amateur sculptor, but
only a village blacksmith who had an eye for beauty of form and
character.

ROSE'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT.

_A TRUE STORY._

BY MARIE E. C. DELBRASSINE.

"Where is Rose?"

"Busy, as usual, with her mice and beetles, I suppose, father," answered
Ethel; "we have not seen her all this afternoon."

"She will probably be with you at teatime," said Dr. Sinclair, "after
which I should like you to ask her to come to me for a little while in
the surgery."

"Very well, father, I won't forget."

Dr. Sinclair retreated again to his surgery, which was arranged also as
his library, knowing that his willing helper would not fail to join him
there.

"I cannot think," said Maud, Ethel's sister, "what that girl finds to
interest her in all those horrid creatures--beetles and toads, and even
snakes, when she can get one; the other day I saw her handling a
slowworm as if it were a charming domestic pet. It was enough to make
one feel cold all over."

"Well, there is no accounting for taste; Rose never seems to care if she
is asked to a party or not," continued Ethel, "and she does not mind
helping father with his work, which I always find so tiresome, for he is
so dreadfully particular about it. Perhaps biologists are different from
other folks; I sometimes think there is something uncannny and queer
about them."

"I'm sure Rose is neither uncanny nor queer, she's just a brick," said
Jack, a schoolboy of fourteen, who was enjoying a Saturday half-holiday
at home with a new book, it being too wet to play cricket. "She is
always willing to do anything to help a fellow."

"Which means," said Ethel, "that you always expect girls to be your
slaves, when you are at home."

At this moment the door opened and Rose herself appeared.

"Well, Rose," said Maud, "have you pinned out a beetle, or taught your
pet ants to perform tricks?"

"Not this afternoon," said Rose; "I have had a delightful time with my
microscope, studying spiders and drawing slides for the magic lantern to
be used at my next little lecture to the G.F.S. girls."

"That sounds dry and uninteresting," yawned Maud. "Ah, here comes tea.
By the way, father would like you to go to his study afterwards. Poor
Rose, I expect he has some more tiresome work for you."

"Oh, don't call it tiresome, Maud dear; I quite enjoy it."

"It's a good thing you do. I hate being shut up there; it's such a
bore."

A quarter of an hour later a middle-aged