called on Father to say that he had written to his son, forgiving him for all the past and begging him to come home to live with him.

"What has influenced you to this decision?" asked my father. “Are you afraid that the burglars

will come?"

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other houses; but the mystery was explained, at last, by Miss Mary Parrot, a little old maid, who lived, in very great poverty, in a small red house at the extreme end of the lane. Aunt Polly," as we all called her, heard the ringing in the wall of her dining-room, and was not at all

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"They have come !"

"What?" exclaimed our father.

"My house was entered last night," replied Squire Tweezer. "It was quite late, but I had not retired. I was quietly reading my newspaper, when-jingle, jingle, jingle, I heard a bell in some remote part of the house. It could not be the housekeeper ringing for the maid, for every one in the house had gone to bed long before, and there was even less probability that there were callers. Instantly the idea flashed through my mind that it was the burglar-alarm, and I felt my hair rise on my head. I rose to my feet, letting my paper fall, and listened. Presently I heard the bell in another part of the house; evidently the burglars had left that window and were trying another, and so it went on. I really believe, my dear sir, they tampered with every window on the premises; at any rate, that little bell sent its warning jingle from every part of the house. Finally, they seemed to have got in, for I heard the ringing in the parlors beneath me. I had just enough presence of mind left to lock and barricade my door, and then I believe that for a few hours I actually lost my senses, for I seemed to hear that bell all about me -overhead, underfoot, in the walls, accompanied by scuffling feet running up and down the staircase. Silence came at length, shortly after morning dawned, and the strangest part of my story is that we could not find that a single article had been taken, or that the doors or windows had been opened. However, my nerves have received such a shock that I have decided that it will be a very desirable thing to have a stout fellow like my son in the house to grapple with a robber, in case one should come."

Squire Tweezer's story was discussed by our parents in our presence, and certainly no culprits ever looked guiltier than we when the bell was mentioned again. We should have confessed then and there, had not Father remarked:

"Whatever may have caused the ringing which the Squire heard, or thought he heard, it has done good, and I am glad that he has sent for his son." After that, we heard of our rat in a number of

rapping and thumping just behind the side-board. As it happened in the day-time, she went for the village carpenter, who moved the slender-legged side-board and widened a rat-hole which he found in the wall, until out rolled a black ball, with a metallic something attached. Even the selfpossessed Aunt Polly gathered her petticoats about her, and sprang upon a chair. It was our rat; but in the wall he had found an object which had probably been dragged there from the sideboard by other rats, on account of some dainty which it had formerly held. The object was a tiny solid-silver sugar-bowl, and our rat, having introduced his head, had been held fast by the bell catching within the rim of the bowl.

This bowl was a quaint little affair, and it bore the name of the engraver who had decorated it-Paul Revere. There were plenty of antiquarians who would give Aunt Polly a handsome sum for the little Revolutionary relic.

Little Elizabeth Fry recognized the bell, and claimed it. Sarah Boardman, who had been suffering during all this time with the consciousness of a guilty secret, confessed all; and Squire Tweezer, the young lady next door, and Aunt Polly, were constituted a committee to decide what punishment should be inflicted upon us. They never came to any decision, and all seemed perfectly satisfied with the result. Even the young lady next door, who no longer believed that she was to die within the year (since the bell was not a warning from the spirit-land), made an immediate donation of her contribution to the missionaries,

instead

of making them wait for

her will, and she

was heard to say that, since she could be deceived in one "sign," she might be in others; hereafter she would not believe in "signs" at all.

