CHAPTER XVI.

TOBY'S FIRST APPEARANCE IN THE RING.

When the circus entered the town which had been selected as the place where Toby was to make his début as a circus rider, the boy noticed a new poster among the many glaring and gaudy bills which set forth the varied and many attractions that were to be found under one canvas for a trifling admission fee, and he noticed it with some degree of interest, not thinking for a moment that it had any reference to him.

It was printed very much as follows:

MADEMOISELLE JEANNETTE AND MONSIEUR AJAX,

two of the youngest equestrians in the world, will perform their graceful, dashing, and daring act entitled

THE TRIUMPH OF THE INNOCENTS.

This is the first appearance of these daring young riders together since their separation in Europe last season, and their performance in this town will have a new and novel interest. See

MADEMOISELLE JEANNETTE AND MONSIEUR AJAX.

"Look there!" said Toby to Ben, as he pointed out the poster, which was printed in very large letters with gorgeous coloring, and surmounted by a picture of two very small people performing all kinds of impossible feats on horseback. "They've got some one else to ride with Ella to-day. I wonder who it can be?"

Ben looked at Toby for a moment, as if to assure himself that the boy was in earnest in asking the question, and then he relapsed into the worst fit of silent laughing that Toby had ever seen. After he had quite recovered, he asked: "Don't you know who Monsieur Ajax is? Hain't you never seen him?"

"No," replied Toby, at a loss to understand what there was so very funny in his very natural question. "I thought that I was goin' to ride with Ella."

"Why, that's you," almost screamed Ben, in delight. "Monsieur Ajax means you, didn't you know it? You don't suppose they would go to put 'Toby Tyler' on the bills, do you? How it would look!--'Mademoiselle Jeannette an' Monsieur Toby Tyler.'"

Ben was off in one of his laughing spells again, and Toby sat there, stiff and straight, hardly knowing whether to join in the mirth or to get angry at the sport which had been made of his name.

"I don't care," he said at length. "I'm sure I think Toby Tyler sounds just as well as Monsieur Ajax, an' I'm sure it fits me a good deal better."

"That may be," said Ben, soothingly; "but you see it wouldn't go down so well with the public. They want furrin riders, an' they must have 'em, even if it does spoil your name."

Despite the fact that he did not like the new name that had been given him, Toby could not but feel pleased at the glowing terms in which his performance was set off; but he did not at all relish the lie that was told about his having been with Ella in Europe, and he would have been very much better pleased if that portion of it had been left off.

During that forenoon he did not go near Mr. Lord nor his candy stand, for Mr. Castle kept him and Ella busily engaged in practicing the feat which they were to perform in the afternoon, and it was almost time for the performance to begin before they were allowed even to go to their dinner.

Ella, who had performed several years, was very much more excited over the coming début than Toby was, and the reason why he did not show more interest was probably because of his great desire to leave the circus as soon as possible, and during that forenoon he thought very much more of how he should get back to Guilford and Uncle Daniel than he did of how he should get along when he stood before the audience.

Mr. Castle assisted his pupil to dress, and when that was done to his entire satisfaction, he said, in a stern voice, "Now you can do this act all right, and if you slip up on it, and don't do it as you ought to, I'll give you such a whipping when you come out of the ring that you'll think Job was only fooling with you when he tried to whip you."

Toby had been feeling reasonably cheerful before this, but these words dispelled all his cheerful thoughts, and he was looking most disconsolate when old Ben came into the dressing tent.

"All ready, are you, my boy?" said the old man, in his cheeriest voice. "Well, that's good, an' you look as nice as possible. Now remember what I told you last night, Toby, an' go in there to do your level best, an' make a name for yourself. Come out here with me, an' wait for the young lady."

These cheering words of Ben's did Toby as much good as Mr. Castle's had the reverse, and as he stepped out of the dressing-room to the place where the horses were being saddled, Toby resolved that he would do his very best that afternoon, if for no other reason than to please his old friend.

Toby was not naturally what might be called a pretty boy, for his short red hair and his freckled face prevented any great display of beauty; but he was a good, honest-looking boy, and in his tasteful costume he looked very nice indeed--so nice, that could Mrs. Treat have seen him just then, she would have been very proud of her handiwork, and hugged him harder than ever.

