"Why were you standing near the hogshead, Benjamin?"

"Why," said Ben, ingenuously, "the
hogshead happened to be near me--that was all."

"Were you not trying to drown the kitten?"

"O, I wouldn't drown her for anything,"
said Ben with an injured expression, mentally
adding, "short of a three-cent piece."

"Then, to repeat my interrogatory, what
was you a doing of with the kitten in the hogshead?"

"I was teaching her to swim," said Ben,
looking out of the corner of his eye at his
father, to see what impression this explanation
made upon him.

"And what advantageous result do you
think would be brought about by teaching of
the kitten to swim, Benjamin?" persisted his
father.

"Advantageous result!" repeated Ben,
demurely, pretending not to understand.

"Certingly."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you not study your dictionary at
school, Benjamin?"

"Yes, but I don't like it much."

"You are very much in error.  You will
never learn to employ your tongue with elegance
and precision, unless you engage in this
beneficial study."

"I can use my tongue well enough, without
studying grammar," said Ben.  He proceeded
to illustrate the truth of this assertion
by twisting his tongue about in a comical
manner.

"Tongue," exclaimed his father, "is but
another name for language I mean your
native language."

"Oh!"

Ben was about to leave the room to avoid
further questions of an embarrassing nature,
when his father interrupted his exit by saying--

"Stay, Benjamin, do not withdraw till I
have made all the inquiries which I intend."

The boy unwillingly returned.

"You have not answered my question."

"I've forgotten what it was."

"What good would it do?" asked the
Squire, simplifying his speech to reach Ben's
comprehension, "what good would it do to
teach the kitten to swim?"

"O, I thought," said Ben, hesitating, "that
some time or other she might happen to fall
into the water, and might not be able to get
out unless she knew how."

"I think," said his father with an unusual
display of sagacity, "that she will be in much
greater hazard of drowning while learning to
swim under your direction than by any other
chance likely to befall her."

"Shouldn't wonder," was Ben's mental comment,
"Pretty cute for you, dad."

Fortunately, Ben did not express his
thoughts aloud.  They would have implied
such an utter lack of respect that the Squire
would have been quite overwhelmed by the
reflection that his impressive manners had
produced no greater effect on one who had so
excellent a chance of being impressed by them.

"Benjamin," concluded his father, "I have
an errand for you to execute.  You may go to
Mr. Prescott's and see if he is yet living.  I
hear that he is a lying on the brink of the
grave."

An expression of sadness stole over the
usually merry face of Ben, as he started on his
errand.

"Poor Paul!" he thought, "what will he do
when his father dies?  He's such a capital
fellow, too.  I just wish I had a wagon load
of money, I do, and I'd give him half.  That's
so!"

II.

PAUL PRESCOTT'S HOME.

We will precede Ben on his visit to the house
of Mr. Prescott.

It was an old weather-beaten house, of one
story, about half a mile distant from 'Squire
Newcome's residence.  The Prescott family
had lived here for five years, or ever since they
had removed to Wrenville.  Until within a
year they had lived comfortably, when two
blows came in quick succession.  The first was
the death of Mrs. Prescott, an excellent woman,
whose loss was deeply felt by her husband
and son.  Soon afterwards Mr. Prescott, a
carpenter by trade, while at work upon the
roof of a high building, fell off, and not only
broke his leg badly, but suffered some internal
injury of a still more serious nature.  He had
not been able to do a stroke of work since. 
After some months it became evident that he
would never recover.  A year had now passed. 
During this time his expenses had swallowed
up the small amount which he had succeeded
in laying up previous to his sickness.  It was
clear that at his death there would be nothing
left.  At thirteen years of age Paul would have
to begin the world without a penny.

Mr. Prescott lay upon a bed in a small bedroom
adjoining the kitchen.  Paul, a thoughtful-
looking boy sat beside it, ready to answer
his call.

There had been silence for some time, when
Mr. Prescott called feebly--

"Paul!"

"I am here, father," said Paul.

"I am almost gone, Paul, I don't think I
shall last through the day."

"O, father," said Paul, sorrowfully, "Don't
leave me."

"That is the only grief I have in dying--I
must leave you to struggle for yourself, Paul. 
I shall be able to leave you absolutely nothing."

"Don't think of that, father.  I am young
and strong--I can earn my living in some
way."

"I hoped to live long enough to give you
an education.  I wanted you to have a fairer
start in the world than I had."

"Never mind, father," said Paul, soothingly,
"Don't be uneasy about me.  God will provide
for me."

Again there was a silence, broken only by
the difficult breathing of the sick man.

He spoke again.

"There is one thing, Paul, that I want to
tell you before I die."

Paul drew closer to the bedside.

"It is something which has troubled me as
I lay here.  I shall feel easier for speaking of
it.  You remember that we lived at Cedarville
before we came here."

"Yes, father."

"About two years before we left there, a
promising speculation was brought to my
notice.  An agent of a Lake Superior mine
visited our village and represented the mine in
so favorable a light that many of my neighbors
bought shares, fully expecting to double their
money in a year.  Among the rest I was attacked
with the fever of speculation.  I had