Indians could talk Mexican, an explanation was soon made and understood. Their opportune appearance probably saved the lives of all the Indians, and averted the war that would have certainly followed had this band of Navajoes been destroyed.

KITTY WON'T PLAY.

Kitty, dear Kitty, I want you to play,
For I'm awfully lonesome when sister's away;
They've sent her to school, and I really would cry
If I were not ashamed when my dollies are by.

You are not as good fun as you once were, you know,
Poor Kitty; you're growing too lazy and slow;
But spring for my ball; let us have a good race;
You'd like it, I'm sure, I can tell by your face.

And here is a bit of such nice sugar-cake,
So sweet, Kitty—try it; 'twon't make your teeth ache.
No? Well, then, I'll eat it, and you shall have meat
If you'll scamper and frisk on your four pretty feet.

[Begun in No. 46 of Harper's Young People, September 14.]

WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?

BY JOHN HABBERTON,

Author of "Helen's Babies."

Chapter X.

RECAPTURED.

On the morning after Benny Mallow's party hardly a boy started for the brook or the woods. This was not because the dissipation of the previous night had made them overweary, or too heavy and late a supper had induced headaches, or the party itself had to be talked over. Each of these reasons might have kept a boy or two at home, but the real cause that prevented the majority going about their usual diversions was fear of meeting the escaped counterfeiter. Where the information came from no one thought to inquire, but the report was circulated among the boys quite early in the morning that the criminal was armed with two heavy revolvers that some secret confederate had passed through the window to him, and that he would on no account allow himself to be captured alive.

This story justified the stoutest-hearted boy, even if he owned a rifle, in preferring to keep away from any and all places in which such a person might hide, but the story seemed afterward to have been only half told, for as it passed through Napoleon Nott's lips a bowie-knife, a sword-cane, a bottle of poison, and a long piece of a prison chain were neatly added to the bad man's armament, so no boy felt ashamed to confess to any other boy that he really was afraid to venture beyond the edge of the town.

"You can never tell where such fellows may hide," said Sam Wardwell to several boys who had gathered at the school wood-pile, which was a general rendezvous for boys who had nothing in particular to do. "I've read in the police reports in the New York paper that father takes of policemen finding thieves and murderers and other bad men in the queerest kind of places. They're very fond of hiding in stables."

"Then I know one thing," said Ned Johnston, promptly—"our hens may steal nests all over the hay-loft, and hatch all the late chickens they want to, to die as soon as the frost comes, but I won't go inside of our barn again until that man is found."

"And I'll stay out of our stable," said Bert Sharp, "though it is fun to go in there, sometimes, when a fellow hasn't anything else to do, and tickle the horse's flanks to see him kick."

"You ought to be kicked yourself for doing such a mean trick," said Charlie Gunter. "Where else do they hide, Sam?"

"Oh, all sorts of places," said Sam—"sometimes inside of barrels. And just think of it! there's at least twenty empty barrels in the yard of our store, besides a great big hogshead that would hold six counterfeiters."

"Perhaps he's in that hogshead now, with his confederate," suggested Charlie Gunter. "Can't we all get on the roof of the store and look down into it?"

"I won't go," said Ned Johnston, very decidedly; "they might shoot up at us."

"One fellow," continued Sam, "was found buried just under the top of the ground; he just had his nose and mouth out so he could breathe, but he had even those covered with some grass so as to hide them."

"How did he bury himself?" asked Canning Forbes.

"The paper didn't say," answered Sam. "I suppose his pals dug the hole and covered him up."

"My!" exclaimed Benny Mallow. "I won't dare to go out into the garden to gather tomatoes or pull corn for mother."

"Perhaps he's behind that very fence," suggested Napoleon Nott. "I had a book that told about a Frenchman that laid so close against a fence that the police walked right past him without seeing him, and then he got up and killed them, and buried them, and—"

"Keep the rest for to-morrow, Notty," suggested Canning Forbes; "but put plenty of salt on, so it won't spoil. We've got as much of it as we can swallow to-day."

"I wonder why Paul don't come out?" said Will Palmer.

"He isn't at home," said Benny; "and Mr. Morton is very much worried about him, too; but I told him that he needn't be afraid; that Paul could take care of himself even in a fight with a counterfeiter."

"Good for you, Benny!" exclaimed Will Palmer. "If Paul only had his rifle with him, I'd back him against the worst character in the world. But say, boys, while we're lounging about here the fellow may have been captured and brought back to jail. Let's go up and see."

All that could be learned, when the jail was reached, was that the Sheriff had sworn in ten special deputies, and these, with the Sheriff himself, were scouring the town and the adjacent country. The Sheriff had wanted to make a deputy of Mr. Morton, for men who were sure they could recognize the prisoner at sight were very scarce; but the teacher had excused himself by saying he was not yet legally a citizen of Laketon. Mr. Wardwell said to two or three gentlemen that this was undoubtedly a mere trick to cover the teacher's foolish tenderness toward the prisoner whom he had visited so often, and some of the gentlemen said that they shouldn't wonder if Mr. Wardwell was right.

When dinner-time came an unforeseen trouble occurred to the boys: they could not go in a crowd to dinner, unless some boy felt like inviting the crowd to take dinner with him, and no boy felt justified in doing that unless he first asked his mother whether she had enough for so many; so the party divided, each boy retaining his trusty stick, and going with beating heart past every fence and wood-pile behind which he could not see.

Benny Mallow had just reached home, with his heart away up in the top of his throat, and stuck there so tight that he was sure he could not swallow a mouthful, no matter how nice the dinner might be, when he saw, crossing his street, and at least a quarter of a mile away, three people, one of whom he was sure must be Paul. He shaded his eyes, looked intently for an instant, and then became so certain that it was Paul, whom he felt himself simply dying to see, that he forgot his heart and his dinner, and even the danger that might lurk in any one of a dozen places by the way; he even dropped his stick as he sped away as fast as he could run. By the time he reached the place at which he had seen the men the party was two squares farther to the left, and Benny was panting terribly; but as he now saw