He had not been waiting but a few moments when Ella came from her dressing-room, and Toby was very much pleased when he saw by the expression of her face that she was perfectly satisfied with his appearance.

"We'll both do just as well as we can," she whispered to him, "and I know the people will like us, and make us come back after we get through. And if they do, mamma says she'll give each one of us a gold dollar."

She had taken hold of Toby's hand as she spoke, and her manner was so earnest and anxious that Toby was more excited than he ever had been about his début; and had he gone into the ring just at that moment, the chances are that he would have surprised even his teacher by his riding.

"I'll do just as well as I can," said Toby, in reply to his little companion, "an' if we earn the dollars, I'll have a hole bored in mine, an' you shall wear it around your neck to remember me by."

"I'll remember you without that," she whispered, "and I'll give you mine, so that you shall have so much the more when you go to your home."

There was no time for further conversation, for Mr. Castle entered just then to tell them that they must go in in another moment. The horses were all ready--a black one for Toby, and a white one for Ella--and they stood champing their bits and pawing the earth in their impatience, until the silver bells with which they were decorated rang out quick, nervous little chimes that accorded very well with Toby's feelings.

Ella squeezed Toby's hand as they stood waiting for the curtain to be raised that they might enter, and he had just time to return it when the signal was given, and almost before he was aware of it they were standing in the ring, kissing their hands to the crowds that packed the enormous tent to its utmost capacity.

Thanks to the false announcement about the separation of the children in Europe and their reunion in this particular town, the applause was long and loud, and before it had died away, Toby had had time to recover a little from the queer feeling which this sea of heads gave him.

He had never seen such a crowd before, except as he had seen them as he walked around at the foot of the seats, and then they had simply looked like so many human beings; but as he saw them now from the ring, they appeared like strange rows of heads without bodies, and he had hard work to keep from running back behind the curtain from whence he had come.

Mr. Castle acted as the ring-master this time, and after he had introduced them, very much after the fashion of the posters, and the clown had repeated some funny joke, the horses were led in, and they were assisted to mount.

"Don't mind the people at all," said Mr. Castle, in a low voice, "but ride just as if you were alone here with me."

The music struck up, the horses cantered around the ring, and Toby had really started as a circus rider.

"Remember," said Ella to him, in a low tone, just as the horses started, "you told me that you would ride just as well as you could, and we must earn the dollars mamma promised."

It seemed to Toby at first as if he could not stand up; but by the time they had ridden around the ring once, and Ella had cautioned him again against making any mistake, for the sake of the money which they were going to earn, he was calm and collected enough to carry out his part of the programme quite as well as if he had been simply taking a lesson.

The act consisted in their riding side by side, jumping over banners and through hoops covered with paper, and then the most difficult portion of their act began.

The saddles were taken off the horses, and they were to ride first on one horse and then on the other, until they concluded their performance by riding twice around the ring side by side, standing on their horses, each one with a hand on the other's shoulder.

All this was successfully accomplished without a single error, and when they rode out of the ring, the applause was so great as to leave no doubt but that they would be recalled, and thus earn the promised money.

In fact, they had hardly got inside the curtain when one of the attendants called to them, and before they had time even to speak to each other they were in the ring again, repeating the last portion of their act.

When they came out of the ring for the second time, they found old Ben, the skeleton, the fat lady, and Mr. Job Lord waiting to welcome them; but before any one could say a word, Ella had stood on tiptoe again, and given Toby just such another kiss as she did when he told her that he would surely stay long enough to appear in the ring with her once.

"That's because you rode so well, and helped me so much," she said, as she saw Toby's cheeks growing a fiery red; and then she turned to those who were waiting to greet her.

Mrs. Treat took her in her enormous arms, and having kissed her, put her down quickly, and clasped Toby as if he had been a very small walnut, and her arms a very large pair of nut-crackers.

"Bless the boy!" she exclaimed, as she kissed him again and again, with an energy and force that made her kisses sound like the crack of a whip, and caused the horses to stamp in affright. "I knew he'd amount to something one of these days, an' Samuel an' I had to come out, when business was dull, just to see how he got along."

It was some time before she would unloose him from her motherly embrace, and when she did, the skeleton grasped him by the hand, and said, in the most pompous and effective manner:

"Mr. Tyler, we're proud of you, and when we saw that costume of yours that my Lilly embroidered with her own hands, we was both proud of it and what it contained. You're a great rider, my boy, a great rider, and you'll stand at the head of the profession some day, if you only stick to it."

