and their
trinkets were soon much sought after. They were able to buy a little gold
and silver, and soon learned to inlay their nut-shell snuff-boxes and
wooden jewel-cases, so as to make them very beautiful. And as the
wood-chopper grew better he was able to do the rougher work of preparing
the wood for them. And the money they realized was more than the
wood-chopper was ever able to make in his best days. After a while some
wood-carver's tools helped Rudolph to do still more curious work. And he
now has a shop in town. Theresa prepares his drawings and patterns for
him, and does the staining and moss-work, and the firm is always known as
The Wood-Chopper's Children. If anybody wants a moral to the story they
can furnish it themselves.

"I suppose the moral is, that EVERYBODY CAN DO SOMETHING IF HE TRIES,"
said Miller.

"I s-s-suppose it's b-b-bed-time," said the chairman, and the boys
adjourned.

THE BOUND BOY.

On the third Friday evening the boys came together in some uncertainty in
regard to who was to be the story-teller. But Will Sampson, the
stammering president of the club, had taken care to notify John Harlan,
the widow's son, that he was to tell the story. If there was any general
favorite it was John; for while his poverty excited the sympathy of all,
his manliness and generousness of heart made everybody his friend, and
so, when Sampson got the boys quiet, he announced: "G-g-gentlemen of the
order of the c-c-cellar-door, the story-teller for th-the evening is our
friend Harlan. P-p-please c-come forward to the t-top, Mr. Harlan."

"I say, Hurrah for Harlan!" said Harry Wilson, and the boys gave a cheer.

"Give us a good one, John," said mischievous Jimmy Jackson.

"Order!" said the chairman. "Mr. Harlan has the fl-floor,--the
c-c-cellar-door, I mean. Be q-quiet, J-J-Jackson, or I'll reprimand you
severely."

"I'm perfectly quiet," said Jackson. "Haven't spoken a word for an hour."

_JOHN HARLAN'S STORY._

Well, boys, I don't know that I can do better than tell you the story of
one of my mother's old school-mates. His name was Samuel Tomkins----

"Couldn't you give your hero a prettier name?" said Jackson; but the
president said "order," and the story went on.

He lived in one of the counties bordering on the Ohio River. It was a
rough log cabin in which his early life was passed. He learned to walk on
an uneven puncheon floor; the