Giles' Paint Brush.

BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.

It was a rainy day in summer. A chilly wind swept about the house and
bent the branches of the trees, and reminded every one who encountered
it that autumn, with its gales, would return as promptly as ever.

A bright fire was blazing in the sitting-room, and near it were Mrs.
Strong with her two little girls, and also Aunt Martha Bates, whom they
were visiting. Rufus Strong, aged fourteen, stood by a closed window,
listlessly drumming on a pane.

He was tired of reading, and tired of watching the ladies sew, and tired
of building toy houses for his sisters.

"I guess I'll go out to the barn and find Uncle Giles," said he at
length.

Mrs. Strong, who had found the music on the window pane rather
monotonous, quickly responded in favor of the plan.

"Just the one I want to see!" exclaimed Uncle Giles, as Rufus made his
appearance at the barn door. "I'm getting my tools in order, and now you
can turn the grind-stone while I sharpen this scythe."

Rufus cheerfully agreed to this proposal, and performed his part with a
hearty good will.

"Do you always put your tools in order on rainy days?" he asked.

"Well, yes; I always look over them and see if they need attention. Then
when I want them they are ready for use. Now, since this job is done,
suppose you undertake another. Wouldn't this be a good time to paint
those boxes for Aunt Martha's flowers? You know you promised to paint
them for her, and if you do it now, they'll be good and dry when she
wants to pot her plants in September?"

"I think you believe in preparing for work beforehand, don't you, Uncle
Giles?"

"Yes, indeed, that I do. It saves ever so much time when you have any
work to do to have things all ready. What's the matter, can't you find
the paint brush?"

"No, Uncle, and I'm sure that I saw it in its place not very long ago."

This reminded Uncle Giles that neighbor Jones had borrowed the brush a
few days previous and had not yet returned it.

"He promised to bring it home that day," said Mr. Bates, "but he's not
apt to do things promptly. I guess you'll have to step over to his house
and ask him if he's through with it."

Rufus started off on the errand and soon, returned carrying the brush in
a small tin pail, half-full of water.

"Mr. Jones is much obliged to you for the use of it," he said to his
uncle, "and he's sorry that he hasn't had time to wash out the brush."

Mr. Bates looked r