to cross, he arrived at the tents just as Reddy returned from an unsuccessful search for the corporal.

The Adjutant's letter was left in the tent, Bronc picketed, and the boys drew lots for the oars. Teddy won the choice, and selected the bow. The contest was to maintain an even-time stroke, and see which could turn the boat toward his opponent—"pull him round," as the phrase is.

Barefooted, barelegged, bareheaded, and coatless, the boys stepped into the boat. Confident in their united strength, they did not row up the eddy, but pulled directly from the shore, beginning the struggle from the start. The wherry leaped ahead, refusing to turn to the right or left. The boys were evidently as well matched as their mounts, Puss and Bronc.

The boat rose and fell in the current waves, and the oars tripped and splashed in the roily crests, until there suddenly came a sharp snap, and Teddy fell backward, holding aloft the bladeless half of an oar. Reddy ceased rowing; the skiff lost headway and floated down the river.

In the confusion of the accident neither boy saw a threatening danger. In the middle of the river was the trunk of a dead cottonwood, standing at an angle of forty-five degrees, its roots firmly anchored to the bottom. The boat floated against the snag, striking amidships. Its starboard side rose, its port side lowered, the water poured over the gunwale, and in an instant Teddy was clinging to the trunk, and Reddy swimming in the boiling current. The boat hung for a moment, as if undecided whether to drop to the right or left of the snag, twisting and struggling in the fierce tide, and at last slid off astern and floated away down-stream.

A foot above the water was a large knot and a swell in the trunk of the tree. Teddy climbed above this, and sat astride of it, clasping the trunk in his arms. He was at first inclined to treat the accident with bravado, and he waved a hand above his head and shouted; but the sight of Reddy floating towards the rapids froze his utterance and paralyzed his arm.

It was plainly impossible for his comrade to swim to the shore—he was too near the dangerous fall—but he hoped he might reach the jam in the middle of its crest.

[to be continued.]

AT THE SEA-SIDE.

A Suggestion for a Summer Entertainment.

BY CAROLINE A. CREEVEY AND MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Characters:

Victoria. What a perfectly glorious afternoon, girls! The sunshine is dazzling. The surf is music itself; the sails out yonder are so white; and the air! I cannot breathe it into my lungs deep enough. There's no place like the sea-side after all.

Charlotte. Mamma is begging papa to take her to the mountains.

Ida. Oh, what a shame! Just as we are getting so well acquainted, and can plan so many nice things to do. It would be wicked for you to leave us.

Victoria. Have you met that new arrival, Miss Daisy James? She's English, you know. She talks about her boxes, not trunks.

Olive. She has luggage, not baggage.

Ida. Yes, I was talking to her. She's funny. She says there isn't any Gulf Stream. Says the Captain of her steamer has sailed for thirty years, and has never seen it. So, if you please, the Gulf Stream "is a myth."

Grace. She's the most disdainful thing, and uses such queer words! She says raw clams are "nasty," and she called bananas "those beans."

Olive. Perhaps she will improve on acquaintance. We mustn't be too hard on her.

Charlotte. Where are all the girls? We ought to begin our rehearsal.

Victoria. There's Madge Fuller now. She has that sweet-looking young lady who played so beautifully with her.

Madge. Halloa, girls! Am I late? I was reading, and I almost forgot our rehearsal. But I have brought a new recruit. Miss Sommerfield, girls. Miss Howard, Miss Mason, Miss Moore, Miss Brandon, and Miss Everton.

Grace. Otherwise Charlotte, Victoria or Vic, Ida, Olive, and myself, Grace. No airs, Madge.

Olive. We are so glad you asked Miss Sommerfield to help us, Madge dear.

Miss Sommerfield. I will help, but don't let me intrude. What are your ideas of an entertainment?

Grace. Ideas are just what we are after. The only settled thing is that the tickets are to be fifty cents.

Charlotte. We thought we would each recite or read something. Original preferred. The object is the Sea-side Home.

Miss Sommerfield. It is a lovely object. I went all over the one on Seney Island.

Victoria. Oh, then you can tell us about it.

Miss Sommerfield. They take sick children and babies for two weeks. The house is large and clean, and quite near the water. Verandas go around three sides on every story. All the bedrooms open on to these verandas, and there, in the open air, the babies are wheeled, or rocked, or swung in hammocks. So they breathe that invigorating air day and night. The older children, as soon as they are able, dig in the sand, sheltered by tents. They have plenty of good milk to drink, bread and biscuit, oatmeal and mutton broth. The mothers have, in addition, meat, potatoes, tea, and coffee. The babies pick up surprisingly. They go away rosy and hearty. Many a life is saved.

Olive. What a pity they must go away.

Charlotte. Well, a fortnight is better than nothing. Isn't it the sweetest of charities? I am sure everybody in the hotel will come to our entertainment.

Miss Sommerfield. I heard one of the nurses singing lullaby while rocking some darling twin babies to sleep. I thought it so pretty I have remembered it. Would you like to hear it?

All. Please do. Yes, indeed.

By-by, babies, hushaby,
Night and sleep are drawing nigh,
Little birdies seek the nest,
Tired lambkins drop to rest,
By-by, babies, hushaby,
Stars are lighting up the sky,
Angels come to watch your beds;
Slumber, little curly-heads.

Helen. Good-afternoon, girls. I am awfully late, but I met Miss James and got talking to her, and didn't realize how time