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", look here," said the cook, "look at this queer thing in the turkey's craw; it looks for all the world like a brickbat."

"O never mind the brickbat," said Mrs. Bangs, "let that alone; 'tis no concern of ours—only make haste and prepare the turkey for the spit. Your head is always running after things that don't concern you."

Thus spoke Mrs. Bangs, the mother of thirteen children, all girls. She was a strong, healthy woman of fifty years of age, and in the three characters of daughter, wife and mother, had been exemplary. She was the only child of a respectable farmer, and at her parent's death inherited the farm which a few years after her marriage rose greatly in value. It was on the outskirts of a populous city which had increased so rapidly that at the birth of her second child the farm was laid out in streets, in every one of which they had sold several lots for buildings.

Her husband was a chemist, and his laboratory was very near this valuable property, so that he could attend to his business in the manufactory and look after the workmen who were building his houses. What Mr. Bangs learned during his ap-