huddled up close beside him.

"It's kinder too bad to be called such names in the papers, ain't it, Tip?" said the boy, speaking for the first time since they had left the store, "an' I think he ought to be 'shamed of hisself to talk so about you. It ain't your fault if your legs is short, an' your tail gone; you're worth more'n all the dogs in this world, an' you're all that I've got to love me, an' we'll never go back to let Captain Babbige beat us any more, will we, Tip?"

Just then the dog, which had been chewing some blades of grass, got one in his nose—a mishap which caused him to sneeze, and shake his head vigorously, while Tim, who firmly believed that Tip understood all that was said to him, looked upon this as a token that the dog agreed with him, and he continued, earnestly:

"I know just as well as you do, Tip, that it wasn't right for us to run away, but how could we help it? They kept tellin' us we was in the way, an' they wished we'd die, an' everybody that was kind to us told us we'd better do just what we have done. Now we're off in the big, wide world all by ourselves, Tip, an' whether the Cap'en catches us or not, you'll love me just as much as you always have, won't you? for you're all I've got that cares for me."

The dog was still busy trying to settle the question about the grass in his nose, and after that was decided in his favor, he looked up at his young master, and barked several times, as if expressing his opinion about something, which the boy interpreted as advice.

"Well, I s'pose you're right, Tip, we ought to go along; for if we don't, we sha'n't even find a barn to sleep in, as we did last night."

As he spoke, Tim arose wearily from his hard seat, his legs stiff from long walking, and trudged along, while Tip followed as closely at his heels as it was possible for him to get.

It was nearly sunset, and as he walked on it seemed as if he was getting farther into the woods, instead of coming out at some place where he could find shelter for the night.

"Looks kinder lonesome, don't it, Tip?" and Tim choked back a sob as he spoke. "I don't want to sleep out here in the woods if I can help it; but it wouldn't be half so bad as if one of us was alone, would it?"

In this fashion, keeping up a sort of a conversation, if it could be called such, where one did all the talking, and the other wagged his short stump of a tail, the two journeyed on until it was almost too dark to distinguish objects a short distance ahead.

Only once since the store-keeper had given him the two dollars had Tim thought of what he had said regarding Captain Babbige's having money of his, and then he put it out of his mind as an impossibility, for surely he would not have scolded so about what the boy and his dog ate if Tim had any property of his own.

"I guess we shall have to sleep in the woods, Tip," said Tim, disconsolately, as the trees appeared to be less thick together, but yet no signs of a house; "but it won't be much worse than what Aunt Betsey calls a bed good enough for boys like me."

Just at that instant Tim was frightened out of nearly all his senses, and Tip was started on a barking match that threatened to shake his poor apology of a tail from his thin body, by hearing a shrill voice cry out:

"Look here, feller, where are you goin' this time of night?"

[to be continued.]

MOTHER MICHEL AND HER CAT.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY T. B. ALDRICH. DRAMATIZED BY O. G. L.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

COSTUMES.

Countess.—A yellow silk petticoat, with gay over-dress. Hair high and powdered. Jewels and fan.

Michel.—Black silk. Long silk mittens. A cap with lace strings. Apron, reticule, and knitting or fancy work.

Lustucru.—French small-clothes, dark colored. Hair in queue, and powdered. Also a cowl for Act II.

Apothecary.—Dark cowl.

MUSIC.

Act I.

Duo.—Countess and Michel. "For a maid there is no denying." Cavatina (Zerlina), Fra Diavolo. Auber.

Solo.—Michel. "Vagabond." J. T. Molloy.

Duo.—Countess and Michel. "Silence" quartette.

Act II.

Duo.—Lustucru and Michel. "A dairy-maid am I." No. 21, Haymakers. George Root.

Solo.—Michel. "I can not dance to-night." Old ballad. Music by Mrs. T. H. Bayly.

Solo.—Lustucru. "Lucy Long."

Duo.—Lustucru and Michel. "Lucy Long."

Act III.

Duo.—Lustucru and Apothecary. Conspirators' chorus from La Fille de Madame Augot.

Duo.—Lustucru and Michel. "A dairy-maid am I." No. 21, Haymakers. George Root.

Act IV.

Solo.—Lustucru. "Then you'll remember me." Balfe.

Solo.—Michel. "Serenade to Ida." Weingand.

Duo.—Michel and Lustucru. "On yonder rock reclining." Fra Diavolo. Auber.

ACT I.

Scene.—Discovers Mother Michel and Countess. Mother Michel is serving Countess, sitting before a mirror, admiring her hair.

Duo.—Mother Michel and Countess.

Tune—"For a maid there is no denying." Cavatina (Zerlina), Fra Diavolo. Auber.

Countess. Now, Mother Michel, how does my hair thus suit you?

Michel. Beautiful, beautiful, Countess. Of course just like you.

Countess } together { Oh no, oh no; oh no, no, etc.

Michel    } together { Oh yes, oh yes; oh yes, yes, yes, etc.

Countess (at end of song). Ah, Mother Michel, I fear you are not sincere. To be sure, my hair is a miracle of handiwork, but beautiful!—Ah, Michel!

Michel. Nay, your grace, my words are but too insignificant to express my admiration.

Countess. Well, well, never mind. Listening to flattery may strengthen my mind for hearing the truth; therefore I will let your speeches pass. But have you seen Moumouth this morning?

Michel. Ah, yes, madame. Chancing but now to pass the cellar stair, I beheld that sagacious animal watching, with intensest interest and quivering tail, a rat hole.

Countess (rapturously). Angelic creature!

Michel. And I disturbed him not, only called Father Lustucru's attention to him.

Countess. Ah, Michel, that is a great grief to me. Moumouth objects to Father Lustucru, my steward, who has always been so kind to him.

Michel. Yes, alas! never did I see one of your pets so prejudiced against one of your household.

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