The match is made.  The towering pine which listened to the whisper of the south wind and swayed in the cold northern blast, has been so divided that we can take it bit by bit and lightly twirl it between two fingers.  But what it has lost in size it has gained in use.  The little flame it carries, and which looks so harmless, flashing into brief existence, has a latent power more terrible than the whirlwind which perhaps sent the tall pine-tree crashing to the ground.

But the story is not yet closed.  From the machine which completed the matches they are taken to the “boxers”—­mostly girls and women—­who place them in little boxes.  The speed with which this is done is surprising.  With one hand they pick up an empty case and remove the cover, while with the other they seize just a sufficient number of matches, and by a peculiar shuffling motion arrange them evenly, then—­’t is done!

The little packages of sleeping fire are taken to another room, where on each one is placed a stamp certifying the payment to the government of one cent revenue tax.  Equipped with these passes the boxes are placed in larger ones, and these again in wooden cases, which are to be shipped to all parts of the country, and over seas.

All this trouble over such little things as matches!  Yet on these fire-tipped bits of wood millions of people depend for warmth, cooked food and light.  They have become a necessity, and the day of flint, steel and tinder seems almost as far away in the past as are the bow and fire-stick of the Indian.

Some idea of the number of matches used in North America during a year may be gained from the fact that it is estimated by competent judges that, on an average, six matches are used every day by each inhabitant; this gives a grand total of 87,400,000,000 matches, without counting those that are exported.  Now, this would make a single line, were the matches placed end to end, more than 2,750,000 miles in length!  It would take a railroad train almost eight years to go from one end to the other, running forty miles an hour all the time.

How apt to our subject is that almost worn-out Latin phrase, “multum in parvo”—­much in little!  Much labor, much skill, and much usefulness, all in a little piece of wood scarcely one-eighth of an inch through and about two inches long!

[Illustration:  Finis]

[Illustration:  WHERE AUNT ANN HID THE SUGAR]

WHERE AUNT ANN HID THE SUGAR

BY MARY L. BOLLES BRANCH.

Teddy was such a rogue, you see!  If Aunt Ann sent him to the store for raisins, the string on the package would be very loose, and the paper very much lapped over, when he brought it home; if he went to the baker’s, the tempting end of the twist loaf was sure to be snapped off in the street, and a dozen buns were never more than ten when they reached the table.  Boys are so hungry!  Teddy knew