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They, however, with the complacency natur al to boys of six or thereabouts, were indifferent to the tempest of despair which raged within their sister's breast. They had considerately refrained from adding deceit to the guilt, but had con fessed, fully and unreservedly,to rilling the canary's nest, to tearing a jacket, and 1-ising a hat down the well, t) eat ing the strawberries that were saved for supper, and to catching their most faithful hen with a fish-hook. The fish-hook represented the straw ; Char lotte the camel. She could have borne anything better than downright cruel ty developed so early in one of her own blood. She never was a boy. "And a man was here," said Popsey. "A big man," volunteered Wopsev, the other twin. "And ' e asked us a bout everything,and we said our moth er wasn't very well and our si3ter was an old maid school ma'am." Charlotte winced. Where had he picked up that expression ? Aud had it come to that ? "You must not talk to strange men about mother or me. What did he want ?" "He wanted to see you." "Me ?" Visions of tramps, of spy ing burglars, only they had nothing to "burgle," as Popsey had said one day, came into her mind. "How did he look ?" "He was beautiful." "lie was dread ful," said the twins in duet. Further questioning dieted these facts : He was young ; he was old ; he was short ; he was tali ; he wore spectaclis ; he wore a mustache, and was a bug-man. In the last and crowning fact the boys agreed. Practice had made Miss lirantome a tolerable clairvoyant, so far as reading j those two small minds was concerned. I She jumped at the conclusion that some wandering naturalist chasing au elusive bug had chanced that way, aud gave the subject no more attention. She had other things to thinE of than "bug-men" or any men, and the prob lem of how to provide a new hat for Wopsey and how to instil remorse into the hearts of her charges drove other thoughts away. Sitting down on the low door-step of the house that bad been home to her for six and twenty years, she tried to reason it out. The sun was yet high, the days were at their longest. Behind her flowed the tireless river ; in front of her across the prairie, the hills were green. In the field of rye oyer the way gleamed a white wooden cross. Her grandfather, in whose veins flowed some of the blue blood of France, had bought a home in ttiis western country when the remnaut of an Indian tribe had still property to sell. The deed of sale provided for the preservation of iheir little burying-ground. The grain grew thick around, but the tiny village of the dead was never disturbed by spade 01 plough. Old Pierre, however, hacf never pros pered. Neither did Pierre the younger; and one night, when riding home, his horse shied in the moonlight and threw him with his head against a stone ; he left BO legacy but the home- stead and a debt to his wife and children. There was a gap of twenty years between Charlotte and tne twin babies, and she really had a third infant on h'er hands, for her mother was nothing more use ful than that after her husband's death She was not feeble-minded exactly, but painfully gentle—strange and unac countable. Charlotte shouldered her burdens with A brave heart. Her French ac cent—for Grandfather Brantome's blood had never filtered through Canada —brought her employment in a school town near by. The long walks back and forth kept the roses blooming in her cheeks, the boys were good—some times—and she, being busy,was happy. It requires leisure to be successfully miserable. The burying-ground tvpihed to her the "daily martyrdom of private life." And now, looking at it, her heart grew light. The new hat would cost but a trifle. Surely there were more straw berries ripe in the gardeu, the canary would lay more t ggs, the jacket could be mended, and old Speckle had prov ed superior to the flsh hook. But what could the boys be screaming about ? "The bug man ! the bug-man I" they were shouting,trotting toward her with all their might on their little feet. It was certainly strange. Why should a stranger call twice ? That he should come once was not surprising— but twice ? "We showed him your photograph," said Popsey, "and he said you didn't look like an old maid a bit. " MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 1885. "And lie sal