on the teacher's flowing hair.

Sally turned to Pickle. "How could you do it?" she whispered to her
companion, whose face, flushed with the effort to restrain her mirth,
was alarmingly red.

"What do you mean?" returned Pickle, with an unconscious air.

The next minute Miss Meek again entered, this time with an inkstand for
the teacher's desk. In placing it she evidently saw the bundle of
hair-pins, for she looked indignantly around the class before leaving
the room, while Herr Mueller once more flushed a rosy red.

"She'll tell that to Miss Prim, Pickle--see if she don't," whispered
Sally, anxiously, to her friend.

"Do you think so?" queried Pickle, hastily; then, with marked
indifference, "Yes, I suppose she will. I wonder if she'll find out who
did it?"

"Oh, you needn't try to deceive me; as if I didn't know who did it!"
returned the other.

"Do you?" was the only reply she got to her attempt at confidence.

This provoked Sally. "Yes, I do; and Miss Prim'll find out, too, without
much telling--you can be sure of that."

Miss Prim did find out, but not without any telling. Pickle wisely
determined to forestall all investigations. She went privately to the
grieved Miss Prim, and announced herself as the culprit.

Although Miss Prim punished Pickle at the time for her disrespect, the
kind-hearted girl--for she was kind-hearted in spite of her love of
mischief--was much more severely punished by her own conscience when, a
few days later, she learned why Herr Mueller allowed his curly locks to
grow down over his shoulders.

A brave young soldier in the German army, he had, during the siege of
Metz, left the shelter of the trenches, and in the face of almost
certain death rushed across the open ground where shot, shell, and
bullets fell thick as hail, to snatch up and bring safely back in his
strong arms a little child. It was a blue-eyed four-year-old girl who,
terror-stricken and bewildered by the death of her parents and the awful
firing, had wandered from one of the crumbling houses outside the walls
of the city. When the soldiers in the trenches first saw her she was
standing irresolute but unharmed amid the storm of flying death that
swept across the plain.

Just as he reached the trenches with his precious burden the young
soldier was hurled to the ground badly wounded, and apparently dead. A
fragment of a bursting shell had struck him on the back of the neck.
Although he lived and finally recovered