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dragged upon the ground, there was a medium sized hook. This hook caught Tom's heel just below the ankle and held him like a steel trap. Tom was thrown down and dragged upon the ground and his frantic struggle to get up and his cries "head them off, head them off," served to frighten the calves yet more. It was utterly impossible for me to even hope to approximate their speed and on they went through the blackberry patch and across the hedge-row with Tom dragging at their heels and shrieking like one possessed. At last, thanks to our poor workmanship, the yoke broke, the calves were free and so was Tom. He picked himself up and limped away to the corner of the orchard where we picked the thorns from his flesh, cleaned up his tattered clothes, and solemnly promised each other never to say anything about the mtater and never to attempt to break calves again. C. C. BROWN.
Our Burglar.
I have always felt myself particularly fitted to act as guardian to those of my sex who are timid or bereft of their natural protectors. It was therefore with great inward satisfaction that I mounted guard, figuratevly speaking, over our premises during a brief absence of my family. Our hired girl was by no means a timid creature still I felt a sense of responsibility concerning her. As night approached I charged Susan to carefully fasten the shutters, while I, with conscious dignity, examined locks and bolts. Though everything was quite as it should be, nevertheless, before we retired Susan insisted that we place delicately poised chairs and tin basins near the doors and windows as traps for any unwary burglar who might succeed in entering the house.
Shortly after midnight my attentive ear became aware of stealthy footsteps. I carefully made my way to a window and looked down. Imagine my sensations when in the semi-darkness I beheld the figure of a man, disappearing toward the rear of the house. Seizing my father's army revolver, which had not been fired for years, I hurried fearfully down the back stairs.
What I proposed to do, I am unable to say; what I succeeded in doing may be briefly stated: Rushing past the kitchen window I collided with a nicely balanced copper boiler and fell headlong into an elaborate structure, consisting of two chairs and the gasoline stove oven. I emerged from the ruins however, in time to witness my burglar's retreat into the coal-house. Evidently the noise had alarmed him. Susan then made her appearance and we held a council of war. The man did not seem over bold, so, since neither would leave the other to go for help, we decided to hold our prisoner in a state of seige with one big revolver. Judge of our relief when, just before dawn, we heard the heavy footsteps of our neighbor, a policeman, returning home from his "beat." In answer to Susan's frantic appeal he at once appeared, and like music in our ears was the voice of the law, demanding the immediate evacuation of the coal-house. The door slowly opened, and what was our consternation upon beholding the meek culprit who presented himself, no other than our Susan's sweetheart, who had come on a peaceful purpose bent, to seranade her with a harmless mouth organ.
HELEN G. METCALF.
A Child's Laugh.
Sing on, sweetest warbler from 'neath the green trees! Play on, weird harper, enchanting the breeze; Ye thousand voiced choirs in harmony sing; And silver-toned cornets your melodies ring.
But all your sweet concord is dissonance wild,
Compared with clear, rippling laugh of a child.
There is healing enough in one cup-full of mirth
To sooth half the sorrows and anguish of earth.
Sing on, rosy Laughter, fond daughter of Joy,
And banish forever the cares that annoy;
You have dimples enough to catch and to keep
All the sorrowing tear drops that mortals can weep.
W. S. Jenks '87, in the Agora.