Of course, the lamp could not burn without air.
To think of the right thing to do, and then promptly to do it, boys, that is what makes the difference between a common man and a hero.
This little fellow, whose name is not mentioned—Mick, or Ted, or Jack—has in him the making of a grand man, cool, resolute, and clever.
Fortunately there was an overseer near him, who, when, he heard from the lad about his lamp, went bravely through the gas, in total darkness, and set open a door, the closing of which had forced the gas into the main-ways of the mine.
All honor to them both.
[DEACON DODD'S CALF.]
BY SYDNEY DAYRE.
Three of us boys—Will Harald, his cousin from the nearest city, who was visiting him, and myself—went down to Deacon Dodd's farm one Friday afternoon, after tea. We found the old gentleman mowing the grass in the front yard.
"Come in, boys; set down on the steps there. Hot, isn't it?" He wiped his forehead vigorously with his red silk handkerchief.