With the October frosts came the cheery fires in the greatfireplaces; and Demi's dry pine-chips helped Dan's oak-knots toblaze royally, and go roaring up the chimney with a jolly sound.All were glad to gather round the hearth, as the evenings grewlonger, to play games, read, or lay plans for the winter. But thefavorite amusement was story-telling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bhaerwere expected to have a store of lively tales always on hand. Theirsupply occasionally gave out, and then the boys were thrown upontheir own resources, which were not always successful.Ghost-parties were the rage at one time; for the fun of the thingconsisted in putting out the lights, letting the fire die down, andthen sitting in the dark, and telling the most awful tales they couldinvent. As this resulted in scares of all sorts among the boys,Tommy's walking in his sleep on the shed roof, and a general stateof nervousness in the little ones, it was forbidden, and they fellback on more harmless amusements.

One evening, when the small boys were snugly tucked in bed, andthe older lads were lounging about the school-room fire, trying todecide what they should do, Demi suggested a new way of settlingthe question.

Seizing the hearth-brush, he marched up and down the room,saying, "Row, row, row;" and when the boys, laughing andpushing, had got into line, he said, "Now, I'll give you two minutesto think of a play." Franz was writing, and Emil reading the Life ofLord Nelson, and neither joined the party, but the others thoughthard, and when the time was up were ready to reply.

"Now, Tom!" and the poker softly rapped him on the head.

"Blind-man's Buff."

"Jack!"

"Commerce; a good round game, and have cents for the pool."

"Uncle forbids our playing for money. Dan, what do you want?"

"Let's have a battle between the Greeks and Romans."

"Stuffy?"

"Roast apples, pop corn, and crack nuts."

"Good! good!" cried several; and when the vote was taken, Stuffy'sproposal carried the day.

Some went to the cellar for apples, some to the garret for nuts, andothers looked up the popper and the corn.

"We had better ask the girls to come in, hadn't we?" said Demi, ina sudden fit of politeness.

"Daisy pricks chestnuts beautifully," put in Nat, who wanted hislittle friend to share the fun.

"Nan pops corn tip-top, we must have her," added Tommy.

"Bring in your sweethearts then, we don't mind," said Jack, wholaughed at the innocent regard the little people had for oneanother.

"You shan't call my sister a sweetheart; it is so silly!" cried Demi,in a way that made Jack laugh.

"She is Nat's darling, isn't she, old chirper?"

"Yes, if Demi don't mind. I can't help being fond of her, she is sogood to me," answered Nat, with bashful earnestness, for Jack'srough ways disturbed him.

"Nan is my sweetheart, and I shall marry her in about a year, sodon't you get in the way, any of you," said Tommy, stoutly; for heand Nan had settled their future, child-fashion, and were to live inthe willow, lower down a basket for food, and do other charminglyimpossible things.

Demi was quenched by the decision of Bangs, who took him bythe arm and walked him off to get the ladies. Nan and Daisy weresewing with Aunt Jo on certain small garments, for Mrs. Carney'snewest baby.

"Please, ma'am, could you lend us the girls for a little while? We'llbe very careful of them," said Tommy, winking one eye to expressapples, snapping his fingers to signify pop-corn, and gnashing histeeth to convey the idea of nut-cracking.

The girls understood this pantomime at once, and began to pull oftheir thimbles before Mrs. Jo could decide whether Tommy wasgoing into convulsions or was brewing some unusual piece ofmischief. Demi explained with elaboration, permission was readilygranted, and the boys departed with their prize.

"Don't you speak to Jack," whispered Tommy, as he and Nanpromenaded down the hall to get a fork to prick the apples.

"Why not?"

"He laughs at me, so I don't wish you to have any thing to do withhim."

"Shall, if I like," said Nan, promptly resenting this prematureassumption of authority on the part of her lord.

"Then I won't have you for my sweetheart."

"I don't care."

"Why, Nan, I thought you were fond of me!" and Tommy's voicewas full of tender reproach.

"If you mind Jack's laughing I don't care for you one bit."

