Is that the latest style? inquired James Leech, with a sneer, pointing to a patch on the knee of Herbert Carter's pants. Herbert's face flushed. He was not ashamed of the patch, for he knew that his mother's poverty made it a necessity. But he felt that it was mean and dishonorable in James Leech, whose father was one of the rich men of Wrayburn, to taunt him with what he could not help. Some boys might have slunk away abashed, but Herbert had pluck and stood his ground.

If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all right, said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the little sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied ever since he was a boy of five. "Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it."

Mr. Roscoe rang the bell, and, in answer, a servant entered the library, where he sat before a large and commodious desk. "Has the mail yet arrived?" he asked. "Yes, sir; John has just come back from the village." "Go at once and bring me the letters and papers, if there are any." John bowed and withdrew. Mr. Roscoe walked to the window, and looked thoughtfully out upon a smooth, luxuriant lawn and an avenue of magnificent trees, through which carriages were driven to what was popularly known as Castle Roscoe. Everything, even to the luxuriously appointed room in which he sat, indicated...

John, saddle my horse, and bring him around to the door. The speaker was a boy of fifteen, handsomely dressed, and, to judge from his air and tone, a person of considerable consequence, in his own opinion, at least. The person addressed was employed in the stable of his father, Colonel Anthony Preston, and so inferior in social condition that Master Godfrey always addressed him in imperious tones. John looked up and answered, respectfully: "Master Godfrey, your horse is sick of the disease, and your father left orders that he wasn't to go out on no account."

One Saturday afternoon in January a lively and animated group of boys were gathered on the western side of a large pond in the village of Groveton. Prominent among them was a tall, pleasant-looking young man of twenty-two, the teacher of the Center Grammar School, Frederic Hooper, A. B., a recent graduate of Yale College. Evidently there was something of importance on foot. What it was may be learned from the words of the teacher.

The Town Hall in Rossville stands on a moderate elevation overlooking the principal street. It is generally open only when a meeting has been called by the Selectmen to transact town business, or occasionally in the evening when a lecture on temperance or a political address is to be delivered. Rossville is not large enough to sustain a course of lyceum lectures, and the townspeople are obliged to depend for intellectual nutriment upon such chance occasions as these. The majority of the inhabitants being engaged in agricultural pursuits, the population is somewhat scattered, and the houses,...

"A telegram for you, Andy!" said Arthur Bacon, as he entered the room of Andy Grant in Penhurst Academy. "A telegram!" repeated Andy, in vague alarm, for the word suggested something urgent - probably bad news of some kind. He tore open the envelope and read the few words of the message: "Come home at once. Something has happened MOTHER

Well, good by, Rodney! I leave school tomorrow. I am going to learn a trade. "I am sorry to part with you, David. Couldn't you stay another term?" "No: my uncle says I must be earning my living, and I have a chance to learn the carpenter's trade." "Where are you going?" "To Duffield, some twenty miles away. I wish I were in your shoes. You have no money cares, and can go on quietly and complete your education." "I don't know how I am situated, David. I only know that my guardian pays my expenses at this boarding school."

Is that the latest style? inquired James Leech, with a sneer, pointing to a patch on the knee of Herbert Carter's pants. Herbert's face flushed. He was not ashamed of the patch, for he knew that his mother's poverty made it a necessity. But he felt that it was mean and dishonorable in James Leech, whose father was one of the rich men of Wrayburn, to taunt him with what he could not help. Some boys might have slunk away abashed, but Herbert had pluck and stood his ground.

If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all right, said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the little sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied ever since he was a boy of five. "Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it."