time the greatness of the danger. She drew back, darted a look of
reproach at the vile woman who stood laughing at her trouble, and then,
with the big tears rolling down her cheeks, "God will know how to keep
them safe," she said, and opened the cage door. The doves flew out. They
poised themselves a moment; then they rose into the air, and flew away
to seek a purer sky above the clouds of smoke and sulphur. In spite of
what the cruel woman said, the doves were saved.

A few moments later a drum was heard advancing up the street. The
drummers marched at the head of a body of troops--the soldiers had
come! "_Vive l'armee!_" cried the frightened householders.

In an instant _petroleuses_, robbers, and insurgents scattered in all
directions. It is a queer sight to see a French crowd run when the
troops charge. _Now_, however, every soldier "thought on vengeance." The
incendiaries dropped fast before the iron hail.

Meantime all hands were busy putting out the flames. The fire was at
last got under. The furniture and wood-work of the first and second
stories were badly burned and broken, but the rest of the house was
saved.

Claudine and her family went back into their rooms, and let in the light
of day, the father and mother blessing God for the timely arrival of the
troops who had saved all Paris from fire and pillage. By degrees they
grew more calm. But one sad heart was inconsolable. Claudine's share in
the great catastrophe which had almost laid Paris "even with the ground"
was the loss of her dear turtle-doves.

The next morning when she came out early on the balcony to look at the
blackened ruins of the noble palace, and to mourn for her lost
favorites, she uttered a cry of joy. Her doves sat on the railing of the
balcony. They had flown back to their little mistress and their home.

"Mamma! mamma!" she cried, "God has sent me back my doves!" and her
little heart recovered the happiness that in her inexperience she
fancied had been lost forever.

JOHNNY'S SONG.

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

"Come, now, Johnny, sing me a song--
Sing me a song," said Mabel.
"I will," said Johnny, whose voice was strong,
"For I'm the boy that is able."
So he sang, and whistled, and sang again,
Till all the woods were a-ringing,
And Mabel frowned, and began to complain,
"Why, Johnny, what's that you're singing?"

"Don't you like it?" said Johnny Stout
(Mabel her laugh must smother),
As h