we were glad of at least one thing: while the people talked so queerly that we could not understand a word, the cats, dogs, horses, and mules of America used the very same language that those of Asia use. It is strange that cats should have an advantage over men, but they seem to, in speech. My master studied a great many languages, he had to have a different one for nearly every land he visited, but we cats have a universal tongue the wide world over.

After a while, we were again put in a box and carried upon shipboard; but this time the journey was short, and in a few weeks we landed in the great city of New York. What a noise! what a confusion of noises! Here we were soon taken to a very pretty house, and Gora was decked with a pink ribbon, tied around her neck, while I wore a blue one. We frolicked and played to our hearts' content, only Master never would let us go out-ofdoors-not even into the back yard-without having somebody to lead us, for he said we were each worth more than a hundred dollars in gold, and somebody might be prowling about to steal us

away.

Then came the sad day when Gora went to Washington, and I was left alone.

I had not long to be lonely, though, for in a little while Mr. Barnum came, and invited me to spend a little time at his great museum. I became a member of his "Happy Family"; but I shall not tell the professional secret of how I-who always had a keen tooth for a bit of fresh meatlearned to let a canary perch upon my head, white mice run over my paws, and a rabbit sit by my side, without an attempt to eat any of them.

We were a queer cage-full, and for many months crowds of people came to see us. But, one day, some good angel must have whispered to my master to take me away. That very night, when I was safely sleeping upon a cushion at the foot of his bed, the museum caught fire. Oh, how the lions and tigers roared! and how the poor monkeys chattered! But there was no escape for any of them. Nearly all the animals, including every one of my companions of the "Happy Family," were burned to cinders.

I heard Master read it all in the newspapers the next morning, and I purred about him, and rubbed my head against his hand, by way of thanking him for saving my life.

Soon after this escape, I started for Washington to make Gora a visit, and upon this journey a sad thing befell me. As the distance was not very great, my master did not put me in a box, but carried me in his arms. While our cars were stopping at a station, another train, with its fiery engine at its head, went thundering by; I was frightened quite

caught me. Did n't his eyes sparkle when the crisp bank-note was put into his hand!

So I reached Washington safely, after all, but not in time to see my darling Gora. A few days before, she had been suddenly taken ill, and although she was dosed with cat-mint and carefully nursed, the disease proved fatal.

I can not tell you how I mourned over my lost sister. For a long time I mewed all day and howled at night with uncontrollable grief.

But my story is already too long for your patience. I am now an old cat, and have journeyed over a great part of the world. Such an aversion have I to any more traveling that, whenever a wooden box is brought into the room, I fancy that I am again to be sent upon a journey, and I retreat under the sofa, thrust my claws into the carpet, and cling there for dear life.

It was "writing afternoon," said Miss Jenkins,— and my scholars were new. If you had ever been a teacher, my dear, you would realize what the combination of those two simple facts implies the weariness of body and the utter vexation of spirit. First, there's the holding of the pen. If there's one thing more than another in which scholars exhibit their own originality, it is in managing a pen-holder. I've counted one-and-forty different ways, among as many boys, more than onceeach separate way quite different from what I had taught them five minutes before.

Then, the ink: To some it was simply ink, nothing more. To others it seemed an irresistible tempter, whispering of unique designs, grotesque or otherwise, to be worked out upon desk or jacket, or perhaps upon the back of one small hand.

Well, upon the afternoon of which I am going to tell you, I had had more correcting to do than usual, for some of the scholars were stupid, and could n't do as I wished; and others were careless, and did n't try. What with the looking, and stooping, and continual showing, I felt my patience giving way, and when I saw that three of the largest boys had left the page upon which they should have been practicing, and were making "unknown characters" in different parts of their books, I lost it utterly.

"I

"That I will not have," said I, sharply. will punish any boy who makes a mark upon any but the lesson-page."

They were very still for a while. Nothing was heard but the scratch, scratching of the pens, and the sound of my footsteps as I walked up and down the aisles. Involuntarily, I found myself studying the hands before me as if they had been faces. There was Harry Sanford's, large and plump, but flabby withal, and not over clean. His "n's" stood weakly upon their legs, seeming to feel the need of other letters to prop them up. Walter Lane's, red and chapped, with short, stubbed fingers, nails bitten off to the quick, had yet a certain air of sturdy dignity; and his "n's," if not handsome, were certainly plain, and looked as if they knew their place, and meant to keep it,

too.

