In time the two eggs hatched. The young digger-wasp set to work upon the grasshopper, and the little ichneumon began to eat the wasp-grub. At last the young wasp died, and at that moment there flew out from his body a little fly. [Illustration: AT THE WRONG HOUSE.] It rested a minute, then turned and pushed its way through the soft earth till it reached daylight. It waved its wings gently up and down a few times, and darted away and out of sight. The digger-wasps had been living for some weeks in our garden, when, one afternoon, there came up a fearful thunder-storm. The rain poured down in torrents. Where had been shortly before neatly kept paths about our house, we saw now rapid little rivers tearing up sand and gravel as they raced down-hill, and doing all the damage their short lives would allow. But all of a sudden the sun burst out from the clouds, the rain stopped, and the water which had fallen sank into the ground. I did not waste many minutes in reaching the garden. What a sight met my eyes! The broad path stretched itself out before me smooth and wet; not a single hole remained,--all were buried deep under the sand. Instead of the air being, as was usual, fairly alive with busy, happy creatures, there was now, here and there, a miserable mud-covered insect clinging to a leaf, and wearily trying to clean its heavy wings. What a sad ending to the gay, bright summer! The next day, however, I found a few survivors hard at work digging again; but this time every hole was sloping instead of perpendicular. After much thought, I came to the conclusion that these clever little creatures had found the way to prevent such another calamity as had overtaken them the day before. Formerly, the first drops of an unusually hard shower filled the holes instantly, drowning the inmates. Now, this could not happen, especially if the openings were placed, as most of them were, under the shelter of the big grape-leaves which at many points rested on the edge of the path. This all took place two years ago; but each summer since then has brought with it some of our old friends, the digger-wasps. [Illustration: AFTER THE RAIN-STORM.] THE EMERGENCY MISTRESS. (_A Fairy Tale._) BY FRANK R. STOCKTON. Jules Vatermann was a wood-cutter, and a very good one. He always had employment, for he understood his business so well, and was so industrious and trustworthy, that every one in the neighborhood where he lived, who wanted wood cut, was glad to get him to do it. Jules had a very ordinary and commonplace life until he was a middle-aged man, and then something remarkable happened to him. It happened on the twenty-fifth of January, in a very cold winter. Jules was forty-five years old, that year, and he remembered the day of the month, because in the morning, before he started out to his work, he had remarked that it was just one month since Christmas.