"Then you may take back your old ring; I won't wear it anylonger;" and Tommy plucked off a horsehair pledge of affectionwhich Nan had given him in return for one made of a lobster'sfeeler.

"I shall give it to Ned," was her cruel reply; for Ned liked Mrs.Giddy-gaddy, and had turned her clothespins, boxes, and spoolsenough to set up housekeeping with.

Tommy said, "Thunder turtles!" as the only vent equal to thepent-up anguish of the moment, and, dropping Nan's arm, retiredin high dudgeon, leaving her to follow with the fork, a neglectwhich naughty Nan punished by proceeding to prick his heart withjealousy as if it were another sort of apple.

The hearth was swept, and the rosy Baldwins put down to roast. Ashovel was heated, and the chestnuts danced merrily upon it, whilethe corn popped wildly in its wire prison. Dan cracked his bestwalnuts, and every one chattered and laughed, while the rain beaton the window-pane and the wind howled round the house.

"Why is Billy like this nut?" asked Emil, who was frequentlyinspired with bad conundrums.

"Because he is cracked," answered Ned.

"That's not fair; you mustn't make fun of Billy, because he can't hitback again. It's mean," cried Dan, smashing a nut wrathfully.

"To what family of insects does Blake belong?" asked peacemakerFranz, seeing that Emil looked ashamed and Dan lowering.

"Gnats," answered Jack.

"Why is Daisy like a bee?" cried Nat, who had been wrapt inthought for several minutes.

"Because she is queen of the hive," said Dan.

"No."

"Because she is sweet."

"Bees are not sweet."

"Give it up."

"Because she makes sweet things, is always busy, and likesflowers," said Nat, piling up his boyish compliments till Daisyblushed like a rosy clover.

"Why is Nan like a hornet?" demanded Tommy, glowering at her,and adding, without giving any one time to answer, "Because sheisn't sweet, makes a great buzzing about nothing, and stings likefury."

"Tommy's mad, and I'm glad," cried Ned, as Nan tossed her headand answered quickly

"What thing in the china-closet is Tom like?"

"A pepper pot," answered Ned, giving Nan a nut meat with atantalizing laugh that made Tommy feel as if he would like tobounce up like a hot chestnut and hit somebody.

Seeing that ill-humor was getting the better of the small supply ofwit in the company, Franz cast himself into the breach again.

"Let's make a law that the first person who comes into the roomshall tell us a story. No matter who it is, he must do it, and it willbe fun to see who comes first."

The others agreed, and did not have to wait long, for a heavy stepsoon came clumping through the hall, and Silas appeared, bearingan armful of wood. He was greeted by a general shout, and stoodstaring about him with a bewildered grin on his big red face, tillFranz explained the joke.

"Sho! I can't tell a story," he said, putting down his load andpreparing to leave the room. But the boys fell upon him, forcedhim into a seat, and held him there, laughing, and clamoring fortheir story, till the good-natured giant was overpowered.

"I don't know but jest one story, and that's about a horse," he said,much flattered by the reception he received.

"Tell it! tell it!" cried the boys.

"Wal," began Silas, tipping his chair back against the wall, andputting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, "I jined acavalry regiment durin' the war, and see a consid'able amount offightin'. My horse, Major, was a fust-rate animal, and I was as fondon him as ef he'd ben a human critter. He warn't harnsome, but hewas the best-tempered, stiddyest, lovenest brute I ever see. I fustbattle we went into, he gave me a lesson that I didn't forgit in ahurry, and I'll tell you how it was. It ain't no use tryin' to picter thenoise and hurry, and general horridness of a battle to you youngfellers, for I ain't no words to do it in; but I'm free to confess that Igot so sort of confused and upset at the fust on it, that I didn't knowwhat I was about. We was ordered to charge, and went ahead likegood ones, never stoppin' to pick up them that went down in thescrimmage. I got a shot in the arm, and was pitched out of thesaddle don't know how, but there I was left behind with two orthree others, dead and wounded, for the rest went on, as I say. Wal,I picked myself up and looked round for Major, feeling as ef I'dhad about enough for that spell. I didn't see him nowhere, and waskinder walking back to camp, when I heard a whinny that soundednateral. I looked round, and there was Major stopping for me along way off, and lookin' as ef he didn't understand why I wasloiterin' behind. I whistled, and he trotted up to me as I'd trainedhim to do. I mounted as well as I could with my left arm bleedin'and was for going on to camp, for I declare I felt as sick andwimbly as a woman; folks often do in their fust battle. But, no sir!Major was the bravest of the two, and he wouldn't go, not a peg; hejest rared up, and danced, and snorted, and acted as ef the smell ofpowder and the noise had drove him half wild. I done my best, buthe wouldn't give in, so I did; and what do you think that pluckybrute done? He wheeled slap round, and galloped back like ahurricane, right into the thickest of the scrimmage!"

