Sèvres pitcher full of gold to pay him for all his broken pitchers."

Greuze spent his last days in painting his own portrait and that of his daughter. His was considered the best in the Salon* of 1805.

"You can sell it for a hundred francs, Caroline," he said to his daughter. It was the only fortune he could leave her. But his daughter sold her own portrait and kept her father's.

In 1868, a marble statue was erected to Greuze in the public square of Tournus, his native place.

Jack scrambled down the ladder without stopping for his jacket. He knew what that news meant - he had heard about forest fires before. His father had always thought that the creek which ran in front of their house would guard them, but now the air was dark with smoke, and he could hear the roar and crash of the forest falling before its mighty foe, while sharp gusts of wind swept ashes far and wide over the grain-fields of the farm. But the fire was still on the other side of that slow, narrow stream: could it, would it keep the enemy from their house and barns?

It would not do to run the risk. Jack, at a word, went off to harness the horses, and put them to the big wagon, while his father helped his mother to gather a few wraps and valuables together, and dress the frightened, screaming baby.

When the Parrys moved to Michigan, Grandpa Dibble, who always objected to everything, said to his son-in-law:

"But how 'll ye edicate the childern, John?" "I don't know, Father," said John Parry. "Sary 'll teach 'm to read an' write, prob'ly, and I'll insure they'll learn to mind an' be honest. I take it that these two things will have to underlay any edication that 's good for shucks: we must risk the rest."

Obedience and honesty Jack had indeed been thoroughly taught. He had never harnessed the

horses alone before, but at his father's order he went to work manfully, and was all ready when the others came to the house-door.

"Oh, Jack! no coat on?" said the delicate, trembling little mother.

Can't stop for it now," said John Parry. "It's life or death, Sary! There goes a big white-wood smash acrost the crick! Run the critters, Jackthe fire 's after us!"

In another moment they were beyond the house, but not an instant too soon, for a burning branch, whirled on by the fierce wind, swept through the air and lit on the roof, which blazed like paper beneath it.

Jack lashed the terrified horses into a run, while his father, on the back seat, held the sick baby in one arm, and put the other about his wife to steady her.

The air grew heavier and hotter; the roads were rough, the wagon-springs hard. Blinded with smoke and frightened at the nearing roar of storm and flame, the horses flew on beyond the power of any guiding hand. There was a sudden lurch, the wheels tilted on a log by the wayside, and the back seat pitched out behind, with all its occupants! Jack clung to the reins instinctively, but he could no more stop the horses than he could arrest the whirlwind and fire behind him. Father, mother, sister, all were tossed into the track of the fire like dry leaves, and never again did he see one of them. Their fate was certain: he could only hope it had been sudden and sure death.

Carried on by a force he could not control or resist, Jack whirled along, the flames nearing him every moment, till, just as he felt their hot breath on his neck, the maddened horses reached the lake

shore, and plunged headlong into its waters. But he, at least, was safe, for the shock threw him out on the sand.

Poor Jack! In the morning he was a hearty, happy boy, asleep in a good home; at night a homeless, penniless orphan, with scarce clothes to cover him. Days passed over his head in a sort of blank misery. A few others, escaped also from the devouring flames, shared with him their scanty food; a kindly woman gave him an old woolen sack she ill knew how to spare to cover his ragged shirt, and he found a pair of India-rubbers lying on the shore, which concealed his worn shoes; but a more desolate, helpless creature than the poor boy can hardly be imagined.

After a week or two, he begged his way to Pompo, a settlement farther up the lake, which had not been touched by the great fire, and heard there that good people at the East had sent on clothes to be distributed among those who had lost theirs. He soon got a chance to ride over on a lumber-wagon to the nearest place where these things were given out, a town ten miles beyond Pompo,- and there the agent gave him a couple of shirts, a warm vest, a pair of halfworn black trousers, and a very good coat of mixed cloth, that until then had proved too small for the men who had applied for clothes. But as Jack was fifteen, and large for his age, it just fitted him, and once more clothed, neat, and clean, he went back to Pompo, where he had found a place to work on a farm, happier than he had been for a long time.

It was night when he returned to the farm, and quite bed-time; so he ate some bread and milk Mrs. Smith had saved for him, and went up to his garret chamber. As he took off his new coat to hang it up, with a boy's curiosity he explored all its pockets. In one he found a half-soiled handkerchief, just as if the owner had taken the coat down from the closet peg and sent it off without a thought, for the garment was almost new. But underneath the handkerchief, lying loose in the bottom of the pocket, were two twentydollar bills!

Jack's heart gave a great bound; here was a windfall indeed, and he began to think what he should do with this small fortune. But perhaps there was something else in the other pocketyes, here was a letter directed, sealed, and stamped, all ready to mail; and in a small inner breastpocket he found three horse-car tickets, a cigarette, and a three-cent piece. In the other breast-pocket were a gray kid glove, and a card with the name, "James Agard, Jr." He looked at the letter again; on one corner was printed: "Return to James Agard & Co., Deerford, Conn.,

Just three days after the great fires, certain prompt young people in a New England church congregation came together in the parlors of that church to receive and pack clothing for the burntout sufferers; and for a week contributions poured in upon them, and gave them work for both head and hands. Into this busy crowd one day hurried a slight, active young man, dressed in a gray business suit.