"Thank you, sir," was all Toby had time to say before old Ben had him by the hand, and the skeleton was pouring out his congratulations in little Miss Ella's ear.

"Toby, my boy, you did well, an' now you'll amount to something if you only remember what I told you last night," said Ben, as he looked upon the boy, whom he had come to think of as his protégé, with pride. "I never seen anybody of your age do any better; an' now, instead of bein' only a candy peddler, you're one of the stars of the show."

"Thank you, Ben," was all that Toby could say, for he knew that his old friend meant every word that he said, and it pleased him so much that he could say no more than "Thank you" in reply.

"I feel as if your triumph was mine," said Mr. Lord, looking benignly at Toby from out his crooked eye, and assuming the most fatherly tone at his command; "I have learned to look upon you almost as my own son, and your success is very gratifying to me."

Toby was not at all flattered by this last praise. If he had never seen Mr. Lord before, he might, and probably would, have been deceived by his words; but he had seen him too often, and under too many painful circumstances, to be at all swindled by his words.

Toby was very much pleased with his success, and by the praise he received from all, and when the proprietor of the circus came along, patted him on the head, and told him that he rode very nicely, he was quite happy, until he chanced to see the greedy twinkle in Mr. Lord's eye, and then he knew that all this success and all this praise were only binding him faster to the show which he was so anxious to escape from; his pleasure vanished very quickly, and in its stead came a bitter, homesick feeling which no amount of praise could banish.

It was old Ben who helped him to undress after the skeleton and the fat lady had gone back to their tent, and Ella had gone to dress for her appearance with her mother, for now she was obliged to ride twice at each performance. When Toby was in his ordinary clothes again, Ben said:

"Now that you're one of the performers, Toby, you won't have to sell candy any more, an' you'll have the most of your time to yourself, so let's you an' I go out an' see the town."

"Don't you s'pose Mr. Lord expects me to go to work for him again to-day?"

"An' s'posin' he does?" said Ben, with a chuckle. "You don't s'pose the boss would let any one that rides in the ring stand behind Job Lord's counter, do you? You can do just as you have a mind to, my boy, an' I say to you, let's go out an' see the town. What do you say to it?"

"I'd like to go first-rate, if I dared to," replied Toby, thinking of the many whippings he had received for far less than that which Ben now proposed he should do.

"Oh, I'll take care that Job don't bother you, so come along;" and Ben started out of the tent, and Toby followed, feeling considerably frightened at this first act of disobedience against his old master.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A HERO IN SEVEN PIECES.

BY MARY A. BARR.

By hammer and hand, All arts do stand.

And so I thought, the other day, when I found myself in an art foundry in Twenty-fifth Street, New York. There was a terrible noise, and at first I thought I was in a smithy; but, children, I soon found out it was only the workman seaming together a hero's coat.

Most of you know all about this hero, and just the part he played in the history of our country; but because many of you have read carelessly that page of your history, and for the sake of those who have forgotten, or have never read it, let me tell you something about him before we go back to Twenty-fifth Street, and the 1000-pound bronze statue of our hero, whom every true-hearted American remembers with honest pride.

He was one of seven young men who captured a very famous spy. Now there have been many famous spies, so don't guess in a hurry. He was three times a prisoner in New York; twice he escaped; the second time only four days before he saved his country a mortal blow; and the third time he was released by the peace.

Congress gave him an annuity of two hundred dollars a year for life, a silver medal, on one side of which was a shield, inscribed "Fidelity," and on the other the motto, "Vincit Amor Patriæ"; and New York gave him a farm, and also, in 1827, erected a marble monument in a churchyard two miles from Peekskill.

He died at Yorktown in 1818, when he was fifty-nine years old; but he will always live in the memory of his countrymen. So it was with a great deal of reverence I touched the bronzed hand, and pictured to myself that he was alive, and just about to step forward and give the order to "Stand!"

But that was after the workman had fastened a rope and chain around his waist, and by means of a pully lifted him upright on the pedestal, for my first glimpse of him was lying on his side with a little black-eyed Italian hammering away at the seam which I spoke of. For our hero was cast in seven pieces, and these pieces are put together with brass nails, and then the seams hammered smooth.

