w, to stop the engine. I could not make the engineer move, and,
without hesitating, I stepped across to the engine, and grasping the
wheel, I shut off the steam and disconnected the eccentrics.

"Of course the engine stopped, and the pilot, thinking everything was
all right, commenced to send down his signals. I was a little
frightened--more at the idea of my working the big engine than at making
any mistakes, for I knew exactly what to do. Well, we had some trouble
making the slip, and I had to back her out. I can tell you, working that
lever bar was no easy job. Then came the sharp tinkle for full speed,
and shortly I had her well out into the river. Then came the bells to
stop her, and again to reverse and go ahead under half speed.

"By that time I was very tired, but no longer nervous, and when we again
neared the slip and the welcome bell to stop the engine sounded, I was
very glad. The double signal to back water came, and I pushed the lever
bar up and down twice before I got my last signal to stop. When I heard
the rattle of the chains as they tied her in the slip I was worn out,
and it seems to me I must have fainted, for when I came to it was in the
presence of the pilot and some of the officers of the line. They told me
the engineer had died of heart-disease; and in recognition of my
services they placed me at school and gratified my ambition to become a
pilot, as you see."

Hubert Earl.

CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER VI.

Ten minutes later, while police and firemen, both protected by the First
Battalion, were devoting their energies to checking the flames that were
rapidly sweeping through the great repair shops, and the other two
battalions of the regiment were clearing the blazing freight-yards of
the last skulkers of the mob, the surgeon had established a temporary
field-hospital in the open enclosure between the main entrance and the
yards. Thither had been driven the two ambulances, conspicuous by the
red cross of Geneva. Here, feebly moaning, lay poor Jim, kicked and
clubbed into most unrecognizable pulp. Here beside him knelt Fred, still
praying for tidings of his father. Slinking away from the scene of their
recent triumph the rioters fled before the solid ranks of the troops,
only to regather, though in smaller force, and resume the work of
pillage and destruction farther along the line. And now the Colonel
began to appreciate