"Hallo!" he called out, cheerily. "I've come to help the old-clo' boxes along. Give me work at once, Mrs. Brooks-anything but sewing." Mrs. Brooks laughed:

"Can you pack a barrel, Mr. Agard?"

"Yes, indeed; just pile on the things," and he went to work with an alacrity that showed he knew how to do his work. This energetic little man packed more than one barrel before night, and, in order to work better, threw his coat aside, as the rooms were warm. When evening came, he drew himself up with a laugh, exclaiming :

"There! I can 'go West, young man,' and earn my living as a pork-packer, if you'll only recommend me, Mrs. Brooks."

"That I will," said she, "and others, too. We have sent off ten barrels since you came in, Mr. Agard; we had to hurry, for the freight train left at four o'clock."

Just then he turned to look for his coat. It was not where he left it. He searched the room in vain, and at last called out:

"Has anybody seen my coat?"

"Where did you leave it?" asked George Bruce, a young man who had also been packing very busily.

"On the back of that chair." "Was it a gray mixed sack?” "Yes."

"Well, sir, it's gone off to the sufferers, then. I saw it on the chair, thought it was a contribution, packed it, headed up the barrel, and sent it to the train."

"It is too bad," said Mrs. Brooks. "I'll take you home in the carriage, Mr. Agard."

"Thank you, kindly; but that is n't all. I had forty dollars in one pocket, and a letter to be mailed with a thousand-dollar check in it. I must hurry home and have that check stopped; the bills will go for an involuntary contribution, I suppose. Bruce, I feel like choking you !

"And I'm willing to let you, Jim, if it 'll relieve your mind. It was outrageously careless of me. I don't suppose there's the slightest chance of tracing it."

"No more than a dropped penny in Broadway. Miss Van Ness wont have her Jacqueminot roses for the german, though, and I'll tell her it was your fault- I can't throw away any more dollars on nonsense. But I'm not sure the money is lost as much as it might have been, old fellow. Mrs. Brooks, I'm ready."

And so James Agard went home, stopped payment of the check by a telegram, and sent an excuse to Miss Van Ness for not attending her german. The roses were to have been a surprise to her, so she did not miss them.

We left Jack sitting in the moonlight, doubting and distressed. But he did not sit there long, for suddenly there came to him a recollection of what his father had said concerning his education to Grandpa Dibble; his mother had repeated it to him so often that it was fixed in his memory. He hid his face in his hands, for it grew hot with shame, to think he had not seen at once that he must send the coat back to its owner. Jack did not hesitate the right thing must be done quickly. He folded the coat as well as he knew how, replacing everything in the pockets, except the threecent piece, for which he had a use. Then, quite sure that Mr. Smith, who had hired him, was not the man to understand or approve his action, he made up his mind not to wait till the morning, but to go directly back to Dayton, where he had received his clothes, and where the nearest express office was stationed. He could not return the coat to the agent, for he had distributed all the clothes destined for that point, Jack being one of the last applicants, and had gone on farther with the rest; so he rolled it in a newspaper and slipped downstairs with his shoes in his hand, putting on over his vest the old red sack he had worn before, and set out for Dayton.

He had to beg his breakfast when he reached the town; then he bought a sheet of brown paper, a string, and a postal card with the three-cent piece, and, sitting down on the sunny side of a

He asked the use of pen and ink at the express office, directed his package and wrote his postal as follows, for he could write well, though a little uncertain as to his spelling:

"DAYTON,

"DEAR SIR: I send you by express to Day a coat which i got in the close sent to burnd out fokes here, i doant believe it ought to hev come, so i send it to the name onto the leter, all things Within except 3 sents used for paper, string, and kard.

"JACK PARRY." Jack felt a great weight off his mind when the bundle was fairly out of his hands. It was hard to send away help he needed so much-harder for a homeless, penniless boy than you know, dear Tom and Harry-you who have never been hungry, ragged, and orphaned.

And he not only lost his coat, but his place, for he knew very well, when he left the farm-house, that Mr. Smith, who was a hard and mean man, would never take back a boy who ran away the first night of his service, especially if he knew it was to return a good coat with money in the pocket.

Still he felt that his father and mother would have thought it was dishonest to keep it, and, with the courage of a resolute boy, he felt sure he could find work in Dayton. But he did not. There were plenty of boys, and men, too, already asking for work, and nobody knew him, nor had he any recommendations. For several nights he slept in an empty freight-car near the railway station, doing a little porter's work to pay for this shelter; then he did some things about the tavern stable for his board, sleeping in the shed, or on the hay-mow; and once in a while he caught himself wishing he had that forty dollars to get back to Connecticut, where he had distant relatives. But the quick thought "What would Mother say?" repressed the wish at once.

At last he found steady work on a farm out of town, with small wages. But he had a loft and a bed to himself, and his chief work was to drive a team into Dayton and back with produce, or to fetch lumber, coal, and feed for his employer and the neighbors.

One day, about a month after he went to this place, as he was driving a load of coal past the express office, walking his horses, for the load was heavy and the mud deep, the clerk saw him, and, running to the door, called out:

"Say, young fellow! D' you know anybody name of Jack Parry?"

"I guess so," said Jack, with a smile; "that 's my name. What 's to pay?"

'Nothin'-it's prepaid. I had a faint reklektion that a fellow about your size left a package