“I don’t mind ’em,” said Ben, handsomely.

“Very well, only hold your tongues.  Now, boy, where did you come from?” said Mrs. Moss, as the little girls hastily sat down together on their private and particular bench opposite their mother, brimming with curiosity and beaming with satisfaction at the prospect before them.

(To be continued.)

A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.

BY EDWIN C. TAYLOR.

“Did you see those funny little china figures at the Centennial when you were there?” asked Willie of his cousin Al on their way home from school one day.

“What figures, Will?  Do you mean those large red clay things from England, or the Chinese figures that Mr. Wu had at his place?” said Al.

“I don’t mean either; I said small figures.  Don’t you remember a splendid show of pottery near the music-stand in the main building?” asked Will.

“Yes,” said Al.  “Well, there was a lot of figures of London street people, and some were the funniest-looking things you ever saw.”

“I saw so much china and ‘pottery,’ as you call it, that I hardly recollect any of it.  But ‘pottery,’ I thought, meant merely flower-pots and other ordinary stone-ware?”

[Illustration:  LONDON CABMAN (ROYAL WORCESTER PORCELAIN)]

“Why, no,” said Willie; “it means anything that is formed of earth and hardened by fire.  I heard Uncle Jack say so, and he knows, doesn’t he?” said Willie, decidedly.

“Of course; but people do call these things ‘china’ or ‘porcelain’ as well as ‘pottery,’ don’t they?”

“Yes; but Uncle Jack says ‘pottery’ means all those together, and ‘porcelain,’ ‘majolica,’ and other names like that are names of different kinds of pottery,” answered Willie.

“Well,” said Al, “let’s ask Uncle Jack to tell us all about it.  What do you say?”

“Yes; let’s ask him this very night.”

When the lads reached home they told their plan to Willie’s sister Matie, and then all three determined to carry it out.

“Rap-a-tap, tap,” sounded briskly at the library door after supper.  “Come in,” was the response, and in bounded the three children, their faces lighted up with smiles at the prospect of spending an evening with Uncle Jack.

“Welcome, youngsters,” said he, in a cheery tone.  “But you look as if you were expecting something; what is it?”

“Oh, Uncle Jack, we want you to tell us all about pottery,” cried the boys.

“Yes, please do,” chimed in Matie.

“All about pottery?  Why, my dear children, that’s very like asking me to tell you all about the whole civilized world, for a complete history of one would be almost a history of the other; and I could hardly do that, you know,” said Uncle Jack, with a smile.

“Willie said you could talk about pottery all night,” cried Matie.

“And so I might, dear, and not get further than the ABC of its history, after all,” answered Uncle Jack.