Our town recently received an innovation in the shape of a splendidly asphalted street, and one very hot day, shortly after its completion, Goliath drove up to the door of the hardware store with Scratchbones.

Coming in, he began boasting, as usual, of his wonderful mule, and how well he stood the hot weather. None of us young fellows cared to question the heat, and as for the mule, we thought it was either stand it or lie down. He evidently preferred to stand, for there he stood in the blazing sun staring blankly down the street.

Goliath had dropped in to make some purchases, which, of course, necessitated a great deal of talk and time. In the mean while Scratchbones was patiently waiting in the hot sun outside, scarcely budging, unless it was an occasional switch of his tail. A thunder-storm had been brewing, and when Goliath finally started for the door down came the rain, sending up steam from the hot street. Nothing suited him better than to have an excuse to further regale us with a list of his mule's remarkable talents. Among the many, he spoke of his ability to drive Scratchbones, and how well he obeyed him. Now, while this talk had been going on, I had occasionally glanced at Scratchbones, and he seemed uneasy, especially since the rain had started, and was nervously switching his tail back and forth. I thought it was on account of the storm, but casually glancing at him, I noted something that made me smile, and, slipping off my seat, I quietly told the other boys.

"Goliath," I said, "I'll wager a large, juicy watermelon that your mule won't obey you if I tell him not to."

"Ha! ha! ha! He! he! youse is foolin' dis yere ole man, Ma.s.sa Harry."

"No, no, I mean it. All I'll do is to say something to myself, and your mule won't budge when you say 'gee,' but simply wag his tail."

"It's done, Ma.s.sa Harry. I'se'll take dat wager, but de melon has to be de largest you can git."

"All right," I said. And as it had stopped raining, Goliath proceeded to his wagon, and, climbing up on the seat, picked up the ropes he called reins and shouted, "Gee up dere, Scratch." But, as I predicted, Scratch never moved a leg, but only switched his tail.

"Gee up dere; what's de mattah wif youse?" But not a move did that mule make. We stood in the doorway laughing so heartily that Goliath grew suspicious, and climbing down, walked slowly around the mule and wagon, doubtless to discover if we had played him a trick.

Everything appeared all right, and getting on the wagon, he tried it again. "Get along dere, Scratch, you long-eared bone-yard. Gee up!"

It was useless; Scratch wouldn't move, and Goliath, with a woe-begone, puzzled expression on his face, clambered down and surveyed old Scratchbones. His eyes wandered along every st.i.tch of the harness, and finally down to Scratch's feet. A very curious look covered his face, and stooping, he discovered the reason why Scratch wouldn't gee.

Scratchbones and the wagon had stood so long on that new asphalt, and unfortunately in a place made softer than the rest by the sun, that he actually had sunk _into_ it, and the tarry stuff had gathered around his hoofs. The rainfall cooled it off, hardening it, and consequently both mule and wagon were locked to the street.

Goliath was mad, and claimed we had put up the joke on him. However, he lost the melon, and as it took an hour or so to dig Scratch out, we made him get it, and finally got him into good humor, but told him never to boast of his wonderful mule.

"I's done boastin' of dat mule. Neber no more, ma.s.sas, dat mule done need no one to boast of 'im. He done show how proud he am when he can't stan' in de street widout gettin' stuck on 'imself."

HUBERT EARL.

A MEAN MAN.

A French paper tells of a man who ought to be set down as the meanest man of his time. His name is Rapineau, and he is the happy father of three children. His chief claim to meanness lies in the fact that he has lately discovered a plan to reduce his weekly expenditure. Every morning, when sitting down at table, he makes the following proposal: "Those who will go without breakfast shall have twopence." "Me--me!"

exclaim the youngsters in chorus. Rapineau gives them the money and suppresses the breakfast. In the afternoon, when the children were anxiously expecting their first meal, Rapineau calls out, "Those who want their dinner must give twopence;" and they all pay back what they received in the morning for going without their breakfast, and in that way Rapineau saves a meal a day.

JOHN KILBURNE'S FORT.

BY JAMES OTIS.

Seven miles from that settlement in the province of New Hampshire which is now known as Keene, John Kilburne built, in the year 1754, a log house of such strength and so well adapted for defence that his neighbors spoke of it as a "garrison," and more than one ridiculed the idea of erecting a fort when only a dwelling-house was required.

It troubled stout-hearted John Kilburne not one whit that his acquaintances found subject for mirth in the precautions he took against a savage foe. "In case the Indians do make an attack upon me and mine, I shall be in better condition to receive them in a building of this kind than in one erected flimsily, and if they do not, my wife and two boys will sleep all the more soundly for knowing I have protected them from possible intruders." This the owner of the "garrison" repeated again and again, until finding he would make no other reply to their bantering, his friends ceased to speak derisively of the structure.