The sculptor of the statue being present, offered to take me through the foundry, and so I followed him, meeting a part of our hero at every turn.

Here his head and shoulders, there his gun, over yonder his arm, and lying right at my feet one of his hands, and in the corner his feet and legs, which one of the workmen told me they had cast one evening at half past six, by the glare of the furnaces, which threw great shadows across everything, and made it like a dream with the reality of heat and noise.

But these were only the plaster moulds, taken from the sculptor's model in clay, and I passed them with only a glance, for I knew the splendid whole would make up for these broken pieces.

Many of you have been in a foundry, and can easily picture to yourselves the great oven for baking the clay moulds in; the banks of sand; the furnaces down in the ground and on a level with the floor, with iron beams high above on which the pots for melting the metal in are hung; the enormous tongs and hooks; the troughs of water; half-finished work; the workman's tools; and men bending over work that seems too beautiful to come out of such chaos and from such rough material.

From the foundry I went up to the sculptor's studio on the third floor, in the front of the building. Now, children, this is a real place, and if any of you ever come to New York, you can go and see it, for the artist is a very good-natured man, and is always glad to see pleasant company.

What a place it would have been to play in! Oh, what fun I should have had calling on Miss Venus! and what a splendid coachman Apollo would have made! and the sailor lad we would have all claimed; and the girl with the shawl over her head would have been the soldier's sweetheart. But what would the sculptor have thought if he had known what use I was putting his beautiful works to? and so, my dears, let us play that all this has been said in a whisper, while he is dusting a chair for me, and go back to the studio as it really is.

To begin with, there was no carpet on the floor, and no paper on the walls, but a beautiful pier looking-glass without a frame leaned against the brick wall, and innumerable reliefs in plaster, photographs of people and places, an old army suit, and several costumes which the sculptor used in draping his model, hung in splendid confusion everywhere. One side of the room was of wood painted a dark brown, and over this the artist had drawn Cupids, angels, flowers, flags, and all kinds of beautiful designs in white. There was a stove in the room, and two or three chairs that needed constant dusting; several easels stood about, and at one a German artist, in a checked blouse or old-fashioned apron, was working on a beautiful relief, which told the story of a young farmer leaving home for the war. The artist said it was for a soldiers' monument in Massachusetts. Near him stood a bucket of water with a sponge in it, and every little while he would wet the clay he was working with.

A great many busts and statuettes of all kinds stood in every conceivable place--on tables, pedestals, and shelves; and on one shelf was the bust of a famous New York belle and the statuettes of a horse and cow, visitors' cards, photographs of famous actors and artists, old letters, and in a table glass a bouquet of roses and lilies that some one had sent to the sculptor that morning. While we were talking, the sculptor's model came in; that is, the man who stands for his figures, so that the artist may catch the proper motion of the body.

I had spent an hour very pleasantly in this queer, mussy place, and as it was growing dark, I was forced to say good-by to Miss Venus, and the Boy in Blue, and my new-found friend the German artist; but I took away with me many pleasant memories, and I hope I have interested my little readers enough for them to turn to the history of the Revolution, and tell me who our hero is. Many of you have already guessed, but I should like some of you to tell me his name, and if I have forgotten anything about him. Will you?

IN, OUT OF THE STORM.

It is high time that the poor little lamb was taken in, out of the storm, is it not, my young readers? The artist says that when he made the sketch from which this picture was drawn, the season was late in March, and the weather for a few days had been so warm that the children in the farm-house where he was staying thought old Winter had surely gone. He was still there, however, and to prove his presence he sent one of his very worst storms of snow and sleet, that lasted all day, and made people think that the almanacs were wrong, and that the month must be January instead of March.

In the midst of this storm, as the children were looking out of the window, and wondering if summer ever would come, they saw their father walking from the barn with something in his arms, and followed by their old pet sheep Mana. As their father came near, the children saw that he held a dear little lamb in his arms; and when he got into the house he told them that Mana was its mother, and that it had been born out-of-doors in all the terrible storm. If he had not been led to the spot by Mana's pitiful cries just when he was, the poor lamb would have been frozen to death. As it was, the little creature was chilled through, and had to be wrapped in flannel, placed close beside the fire, and fed with warm milk before it recovered. The children took such good care of the lamb that their father gave it to them, for their own; and when at last the summer did come, in spite of the efforts of old Winter to prevent it, the "cosset" well repaid their care of him by his funny antics and pretty ways.

