ess,
as explained above, and the confined heat increasing until it is
sufficient to set the heap on fire.

[_By special arrangement with the author, the cards contributed to this
useful series, by_ W. J. ROLFE, A.M., _formerly Head-Master of the
Cambridge High School, will, for the present, first appear in_ HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE.]

[Illustration: GETTING WEIGHED.]

DAVE'S GREAT LUNCH.

BY J. B. MARSHALL.

It was the great day at the State Fair, and the sidewalks were nearly
deserted as Dave Burt went down Main Street toward the post-office. As
Dave approached the Town Hall, or the City Hall, as the good people of
Rawley were pleased to call that fine building, he glanced up at it, and
saw Mr. William Henry Barrington, the great lawyer, standing at one of
the large windows of his office. Mr. Barrington was frowning, and looked
up the street and down it as if impatiently waiting for some one.

"I'll bet he's mad 'cause he can't go to the fair," thought Dave.

A few days before, Billy Barrington, a nephew, had been telling the boys
of that fine office, with its brass-studded revolving chairs, great
bookcases of books, and a private room where the great lawyer ate his
dinner, which was sent up to him on a dumb-waiter from the restaurant in
the basement of the City Hall the moment he touched an electric bell.

Dave was recalling all the delightful possibilities of such a room,
when click! went something on the pavement before him.

"A penknife," said he, picking up the article, and then, looking in vain
among the branches of the tree for its owner. Examining the knife, he
noticed a slip of paper shut in under the largest blade, and on which
was written:

"Five Dollars Reward! I am on the City Hall roof, and can't get
down, as the spring-latch door has blown closed. Please send the
janitor to release me.

"CHARLES M. WILSON."

"Why, he's our Governor!" said astonished Dave, aloud, and started to
look for the janitor. Dave had been on the roof with his father only the
day previous, and knew just how the door would act if it was not
fastened back.

Stout old Billy Simms, the janitor, in his shirt sleeves, had
comfortably propped himself back in an arm-chair to take a nap, when
rap-rap-rap sounded on the door. Billy's "office," as he called it, was
on the ground-floor of the City Hall.

"Well, boy, what's wanted?" gruffly demanded old Billy, having opened
the door and discovered