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would have been Mary’s; and, as she was not of a yielding disposition, and Ellie, in all matters where only her own pleas ure was concerned, was, there would have been probably little need for discus sion in the matter, but for a great, empty white house, which fronted the main street, just where the town or village ended. It was a dreary, desolate-looking place, with staring, unshuttered windows, and was known among the school chil dren as the “Haunted House.” Why it was so called no one could tell, except that it had been f>r years untenanted, the owner being in another country, al though no crime was imputed to him, causing his absence, and that in the de serted garden rank and noxious weeds had eradicated roses and lilies. But such was its reputation; and Mary and Ellie dreaded exceedingly passing this house. Even in broad daylight it was done fear fully ; but now, as the shadows were lengthening, it could not be thought of, so the lane was decided upon, The delay, however, had enabled little Charlie, their lame school-fellow and neighbor, to overtake them. “Oh, Ellie,” lie exclaimed, “please wait a little, just ’til I can catch up with you. You’re going through the lane? Ho carry my bag of books for me. I’m so tired already, and I’ve got to go round on an errand for mother, and they are so heavy.” “That comes of waiting,” exclaimed Mary, very ill naturedly, “and of this hateful lane. Yes, of course you’ll take them, and load yourself with them, and the sun almost down. I’ll not wait for you.” Ellie could not help laughing, but she took the satchel and promised Charlie to leave it for him, and walked so fast that Mary had nothing to complain of. Hot far, however, for they had just crossed the common, and were commencing the ascent of the hill, when Ellie saw a poor little lamb lying by the roadside—a dog seemed to have worried it, for it was covered with blood, and, apparently dying. Ellie could not bear to sec it suffer, and so, although Mary at first tried ridicule, and then became exceed ingly angry, she lifted the poor little thing in her apron, resolved to carry it home, and see what could be done for it. But the lamb and the bag of books were almost more than she could manage. “Please, Mary, help me,” she exclaimed ; “just carry the books to the top of the hill for me. I will take them when we get there.” . “I will do no such thing,” was the rude reply. “Put the lamb down. Who cares BITBK K’ S \Y K , I, Y . whether it dies or not ? I shall not wait for you,” and Mary angrily walked on. Ellie debated for a few minutes what she should do; she could not think of leaving the lamb, neither could she put down the books, so putting the string of the satchel around her neck, and tenderly holding the lamb in her arms, Ellie walked on. She saw Mary at some little distance ahead of her, but she neither stopped nor looked back, and her manner was so in dignant that Ellie could not help laugh ing. She could not walk very fast, how ever, loaded as she was. As she reached the top of the hill, she was surprised to sc% Mary coming back to meet her, and at some little distance ahead of Mary she perceived a singular looking person, of whom Mary was evidently afraid, and for a moment even Ellie’s heart stood still. She was a queer look ing person, there was no denying that fact. She was exceedingly small, bent almost double., and walked with a stick; then her dress was of bright green, her coarse gypsy hat was tied under her chin with a green muffler, and the border of her cap was very broad, which is always you know unbecoming. Altogether, she was so queer looking, that it was not astonishing that the little girls, when they first saw her in the narrow lane ahead of them, should have felt fright ened, and drawn very close to each other, as if for protection. A\ hat should be done ?—go back and take the other path ? It was too far back, and besides it was almost sunset, and there would be the “haunted house” to pass. That would not do. Hun on very, very fast, and pass the little woman so quickly that she would not have time to catch them, or do anything else to them? That might an swer; but Ellie carried weight, —she could scarcely walk —she certainly could not run. “Put down the hateful little lamb ! exclaimed Mary; “let it die, who cares ? I’ll hide the books in the hedge here, and Charlie can get them as he goes to school to-morrow, and then you can run.' But Ellie shook her head. “ You are the most hateful and obsti nate girl I ever knew in my life!” ex claimed Mary, passionately, but Ellie did not heed her, for, as she turned in her perplexity to look how low the sun was, hoping that they might have time to stop where they were, and let the little woman go on so far that they would not over take her, a sight so beautiful, so wonder fully beautiful met her eyes, that Ellie for a moment forgot the old woman, and the lamb, and the bag of books, and all her perplexity, and gazed with exclamations of delight. The lane in which the child ren walked was a regular lane, shut in on either side by a low fence and hedge. Across the fence, on one side, was what was called in the village “The Woods.” It stretched out into quite an extensive park, filled with great trees of maple and hickory and oak, where the birds sang and the squirrels chattered all day long, finding beautiful homes in the old hollow trees, as their ancestors had done before them. On the other side was an open field, where the golden grain was ripen ing, to give the farmer bread for the year, the heavy heads bowing and yielding like ocean waves to the gentle evening breeze as it swept over them. Beyond the fields were low, sloping hills ; and still farther off, other and higher hills ; beyond which, again, the western sun was sinking in a sea of liquid gold. Ellie Avas so entranced with the beauty of the scene, that she did not heed Mary’s exclamations of im patience and anger. “Watching the sun set! as if you could not see the sun set every evening. I think you had better watch it and hurry on. Ellie, do put down the lamb, and hurry on. I’m afraid of that horrible old woman, and I’m afraid to go by my self; do, do come!” thus she incessantly appealed to Ellie. At that instant a cry of pain close by, or so it seemed, startled them both, and made them turn from the sunset. The old woman, when they stopped, had stopped too, and seemed to have been coming towards them, but, stumbling over a stone, had fallen to the ground, and was apparently much hurt. Home, Ga. [to be continued,] The Telocity of Electricity.—Late ly experiments were made through the Atlantic cable, in order to find the differ ence of longitude between America and England. By these it Avas found that the time required for a signal to pass through the Atlantic cable is 31-lOOths ot a second. This is equal to a velocity of six thousand and tAventy miles a second, considerably less than the speed of the electric fluid through land lines. The Way to Find Out. —If you wish to know how an associate speaks ot you to others, mark how he speaks of them to you. A teacher said to a little girl at school, “If a naughty girl should hurt you, like a good girl you would forgive her, wouldn’t you ?” “ l r es, ma’am,” she replied, “if I couldn’t catch her.” 3