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the new, kind meaning to the words, the phrase will come to be as good as the Golden Rule in the New Testament, and everybody will be interested in knowing about it.

Then this secker out of meanings, of the year 2090, might perhaps read something like this:

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'The phrase, Tit for Tat' has undergone a curious change. For a long time it was what people said when they returned evil for evil: Tit for Tat,' 'This for That,' i. e., this injury I do you is in payment for that injury you did me.”

"But in 1886 some American children thought that they would give the phrase a new and nobler meaning would make it the watchword of kind deeds done in return for unkind ones; in other words a sort of supplement to the Bible's Golden Rule. Their example spread among all the children in the land, and now in America the phrase is never used in the old sense."

The more I think of it, the more I feel as if I must be writing a sort of prophecy, and it would

really come true. Any boy or girl who thinks it a good prophecy, that ought to come true, can begin to fulfill it right away. Every good thing that has ever been done in the world, has been done by one person's beginning it first! Then this person makes others think and do as he does, and so the thing is at last accomplished.

As I have great hopes that some among the ST. NICHOLAS children will agree with me that we ought to give poor "Tit for Tat" a chance to become respectable, I have written two little verses, which will be good to help them to remember their duty in the case:

"It was the Dutchmen said it first.
They called it 'Dit vor dat.'
It's grown to be an ugly rule,
As we say, 'Tit for Tat.'

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THE GREAT SNOWBALL FIGHT.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

THE boys from Tin Horn were always troublesome, to begin with. On the other hand, the village boys, and especially those belonging to the Boat Club, were never friendly to the Tin Horn boys. There was a mill at Tin Horn, and nearly all the boys worked there, and on Saturday afternoons, when the mill was closed, they came over to the Great Pond, half-way to the village, to see the boat ing and skating. These mill boys were not exactly bad, but their confined life and hard work made them rather rough playfellows. Perhaps this was partly owing to the fact that they had never felt the soothing influence of a lapstreak nor the moral support of a pair of good skates. They were poor boys. The village boys had skates and lapstreaks and a good boathouse. So it happened there was not much intercourse between the two sets of boys. It was even said the Tin Horn boys stood on the shore and made fun of the younger members of the honorable Boat Club. On the other hand, the village boys had never once invited the mill boys to take a sail, though there was always room enough in the boats. In the winter, the poor little fellows stood and looked on while the more fortunate boys cut beautiful figures with their club skates. Perhaps, if they had

never put themselves in the skaters' way, nor laughed quite so loudly when any fellow sat down unintentionally, the village boys might have been more friendly. But it did seem as if the boys from Tin Horn were forever making trouble of some kind.

One night in February, there was a heavy fall of snow, and the skating on the Great Pond was greatly impeded. The members of the Boat Club, knowing that everybody would wish to try the skating on Saturday afternoon, went down to the pond, and with brooms and shovels cleared off the snow over quite a large part of the ice in front of the boathouse. But the snow had drifted badly in the night, and the dawn of Saturday broke clear, cold, and very windy. Parts of the sandy road along the north shore were bare, and the wind was northwest. These things the boys did not at the time observe, which was a great pity, for had they noticed them, the great snowball fight might not have happened.

Soon after one o'clock, the entire Boat Club, accompanied by every boy and girl who owned a pair of skates, went to the pond. When they reached the cleared place, the skating was completely ruined. The ice was covered with sand. Every one said at once that those dreadful mill

boys had spread sand on the ice, out of mischief, just to spoil the fun they could not enjoy themselves.

Then James Carter, the President of the Boat Club, said the sand must be swept off the ice, and he appointed Jake Stiles, Fred Tinker, and Tommy Morris as a committee of three to go over to the Widow Lawson's and borrow one or two brooms. The Widow Lawson lived in a large wooden house near the edge of the pond. Her husband had died several years before, and she now earned a living by taking boarders in the summer. The house was beautifully located on the road that skirted the pond, and the little place was about half a mile from the village and a mile from Tin Horn. There was a garden in front of the house, and behind it a well with an old-fashioned well-sweep. It was said that the house, the little barn, and the garden made all the property the widow had in the world, and taking boarders was her only means of support.

The committee found Mrs. Lawson busy in the attic, cleaning some old clothes with naphtha. She came down to them and even went to the barn and found three old brooms, which she said had been very good brooms when they were new. The committee took the brooms and said they were much obliged and would do as much for her some day.

"Mebby you will," she said. "Folks have been beholden to children before now. I hope none of you'll get drowned. Skating on the ice is dangerous particularly in warm weather."

"It is cold enough now," said the chairman of the committee.

"So the folks were saying, and I noticed my well is nearly frozen up," was the reply. "I suppose there 's not a drop of water for a mile, and the river frozen and the pond covered with ice. It's scurcely weather for ducks, I'm sure."

