"They're gone for good, Mother, and there is n't any use fretting about them. So please stop pulling the house to pieces and settle down again. When a thing's so it 's so, and you can't make it any other way, no matter how much you worry about it. There's nothing to do but let 'em go, and try to forget about it!"

That evening, Willard found his old stamp-book in the attic, and took it over to Mr. Chase. But although the latter went through it carefully, he found no prizes there. The entire contents would n't have brought a dollar at a stamp dealer's. When he was leaving, Mr. Chase reminded him that they were to begin the Greek lessons again the next evening. Willard hesitated, and then promised half-heartedly to come. What was the good of knowing Greek if he could n't get to college?

But at seventeen no disappointment is big enough. to last forever, and Friday was a wonderful autumn day, with just the right amount of tingle in the air, and at foot-ball practice Willard played so well that the coach promised to let him start the game against Shreeveport High the next afternoon; and-well, after a good supper eaten with

healthy appetite, Willard had quite forgotten about Grandma Pierson's legacy. And at half-past seven he found his Iliad-it was n't an easy task, either, because, since the search for the lost envelops, scarcely anything was where it used to be!-and set out for Mrs. Parson's with a light heart.

where Ulysses and Diomedes are setting out to spy on the enemy's camp?"

"No, sir, we were way past that. I've got the place marked. I think-"

"Hello, what 's wrong?" exclaimed Mr. Chase. "Why-why-here they are! They werethey were in this book!" stammered Willard.

"I did n't have a chance to study this at all," said Willard, as he seated himself across the table from Mr. Chase. "I've been too busy looking for those envelops, you see. So you'll have to excuse me if I flunk."

"All right, Will, I'll forgive you this time. Do you remember where we left off? Was n't it

VOL. XLI.-26.

"Eh? What were in-"

"Those envelops, sir! Look!"

And there they were, sure enough; all together, and with the bit of faded blue ribbon about them. Mr. Chase, beaming, held out his hand for them. Willard, still exclaiming, hazard

ing theories as to how they got into his Iliad, followed around the table while Mr. Chase carefully slid off the band of ribbon and looked them

over.

"Alexandria,'"

he muttered. “'Paid-5.' They're the real thing, Will! By jove, what a find! Perfect condition, too! Not a tear on one of them! And no-hello, what 's this?" "What, sir?" asked Willard.

Mr. Chase was staring at the last envelop as though he could n't believe his eyes. "Why — why, it's blue!" he almost shouted.

"Yes, sir, I-I forgot that one was blue. There were five of them brown and one blue. Is n'tis n't it any good?"

"Any good!" exclaimed Mr. Chase. good?-it 's-"

"Any

cata

He sprang up excitedly, and seized the logue from the shelf. "Any good!" he muttered as he turned the pages quickly. "Any good! Any-" His voice died out, and Willard, wondering, watched his lips move as he read silently. Then the teacher studied the envelop again. "Ditto,'" he murmured, "on blue.'" Then he closed the catalogue slowly and decisively, and laid it on the table. Willard watched him fascinatedly. He had never seen Mr. Chase look so excited, so wild-eyed, as this. Was it possible that the assistant principal had suddenly lost his mind?

"Will," said Mr. Chase, slowly and solemnly, "I-I can't be sure-I 'm afraid to be sure-but if this stamp is genuine, it's worth-” He stopped and shook his head. When he continued, it was to himself rather than to Willard. "There may be a mistake. Perhaps the catalogue 's wrong. We'll wait and see."

"Do you mean," asked Willard, eagerly, "that the blue one is worth more than the others?"

Mr. Chase laid the envelop on the table and was silent a moment. When he answered, he was quite himself again.

"It looks so, Will. Yes, I think I may safely say that the blue stamp is worth quite a little money. You see, there are two or three dozen of the buff ones that are known of, but, so far, only one or two blues have ever shown up. But I may be mistaken; don't get your hopes up until we 've had it examined, my boy."

"How much is it worth if-if it is-what you think?" asked Willard.

them, sir. Only-if you care for it, I 'd like you to have one of them, Mr. Chase."

"That 's nice of you, Will, but I could n't take one as a gift. I'll gladly buy one if I can afford it. Or-wait a bit! If this blue one is worth what I think it is, I'll accept one of the buff stamps as a present. How will that do?”

