A group of boys was assembled in an open field tothe west of the public schoolhouse in the town ofCrawford. Most of them held hats in their hands,while two, stationed sixty feet distant from eachother, were ``having catch.''

　　Tom Pinkerton, son of Deacon Pinkerton, had justreturned from Brooklyn, and while there had witnesseda match game between two professional clubs.

　　On his return he proposed that the boys of Crawfordshould establish a club, to be known as theExcelsior Club of Crawford, to play among themselves,and on suitable occasions to challenge clubs belongingto other villages. This proposal was receivedwith instant approval.

　　``I move that Tom Pinkerton address the meeting,''

　　said one boy.

　　``Second the motion,'' said another.

　　As there was no chairman, James Briggs wasappointed to that position, and put the motion, whichwas unanimously carried.

　　Tom Pinkerton, in his own estimation a personageof considerable importance, came forward in aconsequential manner, and commenced as follows:

　　``Mr. Chairman and boys. You all know whathas brought us together. We want to start a clubfor playing baseball, like the big clubs they have inBrooklyn and New York.''

　　``How shall we do it?'' asked Henry Scott.

　　``We must first appoint a captain of the club, whowill have power to assign the members to their differentpositions. Of course you will want one thatunderstands about these matters.''

　　``He means himself,'' whispered Henry Scott, tohis next neighbor; and here he was right.

　　``Is that all?'' asked Sam Pomeroy.

　　``No; as there will be some expenses, there must bea treasurer to receive and take care of the funds, andwe shall need a secretary to keep the records of theclub, and write and answer challenges.''

　　``Boys,'' said the chairman, ``you have heard TomPinkerton's remarks. Those who are in favor oforganizing a club on this plan will please signify itin the usual way.''

　　All the boys raised their hands, and it was declareda vote.

　　``You will bring in your votes for captain,'' saidthe chairman.

　　Tom Pinkerton drew a little apart with