Tommy Silver's, long and limp, besmeared with ink from palm to nail, vainly strove to keep time with a tongue which wagged, uncertainly,

this way and that, and which should have been red, but was black, like the fingers. His "n's" had neither form nor comeliness, and might have stood for "v's," or even "x's," quite as well.

Then there was Hugh Bright's hand, hard and rough with work, holding the pen as if it never meant to let it go; but his "n's "were "n's," and could by no possible chance be mistaken for anything else.

At length I came to Frank Dunbar's desk-dear little Frank, who had been a real help and comfort to me since the day when he bashfully knocked at my door, with books and slate in hand. His hand was white and shapely; fingers spotless, nails immaculate, and his "n's "--but what was it that sent a cold chill over me as I looked at them? Ah, my dear, if I should live a thousand years, I could never tell you how I felt when I found that Frank Dunbar had written half a dozen letters upon the opposite page of his copy-book!

"Why, Frank," said I, "how did that happen?" "I did it."

"You did it before I spoke?" said I, clinging to a forlorn hope.

“No, 'm; I did it afterward. I forgot."

“Oh, Frank! my good, good boy! How could you? Don't you see that I shall have to punish you?"

up

"Yes, 'm,”—the brave blue eyes looking calmly into my face.

"Very well; you may go to the desk."

He went, and I walked the aisles again,-up and down, up and down, giving a caution here or a word of advice there, but not knowing, in the least, what I was about. My thoughts were all with the flaxen-haired culprit, who stood bravely awaiting his penalty.

Vainly I strove to listen to my inward monitor. It seemed suddenly to have become two-voiced,— the one tantalizing, the other soothing,-and, of course, the tones were conflicting.

"You must punish him," said one.
"You must n't," said another.
"He deserves it."
"He does n't."

"He disobeyed you flatly."

"But he forgot-and he has always been so good."

"But you promised. You have given your word. Here are thirty boys to whom you should

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW A CHURCH FLEW A KITE.

As soon as possible, Phaeton went down town with his drawing in his pocket, and hunted up the office of the chief-engineer. This, he found, was in the engine-house of Deluge One,—a carpeted room, nearly filled with arm-chairs, having at one end a platform, on which were a sofa and an octagonal desk. The walls were draped with flags, and bore several mottoes, among which were "Ever Ready," "Fearless and Free," and "The Path of Duty is the Path of Glory." Under the last was a huge silver trumpet, hung by a red cord, with large tassels.

This was the room where the business meetings of Deluge One were held, and where the chiefengineer had his office. But the young men who were now playing cards and smoking here told Phaeton the chief-engineer was not in, but might be found at Shumway's.

This was a large establishment for the manufacture of clothing, and when Phaeton had finally hunted down his man, he found him to be a cutter, one of several who stood at high tables and cut out garments for the other tailors to make. "I've come to consult you about a machine,' said Phaeton.

"I don't know what you mean by that," said Phaeton; "but there 's no gas about mine."

The chief-engineer, who all this time had gone on cutting, laid down his shears on the pattern. "Let's see it," said he.

Phaeton produced his drawing, spread it out before him, and explained it.

"Why, boy," said the chief-engineer, "you could n't--and yet, perhaps, you could-it never would—and still it might-there would be no-but I'm not so sure about that. Let me study this thing."

He planted his elbows on the table, each side of the drawing, brought his head down between his hands, buried his fingers in the mass of his hair, and looked intently at the picture for some minutes.

"Where did you get this?" said he, at last. "I drew it," said Phaeton; "it 's my invention." "And what do you want me to do about it?" "I thought, perhaps, you could help me in getting it into use."

"Just so! Well, leave it with me, and I'll think it over, and you can call again in a few days."

Phaeton did call again, and was told that the chief-engineer was holding a meeting in the enginehouse. Going over to the engine-house, he found it full of men, and was unable to get in. The next time he called, the chief-engineer told him he look it over yet." Next And so it seemed likely