In one year from the time the fortlike house had been built John Kilburne had good cause for satisfaction with himself. England was again at war with the French regarding her possessions in the New World, and the Indians were making indiscriminate attacks upon the settlers in the easternmost provinces.

Benjamin and Arthur Kilburne, sons of John and Martha his wife, although but fourteen and twelve years of age respectively, were well versed in the use of fire-arms, for in those days the a.s.sistance of even the children of a household might become necessary. Rumors of Indian depredations were rife, yet they felt little fear of an attack. Within the walls of the "garrison" their father and themselves would be able to hold in check a large body of savages, and be exposed to but little danger.

The crops had been harvested; the cattle were inside the stockade, where was ample food for them in case of a siege, and where they would serve as food if the larder of the house needed replenishing.

Early on the morning of the 9th of October John Pike, his wife, and two sisters arrived at the "garrison" with a pitiful tale. The Indians had killed Daniel Twitchel and Jacob Flynt the night previous, and the visitors had but just escaped from their home before it was set on fire by the cruel enemy.

"I doubt not they will make an attack here before another day, friend Kilburne, yet I beg shelter of you, and my rifle may not come amiss."

"You would be welcome to stay, even though unarmed," was the hearty reply. "The garrison is large enough for all, and I would that Daniel Twitchel had spent more time strengthening his own dwelling against an attack instead of trying to find flaws in the way I chose to provide for my family. Ben, you and your brother had better mould bullets. It will serve to keep you in-doors, and no one can say how much ammunition may be needed."

As the boys set about the task, Mr. Kilburne listened again to the sad news brought by his neighbor. There was nothing to be done in the way of making ready for defence, because that had been attended to when no danger threatened.

John Pike had not finished giving his story in detail, when Mrs.

Kilburne, who had stepped out of the house to get water from the pump, which stood close at hand, sprang back suddenly, her face so pale that there was no necessity of asking the cause of her alarm.

The two men were at the loop-holes in an instant, and that which he saw caused Mr. Kilburne to say sharply:

"Ben, I leave the north side of the house to you and your brother. Our lives may depend upon your vigilance, and there is to be no waste of ammunition; every bullet must strike its target. Mary," he added, to his wife, "you and your friends will keep the spare guns loaded, and finish what the boys have left undone at the fire. I do not--"

"It is a regular army that has come upon us," Mr. Pike interrupted. "I have counted not less than forty savages in the edge of the thicket, and there must be as many more on either side of the house!"

It was learned later that the enemy numbered a hundred and seventy, all well armed.

Ben and Arthur were peering eagerly out through loop-holes cut on each side of the shuttered window, and the former was the first to discharge his weapon.

"I saw a head over the top of the stockade," he said, in reply to his father's question.

"Their number is so large that they will likely put on a bolder front than usual," Mr. Kilburne muttered to himself, and despite the strength of the "garrison," he felt decidedly anxious regarding the result of the attack.

During an hour the men and boys remained on watch, while the women attended to their portion of the work, and hardly a sound was heard, save when the brothers whispered together. After the first shot had been fired the enemy remained completely hidden in the thicket which surrounded the house.

Then, and almost at the same instant, each of the watchers discharged his weapon. On either side of the stockade plumed heads had suddenly come into view, and a hundred bullets struck the building.

There was a low moan from that portion of the room where Mr. Kilburne was stationed; but owing to the reports of the fire-arms, it was not heard by the inmates.

The first intimation the defenders had that one of their number had fallen under the heavy fire was when Ben turned to take up the spare gun his mother had placed by his side, and saw his father lying on the floor with a thin stream of blood issuing from his lips.

"Oh, father!" he cried, as he ran toward the wounded man; but when he would have raised the dear head he was motioned away:

"Remember your mother, my boy! You can do me no good, and now there is additional reason why you should not neglect your duty."

By this time Mrs. Kilburne was at her husband's side, and Ben took his station at the loop-hole once more; but the tears blinded him, until it became necessary to brush them away before he could see the feather-bedecked bodies which were here and there upon the stockade ready to leap into the enclosure.

During the next half-hour neither of the boys had an opportunity to so much as glance toward their father. Should the enemy succeed in getting into the enclosure, the result might, and probably would, be fatal to the defenders of the house.

John Pike made valiant battle, nor were the boys lacking in skill and courage. More than one of the foe had met death before he could leap down from the top of the stockade, and four who did succeed were met by bullets while creeping up close to the building, where the timbers would shelter them from the deadly aim of those within.

After this desperate struggle there was a lull in the storm of battle, and Arthur said, in a low tone, as he stood with his eye to the loop-hole,