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WHAT BECOMES OF THE PINS.

"Bless me, what possesses everything to-day!" exclaimed Miss Ellen, looking under the frill of the old cushion to see who was speaking now. There to be sure she found a pin hidden away, and so rusty that she could hardly pull it out. But it came creaking forth at the third tug, and when it was set up beside Granny, she cried out in her cheery way,—

"Try Dr. Emery, he can cure most cases of rust, and it is never too late to mend, neighbor."

"Too late for me!" sighed the new comer. "The rust of idleness has eaten into my vitals while I lay in my silken bed, and my chance is gone for ever. I was bright, and strong, and sharp once, but I feared work and worry, and I hid, growing duller, dimmer, and more useless every day. I am good for nothing, throw me away, and let the black pins mourn for a wasted life."

"No," said Miss Ellen, "you are not useless, for you two shall sit together in my new cushion, a warning to me, as well as to the other pins, to choose the right way in time, and wear out with doing our duty, rather than rust out as so many do. Thank you, Granny, for your little lecture, I will not forget it, but go at once and find that poor girl, and