books he had read he could give a correct and complete analysis. In Mr. Bliss's own account of the interview he says, "In addition to the ripe intelligence manifested in one so young, and whose instruction had been so limited, there was a single-mindedness, a truthfulness and common sense 5 in what he said that at once commanded my regard."

After half an hour's conversation with the boy Mr. Bliss intimated that he thought he would do, and told him to go into the printing office and talk to the foreman. Horace went to the printing office, and there his 10 appearance produced an effect on the tender minds of the three apprentices who were at work therein which can be much better imagined than described.

The foreman at first was inclined to wonder that Mr. Bliss should for one moment think it possible that a 15 boy got up in that style could perform the most ordinary duties of a printer's apprentice. Ten minutes' talk with him, however, effected a partial revolution in his mind in the boy's favor. He tore off a slip of proof paper, wrote a few words upon it hastily with a pencil, and told the 20 boy to take it to Mr. Bliss.

That piece of paper was his fate. The words were, "Guess we'd better try him." Away went Horace to the garden and presented his paper. Mr. Bliss, whose curiosity had been excited to a high pitch by the extraordinary 25

contrast between the appearance of the boy and his real quality, now entered into a long conversation with him, questioned him respecting his history, his past employments, his parents, their circumstances, his own inten5 tions and wishes; and the longer he talked the more his admiration grew.

The result was that he agreed to accept Horace as an apprentice, provided his father would agree to the usual terms; and then, with eager steps and a light heart, the 10 happy boy took the dusty road that led to his home in Westhaven.

"You're not going to hire that tow-head, Mr. Bliss, are you?" asked one of the apprentices at the close of the day. "I am," was the reply, " and if you boys are expect15 ing to get any fun out of him, you'd better get it quick, or you'll be too late. There's something in that towhead, as you'll find out before you're a week older."

A day or two after, Horace packed up his wardrobe in a small cotton handkerchief. Small as it was, it would 20 have held more; for its proprietor never had more than two shirts and one change of outer clothing at the same time, till he was of age. side to Poultney, the boy stick over his shoulder.

Father and son walked side by carrying his possessions upon a

Abridged.

THE NÜRNBERG STOVE-I

LOUISE DE LA RAMÉE

August lived in a little town far away over the sea. It had the green meadows and the great mountains all about it, and the gray-green glacier-fed water rushed by it. He was a small boy of nine years-a chubby-faced little man with rosy cheeks, big eyes, and clusters of curls 5 the brown of ripe nuts. His mother was dead, his father was poor, and there were many mouths at home to feed. Still they were a happy family, for the elder sister took good care of them and they loved one another dearly.

One cold, dark night little August was hurrying home, 10 half frozen and a little frightened, but he kept up his courage by saying over and over again to himself, "Soon I shall be at home with Hirschvogel."

Now Hirschvogel was a stove, a great porcelain stove, eight feet tall. It was not like our stoves, for instead 15 of being black it was burnished with all the hues of a king's peacock and a queen's jewels. It had flowers and figures painted all over it; its golden feet were shaped like lion's claws, and on the top of all was a great golden crown.

It was a very old stove, and no doubt had stood in 20 palaces and been made for princes, for it was a right

royal thing. Yet perhaps it had never been more useful than it was now in this poor, bare room, sending down heat and comfort into the troop of children on the wolf skin at its feet.

5 At last August was indeed at home, and as the door flew open at his knock he darted in shouting, "Oh, dear Hirschvogel, but for the thought of you I should have died! You are almost as great and good as the sun! No; you are greater and better, I think, because he goes 10 away all these long, dark, cold hours, but you - you are always ready; just a little bit of wood to feed you, and you will make a summer for us the winter through!"

The grand old stove seemed to smile at the praises of the child. When August had eaten his supper he lay 15 down on the floor with the children around him on the great wolf-skin rug. With some sticks of charcoal he drew pictures of what he had seen during the day. And Hirschvogel looked down on what he was doing.

For the stove was called Hirschvogel in the family as 20 if it were a living creature, and little August was very proud because he too had been named after that famous old dead German who had made so glorious a thing. All the children loved the stove, but August used to say to himself, "When I am a man I will make just such things 25 as our beautiful stove."