On that stormy afternoon, after the lamb had been made as comfortable as possible, the children gathered about the artist, and asked him so many questions about sheep, that they finally gained from him the following information.

"Sheep--that is, common domestic sheep--are certainly dull and uninteresting animals, but this is partly because we do not usually see them to advantage. Sheep are naturally mountainous animals; if left to themselves, they always prefer hills and rocky mountains to plains and low-lying pasture, and are as active in climbing as goats. At the period of sacred history, sheep were evidently not considered stupid. It was the custom to give each individual a name, to which each would answer when called. This custom still exists in Greece, and, I believe, in some other countries. A missionary tells us that once when he was travelling in Greece, in passing by a flock of sheep, he begged the shepherd to call one of them by name; he did so, and immediately the sheep left its companions and its pasture, and ran up to the shepherd with evident signs of pleasure. The shepherd told the missionary that many of the sheep were still _wild_, that they had not yet learned their names, but that by teaching all would learn them. Those which knew their names and would answer to them he called _tame_. Some years ago, pet lambs used to be quite a fashion, and there have been many poems and stories written about them. The poet Wordsworth wrote a very pretty account of a pet lamb and a mountain maiden; and all children ought to read Miss Edgeworth's story of _Simple Susan_ and her lamb. Queen Victoria, when she was a little girl, and lived at Kensington Palace, had a pet lamb with a pink ribbon round its neck. Some children I know had one which was very tame and affectionate. When it grew up it was too rough and big for a play-fellow, and was sent to join a flock of sheep; but long afterward, when the children came past, it would leave the others to run to them."

THEY ARE COMING.

BY MRS. M. E. SANGSTER.

Mr. and Mrs. Robin, Mr. and Mrs. Wren, The Orioles, and the Cat-birds Are coming back again. Heigho! for the sweet, sweet blossoms, And the sweeter music then.

Mr. and Mrs. Robin And the rest of the merry crew Will be very brisk and busy, With plenty of work to do. Just think of it: keeping house, dears, And building your houses too.

HOW THE BOYS FOOLED UNCLE BUDGE.

BY KATE R. McDOWELL.

Rick and Karl always spent a week in the spring at Uncle Budge's.

It had chanced for two or three years that they were there on All-fools' Day, and at the end of the last visit Uncle Budge, on leaving them at the cars, had urged them to come on for the same time the next year, adding, "If you succeed in fooling me then, I'll give you each a gold piece."

Uncle Budge as completely forgot having made such an offer, five minutes after the boys had waved their hats in good-by, as though there were no April-fool Days and no gold pieces in the world.

But not so with the Barnes boys. Gold pieces were not so plenty with them that they would be apt to let such an offer pass in one ear and out of the other. Already seats at the circus, fishing-rods, and skates were in wild confusion in their brains.

"A whole year to think up something!" said Rick.

"I don't believe there's a bit of use in trying," answered Karl. "We've come to the conclusion no end of times that we can't fool Uncle Budge, and we can't. That's all there is about it."

"No harm in trying," ventured the not easily discouraged Rick, thinking how often he had admired the gold dollar on Chan Holmes's watch chain. "Let's try, anyway."

So next April-fools' Day finding them at Uncle Budge's, Karl and Rick were tiptoeing about very early. They spread the Berkville _Morning Argus_ of April 1, 1880--which they had slipped out of Uncle Budge's file the day before--out on the floor, sprinkled some water over it, folded it carefully, and Karl went quietly down stairs, opened the side door, laid the paper there, and took up stairs the _Argus_ that the carrier had just thrown.

About an hour afterward the breakfast-bell rang, and the boys went down stairs. There lay the paper by Uncle Budge's plate, which caused so preternaturally solemn an expression to come over their faces that Aunt Budge was quite worried.

"Now I hope you're not getting homesick," she said to Karl; "I know there's not much goin' on for you, as is used to a large family and a good deal of noise; still"--in a more cheerful tone--"we'll think of something after I've done up my work."

An amused smile played about Rick's lips, to hide which he leaned his head on his hand.

"Your toothache ain't come on again, Richard?" inquired Aunt Budge, sympathetically.

"Oh, I'm all right," said one, while the other assured Aunt Budge that he didn't want to go home a bit, and was having the best sort of a time.

