"You can't guess, mamma, what Grandma Davis said to me this morning, when I carried her the flowers and the basket of apples!" exclaimed little Mary Price, as she came running into the house, her cheeks red as twin roses. 

"I am quite sure, darling," said mamma, "that I cannot; but I hope it was something pleasant." 

"Indeed it was, mamma," said Mary. " She said, 'Good morning, dear; you are weaving sunshine.' I hardly knew what she meant at first, but I think I do now; and I am going to try to weave sunshine every day." 

"Mother," concluded Mary, 

"Don't you remember that beautiful poetry, ' Four Little Sunbeams,' you read to me one day! 

If those sunbeams could do so much good, I think we all-ought to try to be little sunbeams! " 

After a few moments' pause, a new thought seemed to pop into Mary's little head, and she said, "O mamma, I have just thought. When Lizzie Patton was here, she told me that her Sabbath-school class was named Little Gleaners,' and I know another class called Busy Bees.' 

Now, next Sabbath I mean to ask our teacher to call our class 'Sunshine Weavers,' and then we will all go to weaving sunshine." 

It is a good plan. Sunshine weavers will be kindly remembered long after cross, hateful people have been forgotten.

The Sunnyside.