"Good for him!" cried Dan excitedly, while the other boys forgotapples and nuts in their interest.

"I wish I may die ef I warn't ashamed of myself," continued Silas,warming up at the recollection of that day. "I was mad as a hornet,and I forgot my waound, and jest pitched in, rampagin' raound likefury till there come a shell into the midst of us, and in bustin'knocked a lot of us flat. I didn't know nothin' for a spell, and whenI come-to, the fight was over just there, and I found myself layin'by a wall of poor Major long-side wuss wounded than I was. Myleg was broke, and I had a ball in my shoulder, but he, poor oldfeller! was all tore in the side with a piece of that blasted shell."

"O Silas! what did you do?" cried Nan, pressing close to him witha face full of eager sympathy and interest.

"I dragged myself nigher, and tried to stop the bleedin' with sechrags as I could tear off of me with one hand. But it warn't no use,and he lay moanin' with horrid pain, and lookin' at me with themlovin' eyes of his, till I thought I couldn't bear it. I give him all thehelp I could, and when the sun got hotter and hotter, and he beganto lap out his tongue, I tried to get to a brook that was a good pieceaway, but I couldn't do it, being stiff and faint, so I give it up andfanned him with my hat. Now you listen to this, and when you hearfolks comin' down on the rebs, you jest remember what one on 'emdid, and give him credit of it. I poor feller in gray laid not fur off,shot through the lungs and dyin' fast. I'd offered him myhandkerchief to keep the sun off his face, and he'd thanked mekindly, for in sech times as that men don't stop to think on whichside they belong, but jest buckle-to and help one another. When hesee me mournin' over Major and tryin' to ease his pain, he lookedup with his face all damp and white with sufferin', and sez he,'There's water in my canteen; take it, for it can't help me,' and heflung it to me. I couldn't have took it ef I hadn't had a little brandyin a pocket flask, and I made him drink it. It done him good, and Ifelt as much set up as if I'd drunk it myself. It's surprisin' the goodsech little things do folks sometime;" and Silas paused as if he feltagain the comfort of that moment when he and his enemy forgottheir feud, and helped one another like brothers.

"Tell about Major," cried the boys, impatient for the catastrophe.

"I poured the water over his poor pantin' tongue, and ef ever adumb critter looked grateful, he did then. But it warn't of muchuse, for the dreadful waound kep on tormentin' him, till I couldn'tbear it any longer. It was hard, but I done it in mercy, and I knowhe forgive me."

"What did you do?" asked Emil, as Silas stopped abruptly with aloud "hem," and a look in his rough face that made Daisy go andstand by him with her little hand on his knee.

"I shot him."

Quite a thrill went through the listeners as Silas said that, forMajor seemed a hero in their eyes, and his tragic end roused alltheir sympathy.

"Yes, I shot him, and put him out of his misery. I patted him fust,and said, 'Good-by;' then I laid his head easy on the grass, give alast look into his lovin' eyes, and sent a bullet through his head. Hehardly stirred, I aimed so true, and when I seen him quite still, withno more moanin' and pain, I was glad, and yet wal, I don't know asI need by ashamed on't I jest put my arms raound his neck andboo-hooed like a great baby. Sho! I didn't know I was sech a fool;"and Silas drew his sleeve across his eyes, as much touched byDaisy's sob, as by the memory of faithful Major.

No one spoke for a minute, because the boys were as quick to feelthe pathos of the little story as tender-hearted Daisy, though theydid not show it by crying.

