best they knew, because they were poor. Still they were fairies,-" practical fairies" they were called in the theater, because they were alive and could work.

The palace behind them was the home of Prince Catchoc. Presently, the Prince came on and spoke to the Witch Blackcattia. Then he waved his wand and cried out: "Come forth, oh fairies! and hie you to your cloudy home."

"Cloudy home" was the "cue" for the men in the fly-galleries, so, as soon as they heard the words, they began to turn great cranks. The wires tightened, and each fairy felt herself lifted into the air as she stood in the stirrups.

'Steady, girls!" said a man standing in the wing. "Wave your wands now, and keep them waving till you reach the flies."

"My belt hurts," said Jane. "Can't help it now.

You should have spoken

Here you go!"

Our fairy rose with the others above the rocks and looked out over the stage to the house beyond. What a vast throng of people rising tier above tier to the roof! How many children there were! She waved her wand slowly and tried to ease her belt, and cared no more for the thousands looking at her than if they were wooden images. She was helping father pay that debt. This was her business, and that's all she thought about it. As the fairies moved slowly upward, as if flying, a loud shout of applause came from the people. They always did that every night, and our fairy really hardly heard it. It seemed to be a part of the regular thing, just like the creaking wheels over her head. Up and up and up the fairies went, and the people only cheered the more, and our fairy glanced up to the flies to see how much farther she must go. Now her head reached the level of the edge of the flies, and they began to hide the theater as if a curtain had been let down before her. The air grew hot and stifling, and the flaring gas-lamps shone directly in her face. Now they were nearly up, and in a moment would disappear from the people.

Suddenly she felt the wire stop. She had nearly passed the flies, but her feet were still below. The other fairies moved on past her and were soon over her head. Somehow, her wire had caught.

Then some boys in the gallery laughed. She could not see the people in the house, but she heard the boys laugh.

The idea of a fairy going up to the sky and stopping there, with her feet hanging out of the clouds ! The audience broke into a loud laugh. They were laughing at the fairy. Her face flushed with mortification and misery, and she burst into tears.

"Oh, sir, call the manager! Call the manager, and let me down!"

There he was, now, tearing up the winding stairs to the fly-gallery on her right, where the man was working over the machinery.

"For heaven's sake, man, stop that! The wire may break. Ring the curtain down.”

The tears ran down her cheeks and fell in shining drops forty feet through the air to the stage below, while all the people laughed in ill-mannered merriment. Then she heard the bell, and knew that the curtain was going down to hide her misery. "Don't cry, Miss Brown," said the manager, leaning over the gallery, for he was only just above her. "The people were very rude; but we must n't mind 'em. Send the other girls down, Mr. Smith."

This was the stage manager, who had also come up on the fly-gallery. The other girls were above Jane, and they now moved down, passed by her, and safely reached the stage far below.

"They were real mean,” said Kate as she passed. "I hate 'em for laughing."

"We can't get you down just now, miss," said the manager. "You must wait a little while. We will pull you up between the flies till after the next act. Are you quite comfortable?"

"Yes, sir. The belt hurts me, but-" Then she saw Mr. Smith on the gallery, and she added, "I don't mind it much. And, if you please, I'd like a drink of water."

"Mr. Smith, these girls must never be sent up unless they are quite comfortable. Tell the gasman to put a bottle of water on a pole and hand it to Miss Brown."

“Thank you, sir," said Jane; “and, sir, you see, I'm not high enough in the profession yet." "Good for you, little one! That's the right kind of talk for a rising fairy."

She saw a man putting together a jointed fishing-pole. A boy brought a bottle of water, and

"Yes, miss, in a moment."

"Go on! Go on!" cried the stage-manager from below. There was a hush and sudden pause, as if no one knew what was the matter. She could see the people on the stage looking up and the conductor waiting with upraised baton.

edge of the fly-gallery, they pushed out the pole till she could reach the bottle. She took it off and put it to her mouth and drank, and then the gasman took it away.

"Go on with the next act," said the manager, "and send some men up to the rigging-loft to pull the girl up a foot or two."

The flies before and behind her moved up and down. She saw the men below moving the scenes, and, presently, the bell rang for the curtain, and the play went on. There she hung in mid-air, between two sheets of painted canvas, with one of the rows of border-lights enclosed in iron cages right in front of her. It was terribly hot, and the perspiration dripped from her chin and ran down her bare arms, as she swung slowly backward and forward in the hot draft of air that swept through the place. The leading lady in the play was on the stage below, directly under her feet. She listened to every word and noted every gesture, and wondered if she ever should be a leading lady, and have a good salary and a carriage and all that.

