A half barrel of lime and oil was obtained, in which to thrust the files when ground, to keep them from rusting. This he mounted upon a stand within easy reach. He next went to the office and got a set of "file-grinder's" tools, the most impor

THE BURSTING OF THE GRINDSTONE.

tant of which were a level and a square, both very small, and made purposely for this work. These he put in the little case that hung on his saddle.

He tried the water and found that it was all right. Everything was ready. Old Sunset had given him a pair of "thumb-cots," in case his hand came in contact with the stone, and one of the other grinders

made him a present of a pair of leather stirrups, to keep the slate-colored mud from his shoes. The boy was fully equipped, and fairly aching to begin work, when the "speed" slackened and the whistle blew, which signaled that the day's work was over.

The next morning Will was promptly on hand, eager to begin the day's toil, but an unexpected obstacle presented itself. An accident had happened in the "annealing shop," and there were no files ready to be ground. Old Sunset and most of the other workmen took it easily, and sauntered off; but Will was too much excited to do any such thing. He staid by his stone, started it half a dozen times to see if it was still true, looked over his tools, tried the saddle, put on the thumb-cots, and finally wandered away to watch the annealers. Had he known who was standing behind the next stone, jealously watching his every motion, he would never have left Number Eight with no friend to protect it.

As soon as Will was fairly out of sight, the watcher stealthily advanced to Number Eight.

He was a red-headed, thick-set boy, about Will's age, and his inveterate enemy. The news of Will's good luck had been more than his jealous nature could bear, and he was going to have some sort of revenge. After looking cautiously around, he clambered awkwardly into the saddle, and set the big stone in motion. It almost frightened him to have the great smooth wheel turning so swiftly close between his knees. He felt as if he were going to topple over upon the monster. The first dizzy feeling, however, passed away in a moment, and he looked about him for means to injure the smooth surface that Will Storrs had labored so hard and so skillfully throughout the previous day to obtain. At his right, on a frail stand, lay the blunt chisel. He took it and struck the whirling stone repeated blows with the instrument. Growing bolder, he laid the chisel across the "rest," and, pressing its edge against the stone, cut out great uneven patches, till its circumference began to have a wavy

appearance, even at the high speed at which it was running.

But the boy was not satisfied yet, so he held the sharp corner of the chisel firmly against the stone, making parallel grooves a quarter of an inch deep throughout the whole surface.

Just as the young rascal had given the finishing touch to this piece of malice, Will, coming slowly in from the annealing-room, saw the red head bending over his stone, and heard the sharp "scratch" of the chisel.

cogs buffeted each other as usual, and the accident began to fade from the memories of the men.

A new stone was rolled in and named Number Eight. A new set of tools came from the office, another saddle was built, and Will began his business afresh. He soon was considered one of the best grinders in the room.

One day, some months later, as he was grinding busily, a boy entered the room on crutches.

The giant stone, as if unable to bear longer the mutilations and torture of the young vandal, gave a strange, rending roar, and, tearing itself free from the whirling shaft, sent one-half of its mighty body crashing through the iron roof. An instant later, a dull thud in the yard told where it had fallen. The other half crushed its way through the water-soaked planking, and lay buried in the ground.

The whole thing happened in an instant. The stone and its fixtures were blotted out so suddenly that Will was dazed. He hardly knew what was the matter; but others did. The same rending noise had been heard before, and the word went around that a stone had burst.

Within a few seconds the door-way was thronged with men. Will was pushed forward by the eager, questioning crowd till he stood close to the wreck. The wooden saddle lay shivered in pieces some feet from the place. Around the jagged hole in the roof were great spatters of oily lime, and the tools had been flung in all directions. But where was the boy who had been on the stone?

In the sudden mist of flying objects, Will had lost sight of him. A moaning cry, and a rush of feet to the other side of Old Sunset's stone, told where he was.

Will caught a glimpse of a pale face; then, as the crowd opened a little, he could distinctly see his enemy lying across a pile of unground “saw-files." One of the workmen lifted him up, and, as he did so, a shudder ran through the crowd: three great saw-files had cruelly torn and wounded the limp figure. He was laid upon a table, the sharp "tangs" were pulled out, and the blood was stanched. Finally a faint color came back to the pale face, and consciousness returned, but only to bring with it exquisite suffering. A physician being called, the wounded boy was sent off to the hospital.

Gradually the hands settled back to their work, the grinders feeling especially sober. The machin ery resumed its clatter and whirl, the great black

"Why, Tom," he said, "I'm very glad you 're back. When did you leave the city?"

A

"Last night," said the boy. Then, conquering a little choke, he said: "I treated you very badly, Will, an' I 've thought of it a heap since I've been laid up. So I thought I'd like to give you something, this is the only thing that I had. good old sailor uncle o' mine gave it to me when I was a little chap. He said it had been picked up from a wreck, and was a queer, risky thing, and he promised to show me how to fire it. But he was drowned off the coast afore he had a chance to keep his promise, and mother 's made me save it as kind o' sacred ever since. But this mornin' she told me I could give it to you for a keepsake, if I was so set on givin' you something."