FOR lack of space, the Treasure-box lays before you this month, dear readers, only four short poems, songs we might better call them, and two of them very famous songs. These, "The Three Fishers," and "The Sea," are especially appropriate to the midsummer, when from our large cities thousands of boys and girls, with their fathers and mothers, flock to the sea-side on a joyous holiday. All such fortunate young folk know that the ocean is both a grand giver of delight and a terrible destroyer; and so they will appreciate the beauty and truth of these two songs of the sea. They were written by two noted

Englishmen, Charles Kingsley and Bryan Waller Procter (better known by his nom de plume of "Barry Cornwall"). Both of these authors, as some of you know already, gave to the world many more important writings than their short and simple songs. Yet even these have gained them a high reputation, for Charles Kingsley and Barry Cornwall are ranked by lovers of true poetry as among the foremost of English song-writers. The dainty poem, "Golden-tressèd Adelaide," was written by Procter for his daughter, Adelaide Procter, who herself afterward became well-known as a poet.

CHAPTER IX.

GYMNASTICS.

HE week following the first excursion of the Ramblers' Club was cold and stormy, such as often comes in April after a spell of fine weather.

Will Torrance declared that the roads would be too muddy and the fields too soft on Saturday for any fun in rambling; and all the Park boys agreed with him.

"It's sandy along the lake," he said, "but we don't want to try that over again, right away."

"It's a bad sort of a place, too," remarked Otis Burr. "The people alongshore own their ducks."

"And you have to pay for them if you shoot them," laughed Jack Roberts. "They caught you at it, did they?"

I

"Jack, ducks are a sore subject with me. had mine cooked, and we tried to eat him. If he wasn't tough, there was something the matter with our carving-knife. It wouldn't make a scratch on him, after he came to the table."

Charley Ferris had almost as bad an account to give; but Will could say a very good word for his sandpipers.

"We served them broiled, on toast," he said, "and there was only one real difficulty."

"What was that?"

"We had to eat them two at a time to make sure we were eating anything,-they were SO small!"

The wind and rain made it a quiet week for the boys, and there was all the more time for those who had newspapers to get up or declamations to prepare. John Derry had made up his mind on the whole subject.

"I'll stick to oratory. I and Daniel Webster are the greatest orators alive. He is a kind man, too; saves me the trouble of making up anything."

There was no danger that John would again take so much trouble as on the first Friday; but Mr. Hayne shook his head a little when the young 'orator" came upon the platform, and began pre

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cisely where he left off before, on being interrupted by Mr. Hayne.

"You see, boys," said John, "Mr. Webster put a good deal into that speech. I think it'll last me till vacation."

John's labor-saving plan did not work; Mr. Hayne called upon him for a written exercise for the next week, and gave him as a theme, "The Discovery of America by Columbus."

The other declamations were pretty good, and the newspapers brought in by what Jeff Carroll called "the second set" of editors were nearly as well prepared as the first had been, so that the interest was kept up.

That was all very well, but it did not suggest to the boys what they could do with Saturday, in the kind of weather they were likely to have.

"I'll tell you one thing we can do," said Andy Wright, as he listened to the murmurs around him in the entry-way, after school.

"What 's that?"

"I'm going to try it, myself. Professor Sling, the gymnasium man, has been refitting his concern. New fixings, of all sorts. He wants some new classes, and he has put his prices down."

"He's a good man," said Otis Burr, solemnly. "Classes in what?" asked Joe Martin. "Just what you need: boxing, fencing, all that sort of thing. He gives the first lesson free." "I'll go and take that one, anyhow," exclaimed John Derry.

"I move we all show ourselves at Professor Sling's, to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock," said Charley Ferris.

"Don't scare him to death!" said Jeff Carroll. "He's a small man.'

The motion did not require to be put, but the word went around among the boys, and, in consequence, there was about as faithful an attendance at Professor Sling's, at the appointed hour, as if he had been Mr. Hayne himself.

The "gymnasium was a fairly good one, and had been creeping slowly into popularity for about a year, but nearly all its patrons had been fullgrown men.

Professor Sling was now showing wisdom in trying to call in the boys, but he had publicly declared that his "boy classes" would be carefully compelled to obey his instructions. Medical men had warned him that boys in their teens must not be allowed to strain themselves.