"I'd like a horse like that," said Dan, half-aloud.

"Did the rebel man die, too?" asked Nan, anxiously.

"Not then. We laid there all day, and at night some of our fellerscame to look after the missing ones. They nat'rally wanted to takeme fust, but I knew I could wait, and the rebel had but one chance,maybe, so I made them carry him off right away. He had jeststrength enough to hold out his hand to me and say, 'Thanky,comrade!' and them was the last words he spoke, for he died anhour after he got to the hospital-tent."

"How glad you must have been that you were kind to him!" saidDemi, who was deeply impressed by this story.

"Wal, I did take comfort thinkin' of it, as I laid there alone for anumber of hours with my head on Major's neck, and see the mooncome up. I'd like to have buried the poor beast decent, but it warn'tpossible; so I cut off a bit of his mane, and I've kep it ever sence.Want to see it, sissy?"

"Oh, yes, please," answered Daisy, wiping away her tears to look.

Silas took out an old "wallet" as he called his pocket-book, andproduced from an inner fold a bit of brown paper, in which was arough lock of white horse-hair. The children looked at it silently,as it lay in the broad palm, and no one found any thing to ridiculein the love Silas bore his good horse Major.

"That is a sweet story, and I like it, though it did make me cry.Thank you very much, Si," and Daisy helped him fold and putaway his little relic; while Nan stuffed a handful of pop-corn intohis pocket, and the boys loudly expressed their flattering opinionsof his story, feeling that there had been two heroes in it.

He departed, quite overcome by his honors, and the littleconspirators talked the tale over, while they waited for their nextvictim. It was Mrs. Jo, who came in to measure Nan for some newpinafores she was making for her. They let her get well in, andthen pounced upon her, telling her the law, and demanding thestory. Mrs. Jo was very much amused at the new trap, andconsented at once, for the sound of happy voices had been comingacross the hall so pleasantly that she quite longed to join them, andforget her own anxious thoughts of Sister Meg.

"Am I the first mouse you have caught, you sly pussies-in-boots?"she asked, as she was conducted to the big chair, supplied withrefreshments, and surrounded by a flock of merry-faced listeners.

They told her about Silas and his contribution, and she slapped herforehead in despair, for she was quite at her wits' end, being calledupon so unexpectedly for a bran new tale.

"What shall I tell about?" she said.

"Boys," was the general answer.

"Have a party in it," said Daisy.

"And something good to eat," added Stuffy.

"That reminds me of a story, written years ago, by a dear old lady.I used to be very fond of it, and I fancy you will like it, for it hasboth boys, and 'something good to eat' in it."

"What is it called?" asked Demi.

"'The Suspected Boy.' "

Nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and Mrs. Jo smiled athim, guessing what was in his mind.

"Miss Crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and avery good school it was, of the old-fashioned sort. Six boys livedin her house, and four or five more came in from the town. Amongthose who lived with her was one named Lewis White. Lewis wasnot a bad boy, but rather timid, and now and then he told a lie. Oneday a neighbor sent Miss Crane a basket of gooseberries. Therewere not enough to go round, so kind Miss Crane, who liked toplease her boys, went to work and made a dozen nice littlegooseberry tarts."

"I'd like to try gooseberry tarts. I wonder if she made them as I domy raspberry ones," said Daisy, whose interest in cooking hadlately revived.

"Hush," said Nat, tucking a plump pop-corn into her mouth tosilence her, for he felt a particular interest in this tale, and thoughtit opened well.

"When the tarts were done, Miss Crane put them away in the bestparlor closet, and said not a word about them, for she wanted tosurprise the boys at tea-time. When the minute came and all wereseated at table, she went to get her tarts, but came back lookingmuch troubled, for what do you think had happened?"

"Somebody had hooked them!" cried Ned.

"No, there they were, but some one had stolen all the fruit out ofthem by lifting up the upper crust and then putting it down afterthe gooseberry had been scraped out."

"What a mean trick!" and Nan looked at Tommy, as if to implythat he would do the same.

