"A story is told about a meteor that fell on a farm some time ago. The landlord said it belonged to him, for when he rented the farm to the tenant he claimed all minerals and metals found in the ground. "'But it was not on the farm when the lease was made out,' said the tenant. "'Then I claim it as flying game,' replied the landlord angrily. "'But it has neither wings nor feathers, so I lay claim to it as ground game,' said the tenant in reply. "While the dispute was going on the custom-house officers seized the meteorite, because, as they said, it had come into the country without paying duty." [Illustration: A METEOR.] "That is not a true story, is it?" asked Harry, laughing. "Scarcely," replied Mary; "but it was a good joke on the landlord. And now we come to the very smallest members of the family of Giant Sun. I mean the shooting stars." "Those bright little flying stars we can see at night?" asked Harry. STORY OF A SHOOTING STAR. "Yes," replied Mary; "and if they could only talk, what a wonderful story they would have to tell! A shooting star is very much smaller than a meteor, and the largest does not weigh more than a quarter of an ounce. You could easily hold one in your hand, for it is like a small stone, only, unlike a stone, it is always on the move. It hurries along through space ever so much faster than an express train, and all goes well as long as it keeps above the blanket of air that surrounds the earth. If it comes too near, however, it is sure to be destroyed. It dashes into the air at the rate of twenty-five miles a second, rubbing against every particle it meets on its way. This makes it intensely hot, until it glows with brilliant light. We see it for a few moments as it flashes out against the dark sky; but the light soon fades and all that remains of the shooting star is its ashes. Sometimes they sift down upon the earth and settle on the tops of high mountains, or sink into the ocean, or float in through an open window and rest upon tables and books as fine dust. But when our good housekeeper finds it there she carefully removes it with her duster. She does not know nor does she care where it came from; it certainly has no right there, and she treats it with small ceremony." "I wonder what she would say if she knew that the dust had come from the sky," said Harry. "I do not think it would make any difference," said Mary, laughing. "And now I am going to tell you a little story about a shooting star, and then I must say good-night. "It is said that the evil genii--you remember reading about them in the Arabian Nights, don't you, Harry?" "Indeed I do," he replied. "Well, at night they are said to fly up to the gates of heaven and listen to the conversation of the angels. When the angels see their hidden foes, they hurl fiery shooting stars at them and with so good an aim that for every shooting star we may be sure there is one spirit of evil less in the world." STARLIGHT AT SEA.