While we were being taken to grandma to be cried over and comforted, and the poor old house lay on its side forgotten, that flame finished off poor dolly, ran up to the roof, ate up the red-striped curtain in the twinkling of an eye, and, in fact, made short work of the whole thing. We knew nothing of this that night, but were so honored and indulged as to make us think everything else had turned a new leaf as well as the house. The next morning, grandma, coming into the breakfast-room, was called to the window by Uncle John, who was looking at something in the yard. There was a forlorn little figure sitting on a log among the charred embers of the burnt house. It was I, sobbing as if my heart would break, and beside me was Katy, who stood sadly by, trying with a corner of her apron to dry my tears. But her eyes were wet, too, and in the fat arms were squeezed a leg and shoe, which was all that was left of Alice Isabella. What wicked eye had watched the festivities through the window, or what cruel heart had yielded to the temptation to turn over the house upon it all, we never knew. I heard that Billy Quinn was punished that night for coming home late to supper, and now, looking impartially at the matter over all these years, I am inclined to think it was that very Billy Quinn, and no other, who put out the tea-party. THE FOX, THE MONKEY, AND THE PIG. BY HOWARD PYLE. [Illustration] The fox, the monkey, and the pig were once inseparable companions. As they were nearly always together, the fox's thefts so far reflected upon his innocent associates, that they were all three held to be wicked animals. At length, the enemies of these three laid a snare, in a path they were known to use. The first that came to the trap was the pig. He viewed it with contempt, and, to show his disdain of his enemies and his disregard for their snare, he tried to walk through it with a lofty tread. He found he had undervalued it, however, when, in spite of his struggles, he was caught and strangled. The next that came was the monkey. He inspected the trap carefully; then, priding himself upon the skill and dexterity of his fingers, he tried to pick it to pieces. In a moment of carelessness, however, he became entangled, and soon met the fate of the unfortunate pig. The last that came was the fox. He looked at the snare anxiously, from a distance, and, approaching cautiously, soon made himself thoroughly acquainted with its size and power. Then he cried, "Thus do I defeat the machinations of my enemies!"--and, avoiding the trap altogether, by leaping completely over it, he went on his way rejoicing. DAB KINZER: A STORY OF A GROWING BOY. BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD. CHAPTER XIV.