FARMER BOFFIN'S EQUIVALENT.

It was a clear case of negligence on the part of the engineer. He should have whistled at the crossing and slowed up. He did neither. Farmer Boffin, driving in to market on a load of hay, was half way across the tracks when the express struck the wagon. Farmer Boffin and the two horses never knew what struck them.

These facts were laid before Julius Burnett, Esq., solicitor to the railroad, and he said in his pleasant way: "Farmer Boffin will cost about five thousand dollars, more than he was worth, if the case goes to court. We must settle this with the widow at once.

So Mr. Burnett adjusted his clerical white tie, and took the first train for Moon's Rest. It was a hot and dusty walk to the Boffin farm, but when he clasped Mrs. Boffin's hand and murmured a few words of apologetic sympathy the attorney was the cooler of the two. Then he began: "The Atlantic and Northeastern Railroad Company have sent me, madam, to offer their deepest sympathy. No accident that has ever happened on our line has been so deeply regretted, I assure you, madam, and

"Them horses was wuth a plum two hundred dollars," broke in the widow, rubbing her eyes with the corner of her apron, "Joshua wouldn't take less, he tol' Zeph Hanks las' Aprile."

"As I was saying, madam," continued Mr. Burnett, "our company is deeply grieved-Mr. Boffin was a" "An' the wagon's all knocked to kindlin' wood," interrupted Mr. Boffin's relict.

"That's precisely what I came to see you about," said the attorney, changing his course to catch the wind, “in an hour like this, when the heart is bowed down, a little ready money is often very desirable, and I see you are a woman who believes in doing business in a businesslike manner. Now, those horses, Mrs. Boffin, I feel sure our company would replace them. It can be done for

one hundred and fifty dollars, can't it? Say, one fifty?" "Two hundred dollars won't buy them horses' equals," said Mrs. Boffin decidedly.

"Then we will pay two hundred dollars for the horses," cheerfully assented the lawyer. "Now, for the wagon-we are prepared to be liberal, Mrs. Boffin; we know what it is to lose a wagon in this heart-rending wayshall we say twenty-five dollars for the wagon?

Mrs. Boffin nodded her head and murmured: "It's nothin' but kindlin' wood," adding sharply: "You've forgotten the hay and the harness-they ain't no good to me now-an' that harness wur nearly new.”

"Certainly, Mrs. Boffin," the lawyer said, "I was com ing to that-fifteen dollars ought to cover that-you regard that as satisfactory, of course. Let's see-two hundred and twenty-five dollars and fifteen dollars is two hundred and forty dollars. And now, madam, as to that excellent husband of yours, it is my melancholy duty," here he paused, and Mrs. Boffin took up the parable with : "Joshua was a powerful worker-nigh on twenty year he run this farm-and hired men's so wuthless."

"Precisely, Mrs. Boffin; let's say ten dollars for Mr. Boffin, and I'll draw you a check right now for two hundred and fifty dollars."

And a check of that size went to the credit of Mrs. Boffin's bank account that very day.

FIGHTING FIRE.*-MARGARET H. LAWLESS.

When mother just had set the coffee on the table steaming hot,

Father came, all grimed and smoky, from the forty-acre lot; And she turned the color o' ashes. Waiting till he came a

nigh her,

From her lips broke, short and hoarsely, "Father, you've been fighting fire!"

"That's just it," he said; "it started somewhere in the early

morn

Down beyond the forty-acre, close beside the field o' corn

From "The Catholic World, by permission.

Just in ear. You know, Maria, 'twas to buy the winter's wheat And the flannel for the young ones, and our bar'l o' meat: And I can't wait for the breakfast; I came up fer whips* and Joe.

He must get the plough and horses, fer if 't comes to worst, you know,

We will have to plow the corn up; but that will be my last try,

While a neighbor lends a helping hand to my right hand. Good-by!"

I'd just started (I am Joe, ma'am), when I kind o' turned my head,

Seeing him look round the door-yard, get the whips from out the shed,

And go tearing down the pasture, while I followed with the plow,

Feeling kind of wild, excited, but not 'stonished. That's just how

We had got to live up north, ma'am: always ready to turn

out

If we heard a horn a-blowing or saw smoke-clouds sail about. So I followed after father. As I let the field-bars down

I turned back and saw my mother, with the babies hanging roun',

Standing in the door a-looking, one hand spread above her

eyes

And the other shielding baby from the hot sun in the skies. When I cleared the great long cornfield and got down a-near the smoke,

Plows were there with horses to 'em or with oxen in the yoke

Hands upon them, sturdy neighbors turning in from leagues and nigher;

All it needed to arouse them was the horn-to fight the fire.

