MANY years ago, when I was a little fellow, I went on a sail with my Uncle Ralph on one of the prettiest of our northern lakes. The day was fine, the air was mild but fresh, and the hills and banks around us were clothed in green. Besides Uncle Ralph, in the boat were my Aunt Mary, and cousins Walter and Susan Brent. Uncle Ralph was a sportsman, and he had a gun, with which he hoped to bring down a deer, in case he should see one. [Illustration] I did not at all like this part of his plan. I knew it would mar my own and my aunt's pleasure, if we were made to see the death of a noble stag or a gentle fawn. But I was too fond of a sail to express my dislike of Uncle Ralph's plan. At the foot of a hill we stopped in our little boat to pick berries. Aunt Mary said she would stay and read. The rest of us went with Uncle Ralph to a clearing near by, to pick raspberries. We had not been gone long, when Uncle Ralph sent me back for a mug with which to get water from a cool spring. As I came within sight of the boat, I saw Aunt Mary take the ramrod of the gun, extract the bullet, and then put in fresh wadding, and ram it down. I understood it all, but said nothing. After we had got berries and water enough, we set sail again, and this time for the opposite shore, where Uncle Ralph's keen eyes had detected a stag and two fawns. We landed in a little cove out of sight of the deer. Uncle Ralph took his gun, and crept through the woods. In about fifteen minutes we heard him fire. Aunt Mary smiled, and took up her book. Soon Uncle Ralph came back. "Where's your game, Ralph?" asked Aunt Mary. "Will you believe it," said he: "I got within thirty feet of them; had the fairest shot that a fellow could possibly have, but somehow I missed my aim--didn't so much as graze one of them." "Well, I'm not sorry for it," said Aunt Mary. "We shall enjoy our luncheon under the trees all the better." I looked at her, and laughed, but she checked me with a "Hush!" ALBERT MASON. FAITHFUL DANDY. MR. BAXTER, a poor laboring-man, was the owner of a fine dog, whose name was Dandy. Having to remove from one village to another in the State of Maine, Mr. Baxter hired a small wagon on which his furniture was packed. Then he led the horse, while Dandy followed behind. When he came to the place where he was to stop, Mr. Baxter unloaded his wagon, but was sorry to find that a chair and a basket were missing from the back-part of the wagon, and that Dandy, also, could not be found. The day passed; and, as the dog did not appear, the poor man feared that something must have happened to him. [Illustration]