the holes. Another way is
to draw the rod through two pieces of iron joined together, and with one
end thrust into the ground to make it stand upright. The willow-peeler
sits down before his instrument and merely thrusts the rod between the
two pieces of iron and draws it out again. This proceeding scrapes the
bark off one end, and then he turns it and fits it in the other way; so
that by a simple process the whole rod is peeled. When the rods are
quite prepared, they are again tied up in bundles and sold to the
basket-makers.'"

"But how do they make the baskets?" asked Clara and Edith. "That is the
nicest part."

"There is little to tell about it, though," said their governess,
"because it is such easy work that any one can learn to do it. You saw
the Indian women making baskets when papa took us to Maine last summer,
and you noticed how very quickly they did it, beginning with the flat
bottom and working rapidly up. It is a favorite occupation for the
blind, and one of the things which are taught them in asylums."

"I wonder," said Malcolm, "if there is anything else that can be done
with the willow?"

"Oh yes," replied Miss Harson; "we have not yet come to the end of its
resources. It makes the best quality of charcoal, and in many parts of
England the tree is raised for this express purpose. 'The abode of the
charcoal-burner,' says an English writer, 'may be known from a distance
by the cloud of smoke that hovers over it, and that must make it rather
unhealthy. It is sometimes a small dome-shaped hut made of green turf,
and, except for the difference of the material, might remind us of the
hut of the Esquimaux. Beside it stands a caravan like those which make
their appearance at fairs, and that contains the family goods and
chattels. A string of clothes hung out to dry, a water-tub and a rough,
shaggy dog usually complete the picture.'"

"But how can people live in the hut," asked Malcolm, "if the charcoal is
burned in it? Ugh! I should think they'd choke."

"They certainly would," said his governess; "for the charcoal-smoke is
death when inhaled for any length of time. But the charcoal-burner knows
this quite as well as does any one else, and he makes his fire outside
of the house, puts a rude fence around it and lets it smoke away like a
huge pipe. The hut is more or less enveloped in smoke, but this is not
so bad as letting it rise from the inside would be. A great deal of
willow charcoal is made in Germ