The Rattle or the Bones. How many lionea in the human taoe T Fourteen, when they're ail in place. How uiauy itonea in the human heed 7 Eight, my ohild, as I've oiten said. Itow many li 'lies in tho human ear? Three in o ICII, and they help to hear. How m my bones in the human apino 7 Twenty-six, like a climbing vine. How many bones in the htimau chest 7 Twonty-ionr ribs, and two of the rest. How many bones the shoulders hind 7 Two in oaeh-ono belore, one behind. How many bones in the human arm? In each arm one; two in each forearn Itow many benea in the human wrist 7 Eight in each, if none sre missed. How many bones in tho palm of the hand 7 Five in each, with many ahand. How many bonee in the Angers ten 7 Twenty-eight, and by joints they bend. How many bones in the human hip ? One in each tike a dish they dip. How many bones hi the human thigli 7 One in each, and deep they lie. How many bones in the human knees 7 One in each, the kneepan, please. How many bones in the log troui the kuee 7 Two in each we can plainly see. How many bones in the ankle strong 7 Seven in each, but none are long. How many bones in the ball of the loot 7 Five in each, as the palms were put. How many bones in the toes hall a i-care 7 Twenty-eight, and there are no more. And now, altogether, these many bonee Ax, And they count in the body, two hundred and six And t-uon we ha\ c, in the human month Ot u tper and under, thirty-two teeth. And now and then bare a bone I should think That tonus on a joint or to All up A chink. A sesamoid bone or a worm oan we call, And now we may rest tor we've told litem all, lnd anapolit Sentinel. An Unexpected Meeting. It wits A stnnii. onc*tory frame struc ture, presenting some of the character istics of a cabin ami cottage, built only a little way in from the road, and ap proached from it by a narrow wooden bridge, under which meandered, in temperate seasons, a gentle stream, hut which, in the fprvid vigor of the sum mer and the rigor of the winter, was dry and sil?nt. Away down in a meadow behiud this little senlry-toix WHS a large farmhouse, with a colony of smaller buildings springing up about it, and back of those was a wood, rising precipitously: to the brow of a protecting hill. IU summer-time this homestead of farmer Oilman was a smiling, shady place to look upon, as was, indeed, all the country in which nestled the ham let of Fairbank, distant a couple of miles away; but now that the iron fet ters of winter were on everything, it looked cold, cheerless and uninviting. It had been snowing all day—snow was everywhere. It was on the rich pasture Innds. on the closely-shaven meadows, on last year's tillage; it crowned fences, and maintained a pre carious existence on the roofs of houses; it rendered sightless gaps in broken roads, and lent a treacherous expansion to highways; it, in short, blotted ou the ordinary landmarks, and was on great, white, taringeyesore on the fare of the landscape. Night had come on. and with it in creased activity on the part of the storm. It was bitUrly cold, too, and there was an edge on the air like a knife. It was a night to enjoy a grateful meal and a comfortable fireside, and this was what May Seflon was prepar ing for her father's" return in the tittle cot'age by the roadside. The ample stove was aglow with the crackling wood-fire; the bright lamp light illumined the neat, decorous little kitchen; the old easy-chair wore a look of expectation as it stood by the tnbl that awaited the burden of the substan tial supper, snd the blue-eyed rose-bud herself was blithely singing snatches of a ditty, as if in definnce of the gloom and storm without. For a dozen years and upward May Sefton had occupied this same abode with hCT father, and had been his sole companion and housekeeper. About that time George Heft on had made his first appearance in Fail bank, bringing with him little else than a fair' sweet child of four or five years old, and carrying about him an air of sup pressed sufiering that silenced in quiries, albeit that (t somewhat excited curiosity. But this curiosit" was sat isfied and turned to sympathy when it was learned that the strangei had re cently huried bis partner, an<' that the golden-haired child he so tenderly cher ished was motherless. Georgo Sefton had not furnished Fair bnuk with this information in so many words. From the day of his arrival o the time whereof we write, he had never opened h** lips on the subject of his antecedents. Abraham Oilman, or old Abc.jis he was morn universally called, to distin guish him from a younger Abe, had ones asked George, when they wcie working in the fields together, if he wns nut a widower like himself, whereat * he's new employee had bent his head, and then maintained a silence so impres sive that the tact was taken for granted, and never after discussed. As for May, if questioned on the suh fect, she could only tall of a big town and a large house, and a fine lady that used sometimes to kiss her, and who, <>nc night, she was told by has faihosr had died and was buried away for ever mocr. "Six o'clock." cries May, stopping her warbling to laugh up in the face of the old clock thst chimed the hour. " Six o'clock," she laughs,as she turns the fragrant rashers in the oven, and eAets a searching glance at lbs table to see that it contains all her own home made dainties. "Father will be here presently. I wonder if Abe will— Hush, you nsugiity thing," she adds, under her or rath., and prosing her hands to her rosy month. as she hears a crunching sound drawing nigh. The sound draws marer till it stops lUfr'de, when thers