Ah! What is that? A tiny puff of smoke floating in the air! She looked about in alarm to see where it came from. What if the theater should take fire, and she up there among the flies and unable to get down? Her eye caught a slender stream of smoke curling from the ragged edge of the canvas fly in front of her. It had been torn, and the piece had been blown or pushed through the wire cage that covered the border-lights. The cloth was already smouldering in the heat. She made a movement of her body, and found she could swing herself backward and forward in the air. Perhaps, by swinging she could reach the smoking cloth and tear it off before it took fire. She swung farther and farther each time. The smoke was increasing, and she could see the cloth curling up in the heat. She was tempted to call out for help, but was so terrified she could think of nothing save the bit of smouldering cloth. Ah! The next swing would bring her in reach. She dropped her wand, and it fell. She stretched out both hands and grasped the canvas and held it tight, and, as she swung back, a yard or more of the rotten stuff tore off and instantly blazed up, fanned into flame by the motion through the air. She swung back against the fly behind her and dropped the cloth, for it had burned her wrist. The wand fell straight down, struck the stage, and bounded off to the right, and the blazing cloth floated down, swirling round and round, like a burning meteor out of the sky. She looked along the border, as she swung forward again, and saw she had torn the burning portion completely off. The fire was out.

The crash of the falling wand startled everybody, and when the burning rag fell down in sight of the whole audience, the people looked from one to another in alarm. The play stopped, and there was a terrible hush, as if a panic was about to begin. Some person, silly and wicked with fear, cried out "Fire!" and everybody stood up.

"It's all out! It's all out!" screamed Jane.

The child's shrill, clear voice from the flies went through the whole vast building, and everybody heard it and was still.

She looked down on the stage, and saw the manager, with a white face, wildly looking up at her.

"It's out, sir. I tore it off. There's no fire." She saw him run to the wall and take down a canvas sign on which was marked in big letters, "NO FIRE. SIT DOWN!" She knew he was going to the edge of the stage to hold it up before the people. Suddenly, the border lights all went out and she was left hanging in darkness, though the stage below was still lighted by the foot-lights. She supposed it must be for safety this had been done, and she was glad of it, for the heat was terrible.

Then she heard the people sit down. The panic had been prevented. Then the bell rang, and the curtain went down. Suddenly, a man in the gallery of the theater cried out :

"Hurrah for the little girl!"

The next moment, the most tremendous roar came from behind the curtain. It frightened the fairy, for she did not know what it meant.

"There's no fire! Tell 'em not to run out," she cried, as loud as she could.

She heard the manager calling the people on the stage to their places, and, looking down, she called to him.

"Let me down! I've burned my wrist."

"Be quick, men ! Let the girl down. The house is calling her."

The wire started, moved faster and faster, and in a moment she stood on the stage. Such a hubbub and uproar! Everybody wanted to shake her hand, and the leading lady ran up to her and kissed her.

"My child, the house is wild for you. you before the curtain."

66

I'll take

No. no. Let me change my dress first." "Hear the girl! Come! I'll escort you on." They were making a fearful din outside the curtain, and, before she knew it, she was standing in front of the curtain, with the manager holding one hand, and the leading lady the other. All the people stood up and gave three loud cheers, but she only felt that dreadful burning pain in her left wrist. Then the manager held up his hand, and the house was as still as a mouse.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Miss Brown, by her courage and ready coolness, conquered the devouring element and heroically

"Oh, cut that!" cried a loud-voiced man in the gallery. "Pass the hat for her. It's Christmas, anyway!"

With that, he threw a silver half-dollar down on

LONG, long ago, when the world was some six hundred years younger than it is now, a certain little boy was born on the sunny slopes of Vespig

nano.

I dare say you never so much as heard of Vespignano before, and that is not to be wondered at, because it is only a wee bit of a hamlet, away off in the heart of Tuscany, of no importance to anybody, except to the few peasants whose uneventful lives are spent there.

Yet, because of this little boy who first opened his eyes within its ragged, rugged borders, the little hamlet, no doubt, takes a certain pride in itself, and when it has time to think about it at all, thinks it may surely hold up its head with the best.

This little boy's name was Giotto Bondone,-or Bondone Giotto, very likely, he was called by his comrades, for the Italians have a queer fashion of twisting round their names until one cannot tell which is the Christian and which the surname !

Giotto was a happy-go-lucky little fellow from the very first. His father was but a simple farmer, who worked from early morning till long after the sun had gone to bed,-worked with a pair of patient, white oxen in his master's corn-fields, and

vineyards, and sheep-pastures, to be paid in the harvest-time with just enough corn and wine and wool to keep himself, his wife and his boy, happy and hearty.

It was not much that Father Bondone could give his little child besides a name, a sheep-skin with the wool still on for a coat, and plenty of sunshine and pure air.

But the child had something of his own better than any gift. He had a bright and happy nature, and an intelligence so remarkable that even when he could just walk and talk, it attracted all who saw him, and made him his father's pet.

When he was ten years old, Father Bondone thought it time he should begin to be useful,— time to be earning at least the salt to his porridge, -so he was sent out to watch a few sheep in the fields.

I think he did more than keep the young lambs from straying.

I think he laid himself down on the ground, and forgot all about the sheep, sometimes, while from the blue skies, and green valleys, and brilliant flowers, and warmly-tinted rocks of old Tuscany, he learned how to mix colors on his palette by