mill. There Alice was a-sittin', sewin' as if butter would melt in her

mouth, and Phil he was a-sawin' logs fit to kill.

"Sez the Sheriff, 'Miss Thompson,' sez he, 'hev you seen the murderer Hardwick? He was seen half a mile back a-comin' this way.'

"'I hev not,' sez she. Wa'al, that was true; she hedn't seen nor heard him.

"'It is your duty if you know anything of his whereabouts to communicate that knowledge to me,' sez he. He was old Jimmy Grey, the Sheriff, and he talked big.

"'I hev no love for Mr. Hardwick,' said Alice, simply. 'He whipped that boy of mine almost to death. It is not probable that I should hide him.'

"That's true,' sez Sheriff Grey. 'But he's a-hidin' somewheres about,' sez he.

"'_If I see him_, I'll let you know,' sez Alice, standin' up, and looking at the Sheriff as stiff as a double holly-hock.

"Wa'al, all there is about it is, the Sheriff's folks came a-watchin' that mill all day, and that boy and his mother they sat and defended the skulkin' dog in the cock-loft--a-sawin' and a-sewin'--and that day's work broke Phil's back. He was a-growin' boy, and it jest killed him. When night came, and Hardwick got away, Phil he fainted right down, like a mowed mullein stalk.

"But the next day sez he, 'Mother, I'm a-goin' in to the Sheriff to tell what I done. It warn't right of us to interfere with the law, even if we did want to do good for evil.'

"And sez she, 'Phil, I guess you're right, and I'll go too.'

"I tell you there was a stir to Dicksonville when them two told their story, and they clapped Phil right into jail. It was a cold, gloomy place--jails ain't comfortable, particler in the fall when the courts puts folks in, generally after the harvest's done. Naow there was Sol Sullivan that murdered his wife; they knew it in August, but Sol warn't arrested till October, cos they wanted him to help on his father's farm gettin' in the wheat and corn and potatoes, and when they asked Sol why he done it, he said 'he didn't want to winter her.' Farmin' folks think o' these things. Wa'al, I guess that cold Phil took there didn't help his back none, for he was awful sick afterwards.

"Tim Thompson and his wife they druv home considerably worked. Tim he'd been awful mad at his wife for gittin' Phil into this scrape, or a-helping it along, but she sat kinder quiet, and, sez she, 'Tim, you'll see I did right. These men would hev torn Hardwick limb from limb if they'd ha' catched him then.' 'Wa'al,' sez Tim, 'I shouldn't ha' minded if they hed. I don't want Phil to sleep in that damp jail to-night nohow.'

"Now here's the interestin' point of this 'ere story. Crazy Nichols was the murderer after all, and they found that out three days afterwards, and they let Phil out of jail in a burnin' fever, and old Dr. Twitchell he took him up home in his own carriage, and then the Sheriff, he said, and Lawyer Edwards, he said, and Lawyer Chamberlain, he said, sez he, 'Tim, your son has served the ends of justice,' sez he, 'for if we hedn't had time to think, we should hev hanged Hardwick on circumstantial evidence. We never should hev thought of crazy Nichols.'

"Wa'al, Tim Thompson he never got over it for years. He said he didn't want his son ruined for nothing; but somehow Phil ain't ruined; he an' his mother they kinder suffered along together there for a spell of years, and then Phil got so as he could do some copyin', and Lawyer Edwards he took him in, and he kinder studied law, and now he's a forehanded man.

"I was up a-turfin' Miss Thompson's grave for him last year come fall, and he said he was a-goin' to put up a monument. Wa'al, I guess it's most done. I was in to Calhoun's a-lookin' at it, and I see the letterin'. I don't egzactly rekillect what it was, all of it; somethin' about 'Alice, beloved wife of Timothy Thompson,' but I knowed that he said down to the foot that she hed two kinds of courage, and I guess she hed, and _I knew_ that hump-backed Phil has hed courage, several kinds of 'em, and so he looks all right to me," said Slack.

THE WEASEL.

The weasel is one of the prettiest and most graceful little creatures that can be imagined. It lives in all cool countries, and makes its home in hollow trees, in stone heaps, or in any convenient hole where it can find shelter. It is no larger than a good-sized rat, but has longer legs. It has a long, lithe, slender body, long neck, and dainty little head, with small round ears and bright eyes. It is covered with smooth, sleek hair, of a brown color on its back, and white below. It has long whiskers on its nose, and a very short tail. Its weapons are its strong claws and sharp teeth, which it knows how to use so well that many larger animals live in constant terror of this bold and wicked little marauder. The weasel itself has very few enemies. Even the powerful birds of prey, which are ever on the alert for rabbits and other small game, rarely swoop down on the weasel, for although they can easily carry it away in their strong talons, it often proves very troublesome booty. A hunter once noticed a large hawk, high in the air, which was flapping its wings violently, and apparently in great trouble. Suddenly it darted, and fell to the earth almost at the hunter's feet, where it lay gasping and dying, while a tiny weasel sprang from the heap of feathers, and scampered away to hide itself in the stone wall near by. On examining the bird, the hunter found that its throat was torn to pieces by the weasel's sharp teeth. The little creature, although unable to escape from the powerful grip of the hawk, had twisted itself until it could reach its enemy's throat, when it easily inflicted a deadly wound.

The defenseless hares and rabbits are bitterly persecuted by the weasel, which springs upon them, and with wonderful instinct knows exactly where to fasten its sharp teeth. The unfortunate hare may scamper away as fast as it can, but its enemy clings to its neck, and the poor little animal must soon fall, faint and dying, from loss of blood. The tragedy pictured in our engraving is acted over and over again by these two pretty inhabitants of woodland thickets, and the rabbit is always forced to yield to its little enemy.

Rats and mice, squirrels, moles, frogs, and birds of all kinds are hunted by the weasel, and it may often be seen twisting itself in and out of stone heaps or walls in the vicinity of barn-yards, where it watches for chickens, doves, and other domestic fowls.

If taken very young, weasels may be tamed, and a whole army of cats will not free a house so quickly of rats and mice as will one little weasel. Pussy must sit patiently by the rat's hole and wait until the mischievous beast ventures forth; but where a rat can go, the weasel can follow. Weasels and ferrets are often kept on board of ships, and are petted by the sailors, for a ship with a weasel as passenger is always free from rats.

There are many pretty stories told of tame weasels, and of the affection they manifest toward those who care for them. A lady who received a present of a very small and very young weasel fed it with milk, which it drank from her hand. The little creature became so attached to its mistress that whenever she called it, it would instantly appear from whatever corner in which it was curled up, and would climb all over her like a squirrel. It never bit her, and would play with her cat and dog, often riding round on their backs; but it never injured them. Its curiosity afforded its mistress much amusement. If she opened a box or trunk, Master Weasel would raise himself on his hind-legs and make every effort to peep inside.

This little creature is much hunted by man, and large numbers are caught in traps, it being a general impression that they do more harm than good; but although a weasel may now and then carry off a chicken from the farm-yard, it does much good by freeing barns and corn fields of mice and other small destructive animals.

[Begun in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, May 10.]

THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."

BY W. L. ALDEN,

AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.