"I'd like you to have one, anyhow, sir. Do you think the blue stamp is worth-worth a hundred dollars?" asked Willard.

"Will, I don't dare to say. Yes, perhaps a hundred; perhaps more, much more-unless I'm making a bad mistake somehow. I'll mail these to-morrow, and we ought to hear within a week. Now-now let's get back to the lesson."

But Willard did n't make much progress that evening.

IV

Of course Mrs. Morris remembered when Willard told her.

"Is n't it funny?" she asked beamingly. "It all comes back to me now. When I went to clear off the table, those envelops were there, and I thought to myself, 'Those are Will's, and he may want them after all, and I'll just tuck them in his Greek book.' It was lying on the side table there. And then I forgot all about it! I'm so sorry, Will!”

"It does n't matter a bit now," Willard declared. "How much do you suppose that blue stamp will be worth, Mother?”

"Goodness

But Mrs. Morris shook her head. knows, Will! But maybe it'll bring enough to buy you a nice suit of clothes and-"

"Clothes!" scoffed Willard. "That money is going to put me in college. If there is n't enough of it, I'll get a job somewhere next summer and earn the difference. I heard of a fellow who made nearly three hundred dollars one summer just selling books!"

"It's my opinion," declared Mr. Morris, "that that stamp is worth a lot of money, and that your grandma knew it."

"I don't see how she could, sir," Willard objected. "Why, even Mr. Chase is n't certain about it yet."

"Mother was a great one to read the papers,' said Mrs. Morris, "and I would n't be surprised if she saw sometime that stamps like that were valuable. She was forever cutting things out of newspapers and saving them."

"We'll wait and see," said Mr. Morris. "You'll find I 'm right, son. And if I am, I 'll be mightily pleased!"

Waiting, though, was hard work for Willard. For a week he managed to be fairly patient, but

If

WHEN Bernard Saint-Gaudens and his young Irish wife took their six-monthsold baby out of his home in Dublin and carried him on board a ship sailing for America, they had no idea what a valuable baby he was. I do not mean in money; the little family of three was all poor together; but I mean in brains. babies had been dutiable, the United States Government BAS-RELIEF PORTRAIT might have been paid a tidy sum for little Augustus's coming. But I suppose his young French father never dreamed that the small right hand clasping his own so tightly would teach stone how to speak. And I suppose even the beautiful blackhaired mother, with the "generous, loving, Irish face," thought less of her baby's future greatness than of the famine driving them all to a land of strangers. Surely, to fellow-passengers, the youngster did not look like a budding genius.

OF A CHILD.

Nor were the New York City home and streets, where Augustus spent his boyhood, the best places to ripen genius. In the Bowery and other crowded districts, the child found no greater beauty and inspiration than the twilight picking of flowers in a near-by graveyard. His young mind was a contented clutter of all kinds of city impressions: the smell of cake from the bakery and of peaches stewed by Germans in his tenement; "races round the block"; the racket and joy of street fights, and the greater joy of boyinvented games.

The "Reminiscences of Augustus Saint-Gaudens" paint him as no infant saint. The culprit confesses to "lickings galore in school and out," and tells us one of his "typical crimes": "The boy by my side in the classroom whispered to me, 'Say! As I turned to him, his extended forefinger, which was meant to hit my nose, found itself at the level of my mouth. I bit it. He howled. I was 'stood up' with my back to the class and my face close against the blackboard, immediately behind the teacher, who, turned toward the class, could not see me. To relieve the monotony of the view, I took the rubber, covered my features with white chalk, and grinned around at the class. The resulting uproar can be imagined. I was taken by the scruff of the neck and sent to the private classroom, where I had the honor of a solitary and tremendous caning."

He must have been very often in mischief, for Saint-Gaudens says that, besides these whippings, he was "kept in" for about an hour every day, and that he used to look wistfully out of the window and envy the freedom of the floating clouds.

None of his teachers seemed to find anything good either inside his fun-loving heart or his little red head. Apparently no one but himself, or some secret crony, admired his slate drawing of a mighty battle, or his painting on a back fence of a negro boy with a target. Augustus, himself, took great pride in that negro boy. The hole in the boy's trousers, with the bare knee sticking through, was a real stroke of genius!

The little fellow often strolled over to his father's shop and drew pictures of the shoemakers at work. One day, Dr. Agnew, who had come in to order a pair of boots, saw these pen-and-ink