y arranged about the stick,
the tie wrapped about it and fastened, and the finished umbrella goes to
market for a buyer.

After the stick is mounted, how long, think you does it take to make an
umbrella?

Well, my dears--it takes only fifteen minutes!

So you see that in the making of so simple an every-day article as an
umbrella, that you carry on a rainy day to school, a great many people
are employed; and to keep the world supplied with umbrellas thousands and
thousands of men and women are kept busy, and in this way they earn money
to buy bread and shoes and fire and frocks for the dear little folks at
home, who in turn may some day become umbrella makers themselves.

[Illustration: COMPLETING THE UMBRELLA]

PAUL AND THE COMB-MAKERS.

Little Paul Perkins--Master Paul his uncle called him--did not feel
happy. But for the fact that he was a guest at his uncle's home he might
have made an unpleasant exhibition of his unhappiness; but he was a
well-bred city boy, of which fact he was somewhat proud, and so his
impatience was vented in snapping off the teeth of his pocket-combs, as
he sat by the window and looked out into the rain.

It was the rain which caused his discontent. Only the day before his
father, going from New York to Boston on business, had left Paul at his
uncle's, some distance from the "Hub," to await his return. It being the
lad's first visit, Mr. Sanford had arranged a very full programme for the
next day, including a trip in the woods, fishing, a picnic, and in fact
quite enough to cover an ordinary week of leisure. Over and over it had
been discussed, the hours for each feature apportioned, and through the
night Paul had lived the programme over in his half-waking dreams.

[Illustration: MASTER PAUL DID NOT FEEL HAPPY.]

And now that the eventful morning had come, it brought a drizzling,
disagreeable storm, so that Mr. Sanford, as he met his nephew, was
constrained to admit that he did not know what they should find to supply
the place of the spoiled programme.

"And my little nephew is so disappointed that he has ruined his pretty
comb, into the bargain," said the uncle.

"I was--was trying to see what it was made of," Paul stammered, thrusting
the handful of teeth into his coat pocket. "I don't see how combs are
made. Could you make one, uncle?"

"I never made one," Mr. Sanford replied, "but I have seen very many made.
There is a comb-shop not more than a half-mile away, and i