I will tell you. These drops are called dew. As night comes on, the grass and the leaves of flowers and plants become cool.

When the warm air touches them, it becomes chilled, and as the air can not then carry so much moisture as before, it leaves some of its moisture on the flowers and grass.

A moisture like dew sometimes collects in the house. Did you ever observe it in drops on the outside of a pitcher of cold water? Some people suppose that the water comes through the pitcher, but it does not.

The water being cold makes the pitcher cold, and as the warm air of the room strikes it, a moisture like dew is left on the pitcher, in the same manner as dew is left on grass and leaves of flowers.

In cold weather, when the dew gathers on plants and flowers, it sometimes freezes and forms frost, and when the clouds throw off their moisture in rain drops, the rain becomes sleet, hail or snow.

So you see that dew, rain, frost, sleet, snow, and hail are only different forms of

water.

On a pleasant street in the old town of Fairfield, stands a neat little cottage. This was formerly the home of Mrs. Reed, an old lady respected by her neighbors and loved by all the young people of the place.

There was about Mrs. Reed a kindly manner which pleased all who knew her. Although very poor, she took much interest in her young friends and tried to make them happy.

Mrs. Reed had not always been poor. Her husband when alive was supposed to be rich; but after his death, it was found that nothing was left to his widow but two small cottages.

In one of these cottages, Mrs. Reed lived;

the other, she rented. But the rent received was no more than enough to enable her to live with moderate comfort. She had little or nothing left with which to do for others.

One cold winter morning, two persons were talking together in the cozy sittingroom of the cottage. One was Mrs. Reed, and the other Alice Brown, a poor orphan girl, who lived with some distant relatives in Fairfield.

"You are very kind to come to see me so often, Alice," said Mrs. Reed. "I wonder why you do; because there is nothing attractive here."

"Why Mrs. Reed!" replied Alice; "how can you talk so? are you not here? do I not always receive a kind word and a welcome smile from you?"

"Well, you know I love you, Alice, and am always delighted to have you come,' said Mrs. Reed; "I am sure that were it in my power to do so, I would have you here all the time.

"I would like to give you books, have you attend school, and do every thing to make you happy. But alas! Alice, you

know I am too poor to do what I wish, and at times it makes me feel very sad."

"O, indeed you are too good, Mrs. Reed! My greatest pleasure is to come and see you, and I hope you will always love me.

"I wish I could stay here all day; but you know that the day after to-morrow will be Christmas, and I must hurry home now, as auntie wants me to help her prepare for it. So good-by."

"But, Alice, you will come to see me Christmas morning, will you not?" asked Mrs. Reed.

"Yes," replied Alice, "for a little while.” And with a kiss and another good-by, she left Mrs. Reed alone.

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What a dear good girl she is," said Mrs. Reed to herself, as she watched Alice tripping down the street toward her home.

"She was so good to me last summer when I was ill! and here is Christmas and I have no money with which to buy her a present.

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"O dear, dear! why was I left so poor! I am sure my husband had some money; what could he have done with it!"

Mrs. Reed sat down in her rocking-chair

and for a full half hour looked thoughtfully into the fire. Starting up suddenly, she again exclaimed to herself:

"I do really believe that if I go up into the garret, I can find something for a Christmas present, that will please Alice. "I remember a curious old box that Mr. Reed had, that was sent to him from India. If I can find some bits of ribbon and silk, I will line it and make it into a nice little work-box for Alice."

Then Mrs. Reed climbed up the narrow stairway into the garret, and after searching some time among the rubbish that lay around in all the nooks and corners, discovered the box.

Taking it down-stairs and finding some pieces of silk, she spent the rest of the day in making it into a work-box.

She made a pretty needle-book, a tiny pin-cushion, and an emery bag like a big strawberry. Then from her own scanty stock she added needles, pins, thread, and her only pair of small scissors, scoured to the last extreme of brightness.

One thing only she had to buy-a thimble; and that she bought for a penny. The