud gods. 

We do not bow down and worship such frightful images as these; but we must remember that an idol is anything we love more than we love God.

Do not try to build yourself up by pulling others down. There is room enough here for all of us