"When she told the boys her plan and showed them the poor littlepatties all robbed of their sweetness, the boys were much grievedand disappointed, and all declared that they knew nothing aboutthe matter. 'Perhaps the rats did it,' said Lewis, who was among theloudest to deny any knowledge of the tarts. 'No, rats would havenibbled crust and all, and never lifted it up and scooped out thefruit. Hands did that,' said Miss Crane, who was more troubledabout the lie that some one must have told than about her lostpatties. Well, they had supper and went to bed, but in the nightMiss Crane heard some one groaning, and going to see who it wasshe found Lewis in great pain. He had evidently eaten somethingthat disagreed with him, and was so sick that Miss Crane wasalarmed, and was going to send for the doctor, when Lewismoaned out, 'It's the gooseberries; I ate them, and I must tell beforeI die,' for the thought of a doctor frightened him. 'If that is all, I'llgive you an emetic and you will soon get over it,' said Miss Crane.So Lewis had a good dose, and by morning was quite comfortable.'Oh, don't tell the boys; they will laugh at me so,' begged theinvalid. Kind Miss Crane promised not to, but Sally, the girl, toldthe story, and poor Lewis had no peace for a long time. His matescalled him Old Gooseberry, and were never tired of asking him theprice of tarts."

"Served him right," said Emil.

"Badness always gets found out," added Demi, morally.

"No, it don't," muttered Jack, who was tending the apples withgreat devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest andaccount for his red face.

"Is that all?" asked Dan.

"No, that is only the first part; the second part is more interesting.Some time after this a peddler came by one day and stopped toshow his things to the boys, several of whom boughtpocket-combs, jew's-harps, and various trifles of that sort. Amongthe knives was a little white-handled penknife that Lewis wantedvery much, but he had spent all his pocket-money, and no one hadany to lend him. He held the knife in his hand, admiring andlonging for it, till the man packed up his goods to go, then hereluctantly laid it down, and the man went on his way. The nextday, however, the peddler returned to say that he could not findthat very knife, and thought he must have left it at Miss Crane's. Itwas a very nice one with a pearl handle, and he could not afford tolose it. Every one looked, and every one declared they knewnothing about it. 'This young gentleman had it last, and seemed towant it very much. Are you quite sure you put it back?' said theman to Lewis, who was much troubled at the loss, and vowed overand over again that he did return it. His denials seemed to do nogood, however, for every one was sure he had taken it, and after astormy scene Miss Crane paid for it, and the man went grumblingaway."

"Did Lewis have it?" cried Nat, much excited.

"You will see. Now poor Lewis had another trial to bear, for theboys were constantly saying, 'Lend me your pearl-handled knife,Gooseberry,' and things of that sort, till Lewis was so unhappy hebegged to be sent home. Miss Crane did her best to keep the boysquiet, but it was hard work, for they would tease, and she could notbe with them all the time. That is one of the hardest things to teachboys; they won't 'hit a fellow when he is down,' as they say, butthey will torment him in little ways till he would thank them tofight it out all round."

"I know that," said Dan.

"So do I," added Nat, softly.

Jack said nothing, but he quite agreed; for he knew that the elderboys despised him, and let him alone for that very reason.

"Do go on about poor Lewis, Aunt Jo. I don't believe he took theknife, but I want to be sure," said Daisy, in great anxiety.

"Well, week after week went on and the matter was not cleared up.The boys avoided Lewis, and he, poor fellow, was almost sick withthe trouble he had brought upon himself. He resolved never to tellanother lie, and tried so hard that Miss Crane pitied and helpedhim, and really came at last to believe that he did not take theknife. Two months after the peddler's first visit, he came again,and the first thing he said was

"'Well, ma'am, I found that knife after all. It had slipped behind thelining of my valise, and fell out the other day when I was putting ina new stock of goods. I thought I'd call and let you know, as youpaid for it, and maybe would like it, so here it is.' "

"The boys had all gathered round, and at these words they feltmuch ashamed, and begged Lewis' pardon so heartily that he couldnot refuse to give it. Miss Crane presented the knife to him, and hekept it many years to remind him of the fault that had brought himso much trouble."