"Uncle Budge has gone over to Wilson's," said Aunt Budge, "but may be in any minute. He left word not to wait breakfast. Can you reach the _Argus_, Karl?"

"Well, well," began Aunt Budge, "if another of those Wilkinses isn't married! Amanda J. Why, now, I was thinking that Amanda went last year; but no, come to think, it was Alvira. It does seem that just as reg'lar as spring comes round, off one on 'em goes. Now Amanda is--"

But Aunt Budge's dissertation was cut short by a choking scene, in which Rick pounded his brother with such force on the back that it was a wonder they heard the front door open at all.

"There's Uncle Budge," said Rick, hurriedly. "Don't tell him anything you've noticed in the _Argus_, Aunt Budge, or he'll suspect."

"Suspect!" echoed Aunt Budge, her mind still on the Wilkinses. "Suspect!"

"Sh--sh!" implored Karl. "It's a fool, Aunt Budge. Help us to carry it out. Last year's paper--don't you see?"

"Well, well, I declare!" said Aunt Budge, as the real state of the case flashed over her. "Then," collecting her thoughts, "I was right about its being Amanda, and--" But Aunt Budge interrupted herself by laughing so heartily that the boys found themselves compelled to join her, though it appeared from the conversation, when Uncle Budge came to breakfast, that Aunt Budge had been recounting some of the boys' pranks of years before.

"How old was I then?" asked Karl. "I mustn't forget to ask mamma, when I get home, if she remembers it."

Uncle Budge seated himself, and asked for the paper. He squinted at the date as Karl held it toward him, and then said: "I believe I'd rather have a little _younger_ paper than that. This comes within one of it, boys, but I guess I'll take the _one_ on the eighty."

"Well, now!" exclaimed Aunt Budge, admiringly. "And he never so much as took it in his hand."

"We can't fool Uncle Budge," said Karl, uttering each word slowly. "That may as well pass into a proverb. It can _not_ be done."

"I'm not so sure. We're not through trying yet, you know," put in Rick, with a peculiar look at his brother.

Karl motioned him aside after breakfast.

"What did you mean?" he asked.

"That I've an idea. Just listen;" and a great many questions and answers were exchanged in a hurried undertone.

"Grand--if it will work. Then we must be all ready by the time he comes down stairs?"

"Yes, and before that send a telegram to the boys."

"The boys" meant Hal and Jack Putnam; "a telegram," a note pinned to the string that went round a wooden peg at one of the Budgett windows, and another at the Putnams'.

"Why?" queried Karl.

"You'll see," replied Rick, as he hastily pencilled:

"'Be on the look-out for Uncle Budge. B. S.'"

The telegram came as the Putnam boys were breakfasting, and Jack laughed as he read it aloud.

"What is the fun?" asked Mrs. Putnam. "And how strange it is I can not remember those boys' names. Which one, now, is it that signs himself 'B. S.'?"

"Neither," laughed the boys, merrily. "'B. S.' means 'Big Show.' An April-fool on Mr. Budgett."

"And mustn't be missed," added Hal. "Jane, please tell us when you see Mr. Budgett come down street."

Jane went into the kitchen, where she hurriedly told the cook that Mr. Budgett would probably be coming down town soon, with "April-fool" chalked on his back.

"Ye don't mane it!" cried the interested Bridget. "Oh, thim byes! thim byes!" and she flew after the departing milkman with the news, omitting, however, the word "probably."

But to return to Mr. Budgett. Just as he was putting on his coat, he heard whispers of,

"He's going, Karl, as sure as I'm alive!"

"And hasn't noticed it. Well, that's too good."

"He's looking in the glass now."

"Sh--sh! don't make so much noise."

"He sees it, I'm sure, or he'd have gone long ago."

"Sh--sh! can't you?"

Mr. Budgett heard it all. "I believe I've left my pocket-book," he said, half aloud, as he turned to go up stairs.

"It's all up now," said Karl, vexedly.

"Maybe not. Keep dark."

"Couldn't very well do otherwise under these coats. Why doesn't he go? I'm smothering."

This decided Mr. Budgett. Up he went, and with Aunt Budge's hand-glass and the mirror took a complete survey.

"Did you find it?" called Aunt Budge, as he came down again.

"Yes," from Uncle Budge, who was listening for more whispers.

