that it was indeed Paul whom he had seen, he continued to run.

PAUL AND THE COUNTERFEITER

After gaining considerably on the trio, however, Benny suddenly stopped, for he noticed that one of the three carried a pistol. What could it mean? Could it be?—why, yes, certainly; the man was one of the deputy-sheriffs, and the man beside whom Paul was walking—holding by one arm, in fact, as if he were dragging him along—must be the prisoner.

Benny was no longer afraid. Paul, he was sure, could protect him against at least six desperate criminals if necessary, even without the help of a deputy-sheriff with a pistol. "Mister," gasped Benny, as he overtook the officer, who walked a little in the rear of the others, "did—Paul—oh, my!—did Paul—catch the—the prisoner?"

"No, Benny, no," exclaimed Paul, who had looked backward on hearing Benny's voice; "I hadn't anything to do with catching him."

"He would have done it, though; I'll bet a hundred to one he would," said the deputy, "if he had met him before I did. I don't believe that boy knows what it is to be afraid."

"Of course he doesn't," said Benny, proudly.

"Benny," said Paul, "come around here by me; don't be afraid."

Benny obeyed, though rather fearfully, for the prisoner, with his face rather dirty, and bleeding besides, was not an assuring object to be so close to.

"Benny," said Paul, "don't you go to telling the boys that I had any share in catching—in catching this man. You know how such stories get about if there's the slightest excuse for them."

"I won't," said Benny; "but I can tell that you helped bring him in, can't I? because you're doing it, you know."

"Don't say that either," Paul replied. "I'm not helping at all—not to bring him in, that is. The man is very tired; he's been in the woods all night, lying on the ground, and he's had no breakfast; he is weak, and I'm helping him, not the Sheriff. Don't you see how the poor fellow leans against me?"

"Yes," said Benny. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "Would you mind telling him that I'm sorry for him too, even if he did—"

"Tell him yourself," said Paul, quickly. "And go on the other side of him and give him a lift."

Benny obeyed the last half of Paul's instructions, but the strangeness of his position made him entirely forget the first part, and he was wicked enough to wish that, as they reached the more thickly settled part of the town, people who saw them might think, if only for an hour or two, that he and Paul, two boys, had caught the dreadful counterfeiter. And his wish was gratified even more than he had dared to hope, for suddenly they came face to face with Ned Johnston, who gave them just one wondering look, and then flew about town and told every boy that the prisoner had been caught, and that Paul and Benny did it.

Arrived at the jail, the deputy pointed with his pistol to the still open door.

"One moment, please," said the prisoner. "Boys, I am very much obliged to you. Will you shake hands?"

He put out his hand toward Benny as he spoke, and Benny took it; then he gave a hand to Paul, and Paul looked him straight in the face so long that Benny was sure he was going to make certain of the man's looks in case he ever broke loose again and had to be followed. Then the man went into his cell, and Paul stood by until he saw the three great bolts securely shot, after which he and Benny went together toward their homes.

[to be continued.]

THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER.

Our Father, from the heaven's bright dome
Look down on us this day;
Hallowed Thy name, Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done alway.
Give us this day our daily bread,
Forgive, as we forgive,
And let our hearts be also fed,
That we in Thee may live.
Into temptation lead us not;
Deliver us from ill;
May life's hard trials be forgot,
Or borne as Thou dost will!
O lend us of Thy strength to bear
The burdens Thou dost send,
That we break not beneath the care,
Enduring to the end!
For Thine the kingdom is, and Thine
The glory and the power;
While day by day our lives decline,
To meet the mortal hour.

THE ROVERINGS AND THE PARADE.

BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.

The family had just moved into apartments on the Avenue; that is, they had one room in Mrs. Smilley's tall and narrow boarding-house, the window of which looked out on the most fashionable street in the city. The two Eds slept in a trundle-bed that in the daytime could be pushed out of sight underneath the big bedstead. So everything was very neat and compact.

It was the year of a Presidential election, and one morning at breakfast Mr. Rovering looked up from his paper to remark, "My dear, I see there's to be a torch-light procession to-night, and—"

"Oh my! what fun!" cried Edward, dropping his fork into his coffee-cup, and stirring vigorously in his excitement. "It'll go past here."

Edgar too was preparing to exclaim joyously as soon as he should become rid of the potato he had in his mouth, when Mr. Rovering suddenly made a severe gesture of disapproval, and said, "No, no, my son, we must not look at it; it is in honor of the other party."

Thus that point was settled, and the two Eds tried hard all day to forget there was going to be a parade in the evening, and to console themselves with the promise that they should be taken to a country circus some time next summer.

Mrs. Rovering entirely approved of her husband's honorable resolve, and that night saw that the blinds were closely drawn, and the trundle-bed pulled out promptly at nine o'clock.

The Eds, in spite of their circusy anticipations, wore rather long faces as they prepared to retire, and both Mr. and Mrs. Rovering, in their parental kindness of heart, felt glad as they reflected that the uproar of the procession would probably be made at so late an hour as not to awaken their obedient darlings.

The fond father, indeed, even went so far as to add to the already tempting next summer's programme the promise of purchasing five cents' worth of pea-nuts before the show began.

Under this soothing treatment the two Eds presently dropped off to sleep in the most obliging fashion possible, and their elders were congratulating one another on the dark spot their window would make in the general illumination, when there came a knock on the door, and callers for Mrs. Rovering were announced.

The horrified lady gave one glance at the card, which read "Hon. Fielding Rollup," and another at the trundle-bed, and then she and Mr. Rovering bent down and shoved the latter out of sight, with the Eds still sleeping peacefully within it.

The next instant the visitors were ushered in, consisting of the whole Rollup family, father, mother, and five children, and as the latter at once made for the window, it speedily transpired what they had all come for—to see the parade!

Mr. Rovering grew quite pale as this conviction was forced upon him, for the Rollups were large purchasers of Rovering & Co.'s