"I wonder why it is that things you eat on the sly hurt you, anddon't when you eat them at table," observed Stuffy, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps your conscience affects your stomach," said Mrs. Jo,smiling at his speech.

"He is thinking of the cucumbers," said Ned, and a gale ofmerriment followed the words, for Stuffy's last mishap had been afunny one.

He ate two large cucumbers in private, felt very ill, and confidedhis anguish to Ned, imploring him to do something. Nedgood-naturedly recommended a mustard plaster and a hot flat ironto the feet; only in applying these remedies he reversed the orderof things, and put the plaster on the feet, the flat iron on thestomach, and poor Stuffy was found in the barn with blisteredsoles and a scorched jacket.

"Suppose you tell another story, that was such an interesting one,"said Nat, as the laughter subsided.

Before Mrs. Jo could refuse these insatiable Oliver Twists, Robwalked into the room trailing his little bed-cover after him, andwearing an expression of great sweetness as he said, steeringstraight to his mother as a sure haven of refuge,

"I heard a great noise, and I thought sumfin dreffle might havehappened, so I came to see."

"Did you think I would forget you, naughty boy?" asked hismother, trying to look stern.

"No; but I thought you'd feel better to see me right here,"responded the insinuating little party.

"I had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again,Robin."

"Everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you can't soyou'd better cut and run," said Emil.

"Yes, I can! I tell Teddy lots of ones, all about bears and moons,and little flies that say things when they buzz," protested Rob,bound to stay at any price.

"Tell one now, then, right away," said Dan, preparing to shoulderand bear him off.

"Well, I will; let me fink a minute," and Rob climbed into hismother's lap, where he was cuddled, with the remark

"It is a family failing, this getting out of bed at wrong times. Demiused to do it; and as for me, I was hopping in and out all nightlong. Meg used to think the house was on fire, and send me downto see, and I used to stay and enjoy myself, as you mean to, my badson."

"I've finked now," observed Rob, quite at his ease, and eager towin the entree into this delightful circle.

Every one looked and listened with faces full of suppressedmerriment as Rob, perched on his mother's knee and wrapped inthe gay coverlet, told the following brief but tragic tale with anearnestness that made it very funny:

"Once a lady had a million children, and one nice little boy. Shewent up-stairs and said, 'You mustn't go in the yard.' But hewented, and fell into the pump, and was drowned dead."

"Is that all?" asked Franz, as Rob paused out of breath with thisstartling beginning.

"No, there is another piece of it," and Rob knit his downyeyebrows in the effort to evolve another inspiration.

"What did the lady do when he fell into the pump?" asked hismother, to help him on.

"Oh, she pumped him up, and wrapped him in a newspaper, andput him on a shelf to dry for seed."

A general explosion of laughter greeted this surprising conclusion,and Mrs. Jo patted the curly head, as she said, solemnly,

"My son, you inherit your mother's gift of story-telling. Go whereglory waits thee."

"Now I can stay, can't I? Wasn't it a good story?" cried Rob, in highfeather at his superb success.

"You can stay till you have eaten these twelve pop-corns," said hismother, expecting to see them vanish at one mouthful.

But Rob was a shrewd little man, and got the better of her byeating them one by one very slowly, and enjoying every minutewith all his might.

"Hadn't you better tell the other story, while you wait for him?"said Demi, anxious that no time should be lost.

"I really have nothing but a little tale about a wood-box," said Mrs.Jo, seeing that Rob had still seven corns to eat.

"Is there a boy in it?"

"It is all boy."

"Is it true?" asked Demi.

"Every bit of it."

"Goody! tell on, please."

"James Snow and his mother lived in a little house, up in NewHampshire. They were poor, and James had to work to help hismother, but he loved books so well he hated work, and just wantedto sit and study all day long."

"How could he! I hate books, and like work," said Dan, objectingto James at the very outset.

"It takes all sorts of people to make a world; workers and studentsboth are needed, and there is room for all. But I think the workersshould study some, and the students should know how to work ifnecessary," answered Mrs. Jo, looking from Dan to Demi with asignificant expression.

"I'm sure I do work," and Demi showed three small hard spots inhis little palm, with pride.