"We'll open the window, and watch him down the street."

"Sh--sh! How the Putnams will stare!"

A suppressed giggle followed.

The shutting of the front door was a signal for the boys to rush wildly out of the hall closet into the dining-room, where Aunt Budge was hovering over the breakfast dishes.

"What is it?" cried Aunt Budge, putting on her glasses. "Oh, what red faces! Did you get shut in?"

"We're fooling Uncle Budge," said Rick, breathlessly. "He promised us each a gold piece if we could," and he dashed up stairs after Karl.

They raised the windows cautiously, but not too quietly for Uncle Budge. He heard, but did not look up, though he began to feel a little ill at ease; and no less so when the milkman, who was dashing away from the Putnams', reined in his horses very noticeably, nudged the small boy on the side of the wagon, and both looked curiously at him.

Mr. Budgett walked a few steps, then looked furtively behind him. Imagine his feelings at discovering that the milkman had stopped his horses, and that the small boy was running quietly after him, but stopped as he noticed Mr. Budgett glance around.

"There certainly is something wrong," decided Mr. Budgett; "though I didn't think those little rascals would make a spectacle of me. As I live, their heads are out of the window yet. And look at the Putnams!" he exclaimed, aloud.

Well might he stop in surprise. There was Mrs. Putnam standing in the library window, with Abby and Sarah on tiptoe beside her; the two boys at a large upper window, poking each other and giggling audibly; Mr. Putnam at a third, apparently consulting a thermometer, but looking across at Mr. Budgett as though he possessed far more interest for him than any degree on the indicator; and lastly, Jane and Bridget on the side stoop, gazing as though he were a candidate for Barnum's.

Uncle Budge turned abruptly, and went home.

"Polly, what's the matter with me?" he asked, walking into the dining-room, where Aunt Budge was drying her coffee-caps. "All Berkville is agog."

"Berkville agog!" cried Aunt Budge, inspecting Mr. Budgett critically. "I'm sure I don't know over what. However, the boys are up to something, for they said as much."

"Of course they are," agreed Uncle Budge; "but can't you take it off, Polly? It's on my back, I guess."

"Something alive!" screamed Aunt Budge. "Why don't you shake yourself, Jacob?"

Uncle Budge laughed heartily.

"It would be as well," advised Aunt Budge, "to give 'em the gold at once, for they'll play the trick, Jacob, whatever it is, on you till you do."

"Give them the gold!" exclaimed Uncle Budge, wonderingly. "My dear Polly, what do you mean?"

"They say you promised 'em each a gold piece last year if they'd come on and fool you this."

"I did?" with still more surprise in his voice--"I did? 'Pon my word I'd forgotten it. Well, well," producing the purse that Polly had knitted for him years ago. "Where are the rascals?" Then going to the stairs, "Rick and Karl, come down here," he called, with an affected sternness in his voice. "The idea of your daring to make a guy of your old uncle!"

"We haven't made a guy of you," said the boys, rushing down; "and it isn't a mean fool at all, Uncle Budge, for it's really nothing."

"Nothing!" echoed Aunt Budge. "Why is everybody staring, then?"

"Only the Putnams," they explained. "We sent a telegram to the boys--"

"Telling them what?" interrupted Uncle Budge. "Not all about it, I hope?"

"No; merely to be on the look-out for you."

"You don't mean it!" chuckled Uncle Budge; "and that that whole family is fooled from garret to cellar, milkman included. Well, well, pretty good, pretty good. You deserve a reward, boys, for there'll be few tricks played to-day that'll end as pleasantly as this. It's the right kind of one, and the more of that sort the merrier."

"Beauties, ain't they?" cried Aunt Budge, admiringly, as the boys laid their gold pieces on the table where the sun came streaming in, and called her to look at them.

"Seems to me," said Karl, "they're bigger than Chan Holmes's."

"His has worn down, perhaps," said Rick, spinning his glittering coin. "Why, look here! what's this? 'Two and a half D.'"

"No you don't," answered Karl, knowingly. "I'm too well posted on the day of the month."

"Well, I know these are two-dollar-and-a-half pieces," cried Rick, snatching his hat, "and I'm off to thank Uncle Budge for _his_ fool," and away he went, and Karl after him when he found it was true.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]

PHIL'S FAIRIES.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,

AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.