“They certainly would,” said his governess; “for the charcoal-smoke is death when inhaled for any length of time.  But the charcoal-burner knows this quite as well as does any one else, and he makes his fire outside of the house, puts a rude fence around it and lets it smoke away like a huge pipe.  The hut is more or less enveloped in smoke, but this is not so bad as letting it rise from the inside would be.  A great deal of willow charcoal is made in Germany and other parts of Europe.”

“But, Miss Harson,” said Clara, in a puzzled tone, “I don’t see what they do with it all.  It doesn’t take much to clean people’s teeth.”

“No, dear,” was the smiling reply, “and I am afraid that the people who make it are rather careless about their teeth.—­You need not laugh, Malcolm, because it is ‘just like a girl,’ for it is quite as much like a boy not to know things which he has never been taught, and you must remember that you have two years the start of your sister in getting acquainted with the world.  Perhaps you will kindly tell us of some of the uses to which charcoal is applied?”

“Well,” said the young gentleman, after an awkward silence, “it takes lots of it to kindle fires.”

“I do not think that Kitty ever uses it in the kitchen,” said Miss Harson, “for she is supplied with kindling-wood for that purpose.  You will have to think of something else.”

But Malcolm could not think, and his governess finally told him that a great deal of charcoal is used for making gun-powder, and still more for fuel in France and the South of Europe, where a brass vessel supplies the place of a grate or stove.  Quantities of it are consumed in steel-and iron-works, in preserving meat and other food, and in many similar ways.  The children listened with great interest, and Malcolm felt sure that the next time he was asked about charcoal he would have a sensible answer.

“Our insect friends the aphides, or plant-lice, are very fond of the willow,” continued Miss Harson, “and in hot, dry weather great masses of them gather on the leaves and drop a sugary juice, which the country-people call ‘honey-dew,’ and in some remote places, where knowledge is limited, it has been thought to come from the clouds.  But we, who have learned something about these aphides[1], know that it comes from their little green bodies, and that the ants often carry the insects off to their nests, where they feed and ’tend them for the sake of this very juice.  The aphis that infests the willow is the largest of the tribe, and the branches and stems of the tree are often blackened by the honey-dew that falls upon them.”

[1] See Flyers and Crawlers, by the author.  Presbyterian Board of Publication.

“Do willow trees grow everywhere?” asked Clara.