"And I'm sure I study," added Dan, nodding with a groan towardthe blackboard full of neat figures.

"See what James did. He did not mean to be selfish, but his motherwas proud of him, and let him do as he liked, working by herselfthat he might have books and time to read them. One autumnJames wanted to go to school, and went to the minister to see if hewould help him, about decent clothes and books. Now the ministerhad heard the gossip about James's idleness, and was not inclinedto do much for him, thinking that a boy who neglected his mother,and let her slave for him, was not likely to do very well even atschool. But the good man felt more interested when he found howearnest James was, and being rather an odd man, he made thisproposal to the boy, to try now sincere he was.

"'I will give you clothes and books on one condition, James.'

"'What is that, sir?' and the boy brightened up at once.

"'You are to keep your mother's wood-box full all winter long, anddo it yourself. If you fail, school stops.' James laughed at the queercondition and readily agreed to it, thinking it a very easy one.

"He began school, and for a time got on capitally with thewood-box, for it was autumn, and chips and brushwood wereplentiful. He ran out morning and evening and got a basket full, orchopped up the cat sticks for the little cooking stove, and as hismother was careful and saving, the task was not hard. But inNovember the frost came, the days were dull and cold, and woodwent fast. His mother bought a load with her own earnings, but itseemed to melt away, and was nearly gone, before Jamesremembered that he was to get the next. Mrs. Snow was feeble andlame with rheumatism, and unable to work as she had done, soJames had to put down the books, and see what he could do.

"It was hard, for he was going on well, and so interested in hislessons that he hated to stop except for food and sleep. But heknew the minister would keep his word, and much against his willJames set about earning money in his spare hours, lest thewood-box should get empty. He did all sorts of things, ran errands,took care of a neighbor's cow, helped the old sexton dust and warmthe church on Sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel insmall quantities. But it was hard work; the days were short, thewinter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dearbooks were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dullduties that never seemed done.

"The minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was inearnest helped him without his knowledge. He met him oftendriving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men werechopping and as James plodded beside the slow oxen, he read orstudied, anxious to use every minute. 'The boy is worth helping,this lesson will do him good, and when he has learned it, I willgive him an easier one,' said the minister to himself, and onChristmas eve a splendid load of wood was quietly dropped at thedoor of the little house, with a new saw and a bit of paper, sayingonly

"'The Lord helps those who help themselves.'

"Poor James expected nothing, but when he woke on that coldChristmas morning, he found a pair of warm mittens, knit by hismother, with her stiff painful fingers. This gift pleased him verymuch, but her kiss and tender look as she called him her 'good son,'was better still. In trying to keep her warm, he had warmed hisown heart, you see, and in filling the wood-box he had also filledthose months with duties faithfully done. He began to see this, tofeel that there was something better than books, and to try to learnthe lessons God set him, as well as those his school-master gave.

"When he saw the great pile of oak and pine logs at his door, andread the little paper, he knew who sent it, and understood theminister's plan; thanked him for it, and fell to work with all hismight. Other boys frolicked that day, but James sawed wood, and Ithink of all the lads in the town the happiest was the one in thenew mittens, who whistled like a blackbird as he filled hismother's wood-box."

"That's a first rater!" cried Dan, who enjoyed a simplematter-of-face story better than the finest fairy tale; "I like thatfellow after all."

"I could saw wood for you, Aunt Jo!" said Demi, feeling as if anew means of earning money for his mother was suggested by thestory.

"Tell about a bad boy. I like them best," said Nan.

"You'd better tell about a naughty cross-patch of a girl," saidTommy, whose evening had been spoilt by Nan's unkindness. Itmade his apple taste bitter, his pop-corn was insipid, his nuts werehard to crack, and the sight of Ned and Nan on one bench madehim feel his life a burden.

But there were no more stories from Mrs. Jo, for on looking downat Rob he was discovered to be fast asleep with his last corn firmlyclasped in his chubby hand. Bundling him up in his coverlet, hismother carried him away and tucked him up with no fear of hispopping out again.

"Now let's see who will come next," said Emil, setting the doortemptingly ajar.