The widow always did like to talk, and the committee bowed themselves out as politely and quickly as they could. As they crossed the road to go to the pond, whom should they meet but Teddy O'Brien on his way to his home at Tin Horn.

"There's one of the little wretches who put sand on the ice," cried the chairman of the committee. "Let us tumble him into the snow."

They were three to one. Poor little Teddy was all alone, and he had a pound of butter in one hand and a package of tea in the other. He dropped his bundles and tried to make a brave fight for it, but they soon rolled him in the snow and ran off, laughing heartily at his tears. All the boys and girls saw what was done, and when the committee arrived some laughed, but others said it was a very mean thing to do, and that Teddy would go home and tell the mill boys, and they would take his

part and be sure to do something far worse than putting sand on the ice.

Three of the big boys took the brooms, and in a very short time the sand was swept away, and then the fun began. Teddy O'Brien was forgotten in the sport, and time flew away more quickly than they knew. Perhaps an hour had passed when one of the little boys who had broken his skate strap, and was sitting on the bank trying to mend it, saw a great number of boys creeping quietly along the road beyond the Widow Lawson's house. They were Tin Horn boys. When they reached the edge of the pond, they all began to pick up the snow and to make snowballs. What did it mean? What was going to happen? Were these enemies preparing for a snowball fight? Every one seemed to discover them, at the same time, and the next moment the boys began to gather around the President of the Boat Club, and some of the girls sat down on the bank and began to take off their skates.

"The committee on brooms," said the president, "has involved us in a nice little difficulty. Every boy at the mills has come over to avenge the wrongs of Teddy O'Brien.”

One fellow, who had lost three fingers in a haycutter, suggested that it would be well to go home. "No, sir!" exclaimed the others, adding: "We must stay and fight it out. If we run away, they will chase us and get the better of us. The thing for us to do is to take off our skates, and make a lot of snowballs."

"Would n't it be better to make a fort?"

"No," said the President. "There is no time. The best way is to form a line, and go at 'em as fast as we can. Unless we drive them off they will drive us off, and smash the windows of the clubhouse afterwards."

The

The President was made Captain on the spot, and he at once gave his orders for the fight. little boys must go home with the girls, and call every fellow in the village to come out and drive the Tin Horn boys back. Some of the girls wished to stay and see the fight, and care for the wounded, and every boy declared he was not a little fellow, and would not go home with the girls, anyhow.

While this was going on, there came a loud yell from the enemy, and they were seen advancing from the shore in a long line over the ice. The fight was about to begin, and for a moment there was some confusion. Every one was making snowballs as rapidly as possible, and the Captain rushed about giving his orders. Suddenly, there were several shots fired by the enemy. Little 'Tilda Simpkins had her hat knocked off, and she began to cry loudly. There was some lively dodging

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"Form a line, fellows - form a line. Steady little wreath of smoke was issuing through the roof. in the ranks.

Steady!"

They formed as strong a line as possible and advanced boldly, while all the girls ran away as fast as they could, to report the dreadful news in the village, and to carry 'Tilda Simpkins home to her mother.

"Forward!" cried Captain Carter. "Forward, all together!"

The charge was magnificent, and the mill boys, who expected to take the skaters by surprise, were for a moment demoralized. There were skirmishers thrown out in front, and there was a good volley from the entire army. It was too much for them and they broke and ran, followed by the villagers, shouting and firing as fast as possible. Reaching the banks of the pond, the enemy made a stand. They had lots of spare balls stored up, and with these they made a fierce fight. The balls flew thick and fast. Many a poor fellow had a sore nose and cold fingers.

It was no use. The mill boys were two to one against the villagers. Captain Carter managed to keep his line well formed, but it was too short. The enemy began to flank him on both sides and the fellows at the ends were getting badly punished. Two had fallen out with a cut lip or sore hands. The fight waged hotter and hotter. Hot shots were plentiful, which was remarkable considering the snow was so cold. The Tin Horn boys fought savagely. They were bound to avenge Teddy O'Brien and his lost butter and tea.

Slowly they began to press their enemy across the pond. The shots flew faster and faster. There were shouts, and perhaps cries of pain, but no one minded how badly he was wounded, and all flung the snowballs as fast as possible. The Tin Horn line of battle was splendidly managed, and just as Captain Carter had retired to the boathouse to care for his wounds, Micky O'Toole, the Tin Horn General, succeeded in breaking the villagers' line in the center. They were outnumbered, and greatly demoralized by the loss of their leader, and they were on the point of breaking up in confusion, when there came a terrible cry, half a scream, half a shout of alarm.

"Fire! Fire!"

"Mercy on us! Can't ye stop your play to hear me? My naphtha can fell over and set the roof

In an instant, the two armies were running, friend and foe together, toward the burning house. They had forgotten their battle in the presence of real danger and greater disaster. Captain Carter forgot his bruised chin, and started to follow the boys running to the fire.

