o throw his legs up and
catch on some salient point. He struggled to reach his elbows up and
pull himself back. He would have unbuttoned his jacket, and, slipping
his arms out, dropped to the ground, but it looked a long way, and
directly below him was a pile of the lopped-off branches, with their
sharp ends sticking up towards him like the spikes of cruel
_chevaux-de-frise_, and he didn't fancy dropping on those. He shouted
for help, but there was no one to hear him on the deserted farm, and the
few farmers who rattled by in their wagons paid no heed to a boy's
shout. Boys are always shouting, and the more hideous the noises they
make the more it is like them. Sandy, who had remained asleep in the
grass while Benny performed his manoeuvres, thought no more of this
one than he had thought of the others. He supposed it was a part of the
fun--the very best part of it--as he opened one eye and saw those legs
dancing in air; and Benny's yells were the things to be expected of
Benny. But when Benny shouted, "Go, Sandy, go home!" and various other
commands to Sandy, hoping the dog might go and bring some one to his
rescue, as dogs always do in stories, Sandy sat upon his hind legs and
looked at Benny in amazement. These were remarks that had never been
made to him before, and he couldn't guess for his life what they meant.
_Never_ had he been sent home. He had stuck to Benny through thick and
thin, during all his eventful life, and he meant to do it now. So there
he did stick, until he saw by the shadows that it was about milking
time, and being thirsty, to say nothing of hungry, and observing that
Benny was still engaged in dancing and tilting on the tips of his toes,
Sandy excused himself, went after his milk, and brought back deliverance
to Benny, as we have seen.

Poor, poor Benny! The joy of his return called out more tears than
smiles. Worn and faint and nervous, he was put to bed at grandma
Potter's, and it was many days before he was the same old Benny Briggs
again. In one respect he was never quite the same. His views in respect
to tight ropes had met with a radical change.

* * * * *

P. S. If any of you boys should say as Charlie Potter did, "Pooh! if
_I'd_ been Benny Briggs _I_ could have got down out of that tree," I'll
say to you as Benny said to him:

"Humph! I'd like to see you try it!"

HOW TWO SCHOOLBOYS KILLED A BEAR.

It was an unpleasant day. The gray clouds l