school, and mind you let me know ef the boys are agreed."

Before Eddie had gone far, however, the smith whistled and beckoned him back.

"Sit here a minnit, Ed, I want to tell you somethin'. When I was a little feller I lived on t'other side of the sea, an' one day my mother kept me in, an' that night I did jest what Bill Joyce's done—I run away. I went to sea, too, jest like most little fools as believe all the stuff they read about 'life on the ocean wave.' I had mighty hard times, and often wished I could die. It was nigh eight years afore I got money enough to git home with, an' then I found strangers in the house, Ed, who thought I was a tramp. My mother was in her grave, an' the rest was scattered. I never seen none of 'em since."

"Say 'saw,' not 'seen,' Tom," said Eddie, mindful of his own teaching at home.

Tom did not heed, however, but continued. "I want you to look me in the eye, an' promise to never run away."

"I promise, Tom," said the boy, promptly.

When Eddie looked up he saw a big crock mark over one of Tom's eyes.

"That's square; an' now mind, Ed, ef the boys won't help, why, I'll shet the shop, an' you an' I'll tackle them apples ourselves."

The next moment Tom's hammer was making lively music upon his anvil, and Eddie was again on his way to school.

The disappearance of Bill Joyce was the one topic of interest at the school-house. Jim Pennell, the biggest boy, did most of the talking. "You bet, I wish I was in Bill's boots. He served the old woman right. He'll have a bully time, and in a couple of years he'll come back a captain of a ship; you see if he don't."

Eddie had just joined the group in front of the school steps. "My mother says—she says—" Poor Ed! here his tongue stuck fast.

"Well, she says she'll put you to bed before supper, and switch you well if you run away, don't she?" sneered Jim.

"No, she don't!" exclaimed Eddie, hotly. "I tell you what it is, fellers, I say it's mean an' unfair to make fun of Bill's mother; an' he'll be sure to wish himself back pretty quick. What's more, Tom the smith an' I are goin' to pick Mrs. Joyce's apples on Saturday, and take 'em to the cider mill. You can help if you want to. We'll have lots of fun, an' be doin' a good—"

Just at this moment the school bell rang, and the boys hastened to their desks.

When the roll had been called, Miss Winslow, the teacher, told Jim Pennell to go to the blackboard. "Now," said she, "write 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.' That will do. Now, Eddie, you put under it 'Do right, and fear not.'"

Jim and Eddie each wondered if Miss Winslow had overheard the talk at the door. Jim's cheeks turned very red, and so did Eddie's, but it was when he looked up and met his teacher's smile.

After school the subject was renewed.

"I won't go," said one. "Didn't she set the dog onto us one day?"

"Neither will I," insisted another. "Don't I remember how she sassed us for gettin' chestnuts in the wood patch back of her corn lot?"

Three boys, however, were waiting for Eddie a little way down the road, who promised to help him, but were very anxious that Jim Pennell should not know about it.

Eddie reported his experience to Tom and to his mother.

At eight o'clock on Saturday morning, Tom, as good as his word, locked his shop, and hung out an old sign which read, "Gone a-fishin'," and drove away with four boys in the wagon. Five others ran and clambered in as the party went merrily down the village street, and finally Tom protested that he would not have any more along.

What a time they had, to be sure, in the orchard! Some climbed out on the limbs and shook them vigorously, while others held sheets to catch the apples.

At two o'clock they were all collected in heaps—big red Spitzenbergs, plump greenings, brown russets, and luscious Baldwins. "Seventy bushels of 'em if there's one," said Tom.

Two trips were made to the cider mill, the boys going along and helping to unload, though it must be confessed some of them were a great deal better pleased to put long straws into the open bungs of the barrels, and suck the fresh sweet cider until they could not hold another drop.

There is nothing the country boy likes more than to watch the men at work in a cider mill. If you, my reader, live in the city, it is likely that you have never seen such a place, so I will venture to tell you how it looks.

A great ponderous frame stands under a shed, with two heavy screws of oak standing upright in a cross-piece. The apples are heaped on all sides, and are first crushed between wooden cog-wheels and caught in tubs. This is called "cheese."

Then a layer of straw is put upon the base of the screw press, and next a layer of "cheese," and upon this more straw, and then again "cheese" and straw clear up; after which planks are put on top, and the "cheese" is "built." Now the screws are turned alternately with a long sweep. Then the cider begins to trickle out, and runs around the little channel cut in the base, and finally into a large tub, from which it is dipped into the waiting barrels.

The leavings, after the juice has all been expressed, is called "pummy," which I suppose is from pomum, a Latin word meaning an "apple." The "pummy" is fed to horses and cattle, and they are very fond of it.

A barrel of cider requires about twelve bushels of apples, and is generally worth about a dollar and a half, and the barrel as much more.

The owner of the cider mill paid Tom for the apples, and the party started back. Upon the way Tom put the money into Eddie's hands, insisting that he should carry it in to the widow, while he put a barrel of cider he had bought with his own cash into the cellar. Eddie agreed, upon the condition that all the boys would go in.

When they left the house, after this had been done, somehow they were all very quiet, until Sammy Brown exclaimed,

"Tell you what 'tis, boys, I wish the orchard was bigger, or else there was more poor widows like Bill's mother round here, don't you?"

And no one answered "No."

[Begun in Harper's Young People No. 53, November 2.]

THE BOY-GENERAL.

BY EDWARD CARY.

Chapter V.

Although Lafayette and Washington both thought that the capture of Lord Cornwallis and his army, and the failure of the British to take the State of Virginia, would prove a death-blow to the King's cause in America, neither of them ceased for a moment his efforts to keep up the war. They knew that if peace were indeed coming, much better terms could be had if the Americans showed that they could and would still fight. So while Washington was trying to arouse the people at home, and to get a still larger army, Lafayette sailed for France to seek fresh aid from the government of that country. He succeeded bravely, and was put at the head of an expedition of sixty war vessels and 24,000 men, who were to sail for the United States early in 1783. But while these splendid efforts were being put forth peace was declared; the independence of the United States was recognized by Great Britain; the long struggle was over, and Lafayette was able by his own hand to send the first tidings of its glorious ending to Congress. The next year, on the invitation of Washington, he visited the United States, and was everywhere received with the most joyous signs of love and respect.

When he returned to France he straightway engaged in new efforts for the cause of liberty. Slavery then existed in the French colonies. Lafayette, who had spent over a quarter of a million dollars for the United States, now devoted another large part of his fortune to the freedom of the negroes. He bought a large plantation in Cayenne, and made the slaves free, and founded