"Will nobody call the men-folks?" cried the poor widow, as Captain Carter ran past her.

"T would be of no use, ma'am," he replied. "There 's not a drop of water to be had anywhere." "Call the men-folks! Call the men-folks. I'm only a poor lone woman, and all my best things are burning in the garret."

Captain James Carter wished to go to the fire. The poor woman appealed to him to go to the village for the engine. Here was a good fight within himself, between duty and selfishness.

"I must run to town for the men,” he cried, and was off in a moment.

The village boys and the mill boys reached the burning house together, and stood perplexed and alarmed. One corner of the roof was smoking at every shingle. There were tiny tongues of fire along the eaves. What could they do? The pond was frozen, the well-sweep stiff with ice.

"Let us bring out the furniture," cried the chairman of the committee on brooms.

There was a rush toward the burning house, but just then General Micky O'Toole sprang on the top of the fence and cried out :

"Hold on, fellows! Ye may get killed entirely if ye go inside. Let's snowball the roof! That'll put the fire out.”

And he quickly made a soft snowball and sent it flying toward the house. It lodged on the roof and rolled down through the smoke into the eavestrough, and upon a tiny flame which sputtered and

went out.

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Hurrah! That's the idea! Snowball the fire!" In an instant, a dozen snowballs went flying through the air. Each sent up a white puff of steam as it struck the roof. Every boy was a fighter again, and took good aim at the sparkling flames along the eaves.

The snow was deep and soft just there—just right for making snowballs. They rose by dozens and scores, and fell like big white rain on the roof. The fighters stood on every side and put in the

shots from every direction, every man of them a nearly burned through, but still standing. The hero in a good fight. house had been saved by snowballs.

At first, it did not seem to do much good. The The Widow Lawson said "she was tired out smoke increased rapidly, and though every shot with shaking hands" with everybody, and she told, the fire seemed to increase. Faster and thanked General Michael O'Toole again and again faster flew the balls. Hurrah! The men were for suggesting such a cute idea, and President beginning to arrive from every direction. They James Carter for calling the engine when it was n't saw the idea at once, and every one went to work wanted. "He meant well, James did, but he was throwing snowballs at the blazing roof. Suddenly a little too late," she said; but she thanked him, the engine arrived, but it stopped at the gate, and all the same.

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It would be difficult to imagine a more vicious brute than the wolf. It is so bloodthirsty that when one of its fellows is disabled by wounds or illness, it will fall upon the helpless animal and tear it in pieces. On the other hand, it is so cowardly that when it is captured it is so stupefied by fear that it makes no effort to defend itself.

The wolf is a native of every portion of the globe, from the hot tropics to the freezing polar regions, and everywhere he is dreaded by both man and beast. When hungry, and they are seldom otherwise, wolves collect together, and set out in a band, ready to devour the first hapless creature that comes along. They are not so very swift, but they seem absolutely tireless, and keep on the trail of a flying animal with a long, slouching gallop that never varies, and that in the end is sure to wear out the fleetest of runners. The horse and even the swifter deer sometimes fall victims to the wolf. Nor is it only by sheer dogged pursuit that the wolf secures its prey. When a hungry pack comes upon a fit victim, the fleetest two or three set off in direct pursuit, while the others, as if by preconcerted agreement, fall off to the right and left, ready to prevent escape should the pursued animal seek to turn. They have even been known to adopt a finer strategy than this.

A credible story is told by a gentleman who had gone out to hunt roebuck, of a scene he witnessed which displayed well-considered planning by two wolves. He had taken up his station near a trail

where he was quite certain the deer would pass, and was waiting patiently, when a wolf with hanging tongue rushed across the trail, and was hidden in the brush before the startled hunter could make up his mind to shoot at it.

In another moment, from the opposite direction, a roebuck, with a magnificent bound, cleared a large fallen tree, and with expanded nostrils and head outstretched, was making straight past the brush into which the wolf had disappeared.

The rifle was leveled, when the hunter's quick eye saw a pursuing wolf scrambling over a tree not far behind the deer. With a speed that would have left the wolf behind in a few minutes, the rocbuck dashed onward. It rose to clear the brush; it fell back dying. The first wolf had been lying in wait there, and at the right moment had leaped at the flying deer, and caught it by the throat. However, the triumph of the wolves was short. The sportsman's repeating-rifle put them beyond the need of roebuck.

In this country we have the prairie wolf, the coyote, and the black wolf, the last-named being the largest and most dangerous. In former days, wolves were common in England, Scotland, and Ireland, but they were so dangerous to lonely travelers that fierce war was made upon them, and they were exterminated. In other parts of Europe, however, they are still to be found, and many frightful tales come now from castern Europe, of the savage doings of the hungry creatures.

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