er," and, as he was Cashier of the Fireman's Five Cents Savings Bank, he had some right to that title. Their daughter Maria had aspirations, and gave vent to them by playing scales upon the piano. Her brother Johnny, a winning child of ten, was, as Sunday-school weeklies are pleased to call children, the "wellspring of joy in the household."

One hot Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Pettingill

COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY F. E. CHASE.

was darning the family stockings in her parlor, when a ring at the front door-bell caused her to put the basket of stockings hurriedly aside and to take up some embroidery.

Mrs. P. I wonder who that can be at the door. If it's a pedler, Bridget, tell him he must go right away; the trouble I am put to by these pedlers and book agents is something dreadful, to say nothing of tramps, who sneak into the front entry and steal the overcoats. Mr. Pettingill lost a new blue overcoat last winter, and his umbrella! Put the chain up, Bridget, when you open the door!

Uncle Micajah Bliffin (coming into the room after an altercation with Bridget). Well, sister Emily, you did n't get my letter! Your hired girl took me for a tramp, and ordered me away.

Mrs. P. Why, brother Micajah Bliffin; where on earth did you come from? You

gave me such a start! When did you come to town? How do you do? How is Hepsy?

Uncle M. This morning; I'm pretty middlin'; but Hepsy, she always enjoys poor health; she's been ailing all winter, and now the doctor says she has narvous perspiration! Mrs. P. Nervous perspiration! How she must suffer!

Uncle M. Yes, she does suffer. The doctor has cut her off from pies, and she says she feels kind of lonesome without pies! Her spirits are kind of downcast; and she is fidgety-like!

Mrs. P. When you go home, I'll send her a bottle of my Calisaya Bark Bitters! But what brought you to town?

Uncle M. I'm a delegate from Billerica to the Prohibitory convention!

I

Mrs. P. Why not really, Micajah? didn't know you was interested in politics.

Uncle M. I've made myself kind of conspicuous lately on the subject of rum.

I'm

agin it, soul and body. Where's all your folks?

Mrs. P. Solomon is at his banking house; Maria's at the Conservatory of Music; Maria's real musical, you know; little Johnny is at home. The dear child is just home from school. I will call him. (Calling.) Johnny! Johnny! come in and speak to your Uncle Micajah Bliffin !

Fohnny (without). Sha'n't.

Uncle M. Kind of pert, ain't he?

Mrs. P. He's a dear good boy usually; he must be very tired and nervous to answer me in that way. Come in here, Johnny, your uncle is waiting to see you. (Fohnny comes in.)

Uncle M. How do you do, Johnny? I haven't seen you since you was in your cradle. Now, who does he look like, Emily?

Mrs. P. He has the Bliffin mouth and chin, but Solomon insists that he favors the Pettingills.

Uncle M. How old be you, Johnny?

Johnny. It is my birthday to-day ; I'm ten Ma, can't I have a toy pistol?

years old.

Mrs. P. Certainly not, unless you want to die of lockjaw. Why, Johnny, your stocking is torn, and your coat is covered with mud, and your lip is all cut and bleeding! What have you been up to?

Johnny. I had a fight with Tom Baxter.

Mrs. P. Had a fight with that Baxter boy! Now, Johnny, when naughty boys want to fight with you, you should tell them that your mamma does n't think it pretty to fight.

Johnny. He said he'd seen the "ManFish" down to Slambasket Beach and I had n't, so we had a fight!

Mrs. P. And the naughty boy hit you on the lip!

Johnny. You just ought to see the black eye I gave him!

Uncle M. So you hain't been to Slam