How we fit it! There stood father, head erect, eye kind of

wild;

Through the smoke and din and clatter I know he saw every child

That was hanging round my mother; saw his fences, crops, and stock;

Saw the brown-tipped winter fodder, saw the cornfield in the shock;

And he spoke and said, "Come, neighbors, if you save my corn to-day

You will keep us off the county through the winter. Come, I say!"

*Bunches of green boughs, usually pine boughs, used for beating out and brush. ing back the fire.

Answered Harris from the Corners, "Be it, neighbor, done

to me

As I do to you whenever my own turn to fight may be." But Jake Turner cried out crossly, as his eyes were wind

ward cast,

Might as well take to your plowing with that fire, first as last!"

Yet he took his whip for all that, and he joined the gather

ing ring

As they raised their whips together, let them fall with steady swing.

First they faced the smouldering circle, treading down, the wind behind,

Whipping with each forward motion every smoke-wreath they could find.

Then they turned toward the fences, whither flames were lightly tossed,

Yes, and leaping, caught the corners where the rail-ends met and crossed.

Father tore the rails asunder, rolled them till the cinders flew ;

Twenty followed after, trampling, sweating-swearing, too! While the sun rose higher, higher, and we looked and longed for rain.

Twenty formed another circle, beat the grass, afire again! Till, far down the field a-looking, all together gave a shout: Bigger flames had risen, leaping, where they thought the fires were out;

And the fence was all on fire. Then my father wiped his brow On his shirt-sleeve, groaned, and whispered, "God's ag'inst me-take the plow!"

In the shouting and hallooing, like an echo in a dream, One faint note that cleft the hubbub like a dinner-call did

seem,

And Jake Turner faced me, saying, "What d'yer kids mean, blow'n' the horn?"

But his words were drowned in shouting: "To your plows: 'tis in the corn!"

The horses? Well, they worked as men do; bless you, they know what it means

Turning them out without shelter, cutting off their hay and greens!

Twenty plows went down the cornfield and came back, and twenty men

Beat the stalks that lay a-smoking; twenty whips at work again!

If we trampled down one flame spot, two came up behind our backs;

If we followed fire afore us, more fire started in our tracks!

Gone the pasture, gone the fences, beaten low the corn in

ear,

Till at last the battle ended and there was no further fear 'Less the wind brought some new message; and the sun was in the west

When the men turned slowly homeward for the needed food and rest.

And we turned too, I and father. He looked wild and kind o' dazed

And he said: "Come, Joe, there's mother and the girls, the Lord be praised!

If He wouldn't let me feed 'em, don't He own the hull world's

store?

He'll take care that they'll not hunger; always fed his own

o' yore.

She'll be anxious.

so bad.

Let's not tell her that it has turned out

She'll have supper waitin' for us, dear old mother! Come, my lad!

We can leave out tellin', may be, that we had to plough the

As he spoke I just remembered of that faintly blowin' horn! And I fairly staggered, cryin', "Father! father! did you know

Some one, 'long about the noon-time, said that they heard our horn blow?

What if something should 'ave happened?" Then he fiercely turned to me:

"Do you want to drive me crazy? What d'ye think that it could be?"

Then we left the tired horses and set out upon the run,

By a short cut through the holler, with our faces to the sun; Father panting, "When we git there, if we find that they're all right,

We will hev' the tallest prayin' that we ever hed, this night!" Well? But when at last we got there, and the farm came into view,

Satan's red-tongued hounds had bin there, puttin' in the' best they knew.

Gone were barns and stacks and fences, black and smokin' all the place;

Gone, too, mother and the babies. Father fell upon his face; Well, it wa'n't no time for weepin'. I just yelled with all my might,

Shoutin' "Mother! Mother! MOTHER!" to the left and to

the right,

Tearin' down the smoky ridges, past the orchard to the crick; For I knew my mother wouldn't lie down flat and let 'em

lick