came in behind the little school-teacher one afternoon.

"I cal'late," she said, "that being kep' in a dark room, and never being
tread on, it will last longer 'n I do. If it does, Priscilla, you know
that white crepe shawl of mine I wear to meeting hot Sundays: that would
make a second row of everlastings round the border. You could piece
out the linings good and smooth on the under side, draw in the white
flowers, and fill 'em round with black to set 'em off. The rug would be
han'somer than ever then, and the story--would be finished."

A VILLAGE STRADIVARIUS.

I.

"Goodfellow, Puck and goblins,
Know more than any book.
Down with your doleful problems,
And court the sunny brook.
The south-winds are quick-witted,
The schools are sad and slow,
The masters quite omitted
The lore we care to know."

Emerson's _April._

"Find the 317th page, Davy, and begin at the top of the right-hand
column."

The boy turned the leaves of the old instruction book obediently, and
then began to read in a sing-song, monotonous tone:--

"'One of Pag-pag'"--

"Pag-a-ni-ni's."

"'One of Paggernyner's' (I wish all the fellers in your stories didn't
have such tough old names!) 'most dis-as-ter-ous triumphs he had when
playing at Lord Holland's.' (Who was Lord Holland, uncle Tony?) 'Some
one asked him to im-pro-vise on the violin the story of a son who kills
his father, runs a-way, becomes a highway-man, falls in love with a
girl who will not listen to him; so he leads her to a wild country site,
suddenly jumping with her from a rock into an a-b-y-double-s'"--

"Abyss."

"'--a--rock--into--an--abyss, were they disappear forever. Paggernyner
listened quietly, and when the story was at an end he asked that all the
lights should be distinguished.'"

"Look closer, Davy."

"'Should be extinguished. He then began playing, and so terrible was
the musical in-ter-pre-ta-tion of the idea which had been given him
that several of the ladies fainted, and the sal-salon-s_a_lon, when
relighted, looked like a battle-field.' Cracky! Wouldn't you like to
have been there, uncle Tony? But I don't believe anybody ever played
that way, do you?"

"Yes," said the listener, dreamily raising his sightless eyes to the
elm-tree that grew by the kitchen door. "I believe it, and I can hear
it myself when you read the story to me. I feel that the secret of
everything in the world that is beautiful