id the broom. "The keeper's a punchin' on me, to make me
roar!"

And the lion roared.

"He's a gunter come into the cage by-'m-by, and put his head into my
mouth. Then I'm a gunter swaller him! Ki! hoo! hoo! oo!"

He roared in earnest this time. Bill, grown desperate, had knocked his
shins. As long as he hit him only on the head, the king of beasts didn't
care; but he couldn't stand an attack on the more sensitive part.

"Jest look here, now!" exclaimed the old negress, with unusual spirit;
"gi' me that broom!"

She wrenched it from Bill's hand.

"Perty notion, you can't come home a minute without pesterin' that boy's
life out of him!"

You see, color makes no difference with grandmothers. Black or white,
they are universally unjust, when they come to decide the quarrels of
their favorites.

"Great lubberly fellow like you, 'busin' that poor babby all the time!
Come, Joey! come to granny, poor chile!"

It was a sorry-looking lion that issued whimpering from the cage,
limping, and rubbing his eyes. His borrowed hide--namely, Bill's
coat--had been twisted into marvellous shapes in the scuffle; and,
being wet, it was almost white with the dust and lint that adhered to
it. Bill threw up his arms in despair; while Joe threw his, great
sleeves and all, around granny's neck, and found comfort on her
sympathizing bosom.

"Silence, now," said Mr. Williams, "so's we can go on with the reading."

Order was restored. Bill hung up his coat, and sat down. Joe nestled in
the old woman's lap. And now the storm was heard beating against the
house.

"Say!" spoke up Fessenden's, "can I stop here over night?"

"You don't suppose," said Mr. Williams, "we'd turn you out in such
weather as this, do you?"

"Wal!" said Fessenden's, "nobody else would keep me."

"Don't you be troubled! While we 've a ruf over our heads, no stranger
don't git turned away from it that wants shelter, and will put up with
our 'commodations. We can keep you to-night, and probably to-morrow
night, if you like to stay; but after that I can't promise. Mebby we
sha'n't have a ruf for our own heads then. But we'll trust the Lord,"
said Mr. Williams, with a deep, serious smile,--while Mrs. Williams
sighed.

"How is it about that matter?" Gentleman Bill inquired.

"The house is to be tore down Monday, I suppose," replied his father,
mildly.

"My gracious!" exclaimed Bill; "Mr. Frisbie a'n't really going to carry
that threat into execution?"

"That