“Stop it, Nan!  It’s only a kitten!” he cried, as soon as he could speak.

It was true!  A poor, shivering little tabby kitten was cuddling into Nancy’s neck, mewing with terror!

“Oh, the little darling!” she exclaimed.  “How frightened it must have been!  I wonder whose kitten it is?”

[Illustration:  “How frightened it must have been!  I wonder whose kitten it is?”]

“If we can’t find out I should think we might keep it ourselves.”

“Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a kittie of our own?”

“I’m afraid we ought to ask a few people first,” said Toby sadly.  “There’s old Rowan.  Shall we go and tell him about the boat?”

Old Rowan was looking gloomily out to sea, and never noticed the twins till they stood before him.

“Please, Mr. Rowan,” said Toby, “we’ve found your boat.”

“Found my boat?” asked the old man absently.

“Yes, the Lily.  She’s out there among the rocks.”

“Is she?  Ay, she got adrift at high tide.  I’d better go after her at once.”  But Rowan didn’t seem much interested in his boat!

“Me—­ew!” A furry ball suddenly sprang onto the fishermen’s shoulder, purring delightedly!

“Hullo!” Rowan was now quite wide awake, and stared around him.  “Where did you come from, Bunch?”

“We found her in the boat—­do you know whose she is?” asked Nancy, and even Toby looked anxious.

“Ay, that I do!  My little grandchild has been breaking her heart all day over Bunch.  She’s a cripple, you see.  Miss, and the kitten’s company for her.  It must have followed me to the shore this morning and gone to sleep on the nets.  Matty will glad to find it!”

“Shall we take Bunch home to her?” asked Nancy, sighing at the thought of parting with her treasure-trove.

“It would be real kind.  Miss.”

She was glad she had offered, when she saw poor Matty’s face beam at the sight of her only playmate.

A QUEER SNAKE.

By Mary E.Q.  Brush.

It was the Dalton children’s first year in Florida.  They enjoyed the sunshine, the balmy air and fragrant flowers very much.  There was only one thing to mar their pleasure and that was their dread of snakes.

Tilly, the little colored girl who used to play with them sometimes, had big stories to tell.

“Dar’s rattlers in de pine woods, hidin’ on de sunny sides of stumps:  and dar’s a pow’ful sight o’ moccasins down amonst de water-hyacinths near de bayou.  Youse bettah look out, honey, or dey’ll cotch youalls, shuah!”

Mabel, Tom, Hetty and Charlie talked the matter over very seriously, almost solemnly.

“Do you s’pose they’ll crawl into the house?” Hetty said, her eyes large and round with fearful anticipations.

Tom shook his head gravely.

“No telling!  I heard a missionary from India say once how those awful cobras in that country used to drop right down from the ceiling.”