A TALE OF MID-AIR. In a cottage in the valley of Sallanches near the foot of Mont Blanc, lived old Bernard and his three sons. One morning he lay in bed sick, and, burning with fever, watched anxiously for the return of his son, Jehan, who had gone to fetch a physician. At length a horse's tread was heard, and soon afterward the Doctor entered. He examined the patient closely, felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, and then said, patting the old man's cheek, "It will be nothing, my friend--nothing!" but he made a sign to the three lads, who open-mouthed and anxious, stood grouped around the bed. All four withdrew to a distant corner, the doctor shook his head, thrust out his lower lip, and said "Tis a serious attack--very serious--of fever. He is now in the height of the fit, and as soon as it abates he must have sulphate of quinine." "What is that, doctor?" "Quinine, my friend, is a very expensive medicine, but which you may procure at Sallanches. Between the two fits your father must take at least three francs' worth. I will write the prescription. You can read, Guillaume?" "Yes, doctor." "And you will see that he takes it?" "Certainly." When the physician was gone, Guillaume, Pierre, and Jehan looked at each other in silent perplexity. Their whole stock of money consisted of a franc and a half, and yet the medicine must be procured immediately. "Listen," said Pierre, "I know a method of getting from the mountain before night three or four five-franc pieces." "From the mountain?" "I have discovered an eagle's nest in a cleft of a frightful precipice. There is a gentleman at Sallanches, who would gladly purchase the eagles; and nothing made me hesitate but the terrible risk of taking them; but that's nothing when our father's life is concerned. We may have them now in two hours." "I will rob the nest," said Guillaume. "No, no, let me," said Jehan, "I am the youngest and lightest." "I have the best right to venture," said Pierre, "as it was I who discovered it." "Come," said Pierre, "let us decide by drawing lots. Write three numbers, Guillaume, put them into my hat, and whoever draws number one will try the venture." Guillaume blackened the end of a wooden splinter in the fire; tore an old card into three pieces; wrote on them one, two, three, and threw them into the hat. How the three hearts beat! Old Bernard lay shivering in the cold fit, and each of his sons longed to risk his own life, to save that of his father. The lot fell on Pierre, who had discovered the nest; he embraced the sick man. "We shall not be long absent, father," he said, "and it is needful for us to go together." "What are you going to do?" "We will tell you as soon as we come back."