cried Paul. "Some people call it the
sweet-birch. I will cut off a piece of the bark for you to taste."

"Why, it tastes like checkerberry-leaves," said Rachel.

"Yes," replied Paul. "It is a beautiful tree, and is good for fuel. But
here is a white-birch. See how white the bark is! It grows on poor land,
and is a very pretty tree when well taken care of."

Here there was the sound of a horn; and Rachel asked, "What is the
meaning of that sound?"

"It means that we must run home to dinner," said Paul. "So give me your
hand, Cousin Rachel. You need not be afraid of snakes. There are none
here that can do any harm. Come, we will make a short cut through the
grove to the house."

UNCLE CHARLES.

[Illustration]

WHAT I SAW AT THE SEASHORE.

LAST summer I went to spend a few weeks at a quiet little island on the
New-England coast. Every morning I used to go to the beach, and sit on
the sands, and watch the blue sea with its sparkling waves, and listen
to the surf breaking in white foam all along the shore.

On pleasant days the beach was lively with bathers, shouting and
laughing as they plunged into the cool waves; and little boys and girls
playing in the clean sand, digging with their shovels, and loading and
unloading their wagons, or picking up shells and sea-mosses to carry
home.

On the brightest days of all, I noticed a pale-faced lady who came to
sit a while in the sunshine, propped up with shawls and pillows. She
always brought with her a little sky-terrier, of which she seemed as
fond as if it had been a real baby.

After a while, I got acquainted with the invalid lady, and found that
her name was Miss Dean, and that her dog was named Skye. He was a
shaggy-looking little creature; but he had very bright eyes, and he knew
almost as much as the children who played with him. He was very fond of
his mistress, and very thoughtful of her comfort.

Let me tell you one thing about him that made me think so. Skye slept in
the room with his mistress, on a soft cushion, with a little blanket
spread over him; and in the morning, when he woke, if she was still
asleep, he never disturbed her. He just sat up on his cushion as still
as he could be, and watched her till she woke. As soon as she opened her
eyes, he gave a little bark, for "good-morning," and sprang up on her
bed, to be loved and petted.

Well, Skye was a good little dog; and we all learned to