He thrust a small package into Will's hand, and hobbled off.

Will untied it in amazement, and found a piece of iron pipe, an inch and a half in diameter, mounted on a curiously carved wooden block. It was a queer sort of a toy cannon. He examined the breech. It was made of a piece of lead, which was pounded into one end of the pipe and smoothed over; a small touch-hole had been drilled below the leaden plug.

Old Sunset came up just then, and Will showed him the gift. The Scotchman looked it all over carefully, saying:

"Wull ye stand in front or behind it when ye fire it off, lad?”

"Behind, of course!"

"Aye! so I thocht. Ye 'll stand behind it and catch the leeden plug, na doot."

"Do you think it will blow out?" asked Will.

"Of course it wull. The lad that gave it ye did na' ken it, probably, and na doot he would hae fired it himsel' without thinkin'. So you can hae the satisfaction o' feelin' that while he once saved you from injury by accident, now you save him from being blown up by a cannon that shoots baith ways at once."

"A SOAP-BUBBLE " is an uncouth, inelegant name for such an ethereal fairy sphere. It is such a common, every-day sight to us, we seldom give it much attention, or realize how wonderful and beautiful is this fragile, transparent, liquid globe. Its spherical form is typical of perfection, and the ever-changing, prismatic colors of its iridescent surface charm the eye.

It is like a beautiful dream; we are entranced while it lasts, but in an instant it vanishes, and leaves nothing to mark its former existence excepting the memory of its loveliness.

Few persons can stand by and watch another blowing bubbles without being seized with an uncontrollable desire to blow one for themselves. There is a peculiar charm or pleasure in the very act, which few persons who have known it ever outgrow. In the accompanying illustration are shown several kinds of soap-bubbles and a variety of ways of deriving amusement from them.

It is generally known that a bubble will burst if it touch any hard or smooth surface, but upon the carpet or a woolen cloth it will roll or bounce merrily.

If you take advantage of this fact, you can with a woolen cloth make bubbles dance and fly around as lively as a juggler's gilt balls, and you will be astonished to find what apparent rough handling these fragile bubbles will stand when you are careful not to allow them to touch anything but the woolen cloth.

It may be worth remarking that the coarser the soap the brighter the bubbles will be. The compound known as "soft soap" is the best for the purpose.

One of the pictures shows how to transform your soap-bubble into an aërial vapor-balloon.

After you

If you wish to try this pretty experiment, procure a rubber tube, say a yard long, and with an aperture small enough to require considerable stretching to force it over the gas-burner. have stretched one end so as to fit tightly over the burner, wrap the stem of a clay pipe with wet paper, and push it into the other end of the tube, where it must fit so as to allow no gas to escape. Dip the bowl of your pipe in the suds and turn the gas on; the force of the gas will be sufficient to

blow your bubble for you, and as the gas is lighter than the air, your bubble, when freed from the pipe, will rapidly ascend, and never stop in its upward course until it perishes.

Another group in our picture illustrates how old Uncle Enos, an aged negro down in Kentucky, used to amuse the children by making smokebubbles.

Did you ever see smoke-bubbles? In one the white-blue smoke, in beautiful curves, will curl and circle under its crystal shell. Another will possess

a lovely opalescent pearly appearance, and if one be thrown from the pipe while quite small and densely filled with smoke, it will appear like an opaque polished ball of milky whiteness. It is always a great frolic for the children when they catch Uncle Enos smoking his corn-cob pipe. They gather around his knee with their bowl of soap-suds and bubble-pipe, and while the good-natured old man takes a few lusty whiffs from his corn-cob, and fills his capacious mouth with tobacco-smoke, the children dip their pipe in the suds, start their bubble, and pass it to Uncle Enos. All then stoop down and watch the gradual growth of that wonderful smoke-bubble! and when "Dandy," the dog, chases and catches one of these bubbles, how the children laugh to see the astonished and injured look upon his face, and what fun it is to see him sneeze and rub his nose with his paw!

The figure at the bottom, in the corner of the illustration, shows you how to make a giant-bubble. It is done by first covering your hands well with soap-suds, then placing them together so as to form a cup, leaving a small opening at the bottom. All that is then necessary is to hold your mouth about a foot from your hands and blow into them. I have made bubbles in this way twice the size of my head. These bubbles are so large that they invariably burst upon striking the floor, being unable to withstand the concussion.

Although generally considered a trivial amusement, only fit for young children, blowing soapbubbles has been an occupation appreciated and indulged in by great philosophers and men of science, and wonderful discoveries in optics and natural philosophy have been made with only a clay pipe and a bowl of soap-suds.