Mary Ann passed first, and he called out to her, but Silas hadwarned her, and she only laughed and hurried on in spite of theirenticements. Presently a door opened, and a strong voice washeard humming in the hall

"Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin."

"It's Uncle Fritz; all laugh loud and he will be sure to come in,"said Emil.

A wild burst of laughter followed, and in came Uncle Fritz, asking,"What is the joke, my lads?"

"Caught! caught! you can't go out till you've told a story," cried theboys, slamming the door.

"So! that is the joke then? Well, I have no wish to go, it is sopleasant here, and I pay my forfeit at once," which he did by sittingdown and beginning instantly

"A long time ago your Grandfather, Demi, went to lecture in agreat town, hoping to get some money for a home for little orphansthat some good people were getting up. His lecture did well, andhe put a considerable sum of money in his pocket, feeling veryhappy about it. As he was driving in a chaise to another town, hecame to a lonely bit of road, late in the afternoon, and was justthinking what a good place it was for robbers when he saw abad-looking man come out of the woods in front of him and goslowly along as if waiting till he came up. The thought of themoney made Grandfather rather anxious, and at first he had a mindto turn round and drive away. But the horse was tired, and then hedid not like to suspect the man, so he kept on, and when he gotnearer and saw how poor and sick and ragged the stranger looked,his heart reproached him, and stopping, he said in a kind voice

"'My friend, you look tired; let me give you a lift.' The man seemedsurprised, hesitated a minute, and then got in. He did not seeminclined to talk, but Grandfather kept on in his wise, cheerful way,speaking of what a hard year it had been, how much the poor hadsuffered, and how difficult it was to get on sometimes. The manslowly softened a little, and won by the kind chat, told his story.How he had been sick, could get no work, had a family of children,and was almost in despair. Grandfather was so full of pity that heforgot his fear, and, asking the man his name, said he would try toget him work in the next town, as he had friends there. Wishing toget at pencil and paper to write down the address, Grandfathertook out his plump pocket-book, and the minute he did so, theman's eye was on it. Then Grandfather remembered what was in itand trembled for his money, but said quietly

"'Yes, I have a little sum here for some poor orphans. I wish it wasmy own, I would so gladly give you some of it. I am not rich, but Iknow many of the trials of the poor; this five dollars is mine, and Iwant to give it to you for your children.'

"The hard, hungry look in the man's eyes changed to a grateful oneas he took the small sum, freely given, and left the orphans' moneyuntouched. He rode on with Grandfather till they approached thetown, then he asked to be set down. Grandpa shook hands withhim, and was about to drive on, when the man said, as ifsomething made him, 'I was desperate when we met, and I meantto rob you, but you were so kind I couldn't do it. God bless you, sir,for keeping me from it!' "

"Did Grandpa ever see him again?" asked Daisy, eagerly.

"No; but I believe the man found work, and did not try robbery anymore."

"That was a curious way to treat him; I'd have knocked him down,"said Dan.

"Kindness is always better than force. Try it and see," answeredMr. Bhaer, rising.

"Tell another, please," cried Daisy.

"You must, Aunt Jo did," added Demi.

"Then I certainly won't, but keep my others for next time. Toomany tales are as bad as too many bonbons. I have paid my forfeitand I go," and Mr. Bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock infull pursuit. He had the start, however, and escaped safely into hisstudy, leaving the boys to go rioting back again.

They were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle totheir former quiet, and a lively game of Blindman's Buff followed,in which Tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the laststory to heart, for, when he caught Nan, he whispered in her ear,"I'm sorry I called you a cross-patch."

Nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played"Button, button, who's got the button?" and it was her turn to goround, she said, "Hold fast all I give you," with such a friendlysmile at Tommy, that he was not surprised to find the horse-hairring in his hand instead of the button. He only smiled back at herthen, but when they were going to bed, he offered Nan the best biteof his last apple; she saw the ring on his stumpy little finger,accepted the bite, and peace was declared. Both were ashamed ofthe temporary coldness, neither was ashamed to say, "I was wrong,forgive me," so the childish friendship remained unbroken, and thehome in the willow lasted long, a pleasant little castle in the air.