his might. The bullets whistle over him, but do him no harm, and he
holds it fast, keeping the Indians at bay, and saving the lives of those
within.

Elizabeth Heard and her children on this evening have come from
Portsmouth in a boat. They are belated, and the Indians are at their
bloody work when they arrive. Her children flee, while she sinks in
terror upon the ground. An Indian with a pistol runs up and stands over
her, but he does not fire.

"No harm shall come to you," he says. He permits no one to touch her. It
is the Indian whom she befriended thirteen years ago.

When the morning dawns it is upon the smouldering ruins of burning
dwellings, upon the mangled bodies of twenty-three men and women, and
upon twenty-nine women and children going into captivity--a long weary
march through the woods to Canada to be sold as slaves to the French, or
kept as prisoners by the savages. Yet amid the ghastly scene, through
the blood and flame and smoke and desolation, there is this
brightness--the remembrance of the kindness of Elizabeth Heard, and its
reward.

[Illustration: REVIEW OF THE CAVALRY BY THE INFANTRY.--DRAWN BY SOL.
EYTINGE, JUN.]

HOW THE LITTLE SMITHS GOT THEIR FOURTH-OF-JULY MONEY.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.

"What did George Washington do, I wonder, on the Fourth of July?" said
Harper Smith, rattling his tin money bank with an awful din.

"Mercy! I don't know," said Aunt Nancy, shielding her ears, and thinking
twice as much about the noise as she did about the question. "Do pray be
still! I'm sure I wish there wasn't any Fourth of July."

"Oh, Harp, you ninny!" cried his brother Joe. "There wasn't any Fourth
at all till George Washington made it."

"_You_ better study up," said Aunt Nancy, coming to her senses, as
Harper, very much confused, stopped the rattling. "You don't begin to
realize what the guns and the fire-crackers and the torpedoes, and all
the other dreadful things that blow up people and knock off boys'
fingers and toes, are for. It would be a great deal better if boys had
more history in their heads and less money in their pockets. That's the
way to celebrate, I think; and I mean to ask your father about it."

"Oh, don't, _don't_, Aunt Nancy--please _don't_!" cried both boys, in
the greatest dismay, while Lucy ran in from the next room, with
wide-open eyes, at the uproar. "Don't make father take away our money;
we always have it, you know."

"You can have your money," said