Uncle Giles' Paint Brush.
BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.
It was a rainy day in summer. A chilly wind swept about the house and bent the branches of the trees, and reminded every one who encountered it that autumn, with its gales, would return as promptly as ever.
A bright fire was blazing in the sitting-room, and near it were Mrs. Strong with her two little girls, and also Aunt Martha Bates, whom they were visiting. Rufus Strong, aged fourteen, stood by a closed window, listlessly drumming on a pane.
He was tired of reading, and tired of watching the ladies sew, and tired of building toy houses for his sisters.
"I guess I'll go out to the barn and find Uncle Giles," said he at length.
Mrs. Strong, who had found the music on the window pane rather monotonous, quickly responded in favor of the plan.
"Just the one I want to see!" exclaimed Uncle Giles, as Rufus made his appearance at the barn door. "I'm getting my tools in order, and now you can turn the grind-stone while I sharpen this scythe."