of wealth he was about to squander, Tim asked to be allowed to see the goods he proposed to buy, in order to make sure they were of the proper length.

Old Mr. Coburn rubbed his glasses carefully, wiped his face as a sort of preface to his task, and set about making this last sale of the day with the air of a man who knows he is called upon to deal with very exacting customers.

PEPPERMINT, OR LEMON?

It was fully five minutes before Tim could settle the weighty question as to whether it was better to buy a stick of peppermint and one of lemon, and thus by dividing them get two distinct treats, or to take both of one kind, and thus prevent any dispute as to whether he had made a just and equal division.

While this struggle was going on in the purchaser's mind, Sam fidgeted around, standing first on one foot and then on the other, watching every movement Tim made, while Tip searched over every portion of the store, very much to Mr. Coburn's annoyance.

The decision was finally made, but not before Mr. Coburn hinted that he could not afford to burn a quart of oil in order that his customers might see how to spend two cents, and with a peppermint stick in one hand and a lemon stick in the other Tim left the store, followed by Sam and preceded by Tip.

To make a fair division of the sweet feast was quite as great a task as the purchase had been, and it was begun in the gravest manner.

The two sticks were carefully measured, and by the aid of Sam's half-bladed jackknife broken at the proper place. A large rock by the side of the road served as seat, and there the two boys munched away as slowly as possible, in order that the feast might be prolonged to the utmost.

Tip sat close by, watching every mouthful in a hungry way, but refusing the portion Tim offered him.

Now that the feast was fast fading away into only a remembrance, the thought of where he was to spend the night began to trouble Tim again, and he asked, anxiously, "Sure your father will let me sleep in the barn?"

Before the candy had been purchased, the fat boy had been perfectly sure Tim could sleep in his father's barn, but now that the dainty was in his possession, he began to have some doubts on the subject.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," he said, his mouth so full of candy that Tim could hardly understand him. "Father an' mother will be in bed when we get home, an' it won't be any use to bother 'em. You come right up stairs to bed with me, an' we'll fix it in the morning."

"I'd rather ask them, an' sleep in the barn," said Tim, not half liking this plan.

"But they'll be asleep, an' you can't," was the quiet reply.

"Then I'd rather go in the barn anyway."

"Now see here," said Sam, with an air of wisdom, as he sucked the remaining particles of candy from his fingers, "I know father an' mother better 'n you do, don't I?"

"Yes," replied Tim, glad that Sam had made one statement with which he could agree.

"Then you do jest as I tell you. We'll creep up stairs like a couple of mice, an' in the morning I'll fix everything. Mother wouldn't want you to sleep in the barn when you could come with me as well as not; an' you do as I tell you."

It did not seem to Tim that he could do anything else, and he said, as he slid down from the rock, "I'll do it, Sam, but I'd rather you'd ask them."

Sam, content with having gained his point, walked silently along with Tim by his side, and followed by Tip, who acted as if he knew he was going out to spend the night without a proper invitation.

When they reached the house, not a light was to be seen, and the three crept up stairs, not quite as softly as mice, but so quietly that Mr. and Mrs. Simpson did not hear them.

That night Sam, Tim, and Tip lay on one bed, and neither of them lost any sleep by thinking of his possible reception in the morning.

[to be continued.]

BITS OF ADVICE.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

ABOUT BEING OBLIGING.

Did you ever think that a person may be very selfish and very unselfish at the same time? Ethel is very fond of making presents to her friends. If Edith or Nannie admires a work-box, a book, or a pencil of hers, it is at her service. She delights to surprise her school-mates with little gifts, and often Mattie finds a bunch of violets on her desk, which have come from Ethel's conservatory, or a great golden orange is added to Sadie's luncheon, and it is sure to have been brought from Florida by Ethel's Uncle Tom. Ethel is full of kind thoughts, and is as liberal and generous as possible with things that cost her nothing. But still I do not regard her as unselfish, and I will tell you why.

She is not the least bit obliging. If she is seated in her little rocker by the south window, and mamma or auntie comes in, ever so tired, it does not occur to Ethel to offer her chair, that either of the ladies may rest. Indeed, if you hint it to her, she shakes her head and says, "There are plenty of chairs in the room; why should I give up mine?" Not long since Cousin Polly and little Agnes Lee arrived unexpectedly, and as there were other guests in the house, mamma was compelled to ask Ethel to give up her pretty room, and sleep for the night with her younger sister. Would you believe it, Ethel was so vexed that she pouted and sulked in Cousin Polly's face, would take no notice of the child, and finally cried herself to sleep? Not one of the family ever dreams of asking Ethel to run up stairs or down on an errand, to mend a ripped glove, to carry a message, or to do the slightest thing which will put her out of her usual way. They know that she is not an obliging girl, and, strangely enough, the very school-mates who accept her flowers and oranges, are much more fond of Mary Ann, a plain, dumpy little body, who never has anything to give away, but who is always greeting everybody with kind looks and words, and who, wherever she goes, is helping along.

JIM, THE FERRY BOY.

BY WADE WHIPPLE.

Waterview is in West Virginia. It overlooks the Great Kanawha River, and a very pretty river it is, too. You would think so if you were permitted to look out of any of the eastern windows of Waterview some bright summer morning, and see the willow and plane trees nodding to you from the opposite shore, and opening here and there to give you a glimpse of beautiful hills crowned with snowy clouds and bright blue sky.

And maybe if your eye chanced to rest on the cabin just at the foot of those beautiful hills, with its white-washed face peeping out of the maze of green and gold that almost hid it from view, you might wish to live there, even though the only way to bring it about would be by exchanging homes and natures with Jim, the Ferry Boy.

Jim was the light of that little cabin—yes, the light, for though his skin was as dark as the dusk, his happy and contented spirit shone out of his laughing eyes like sunbeams breaking through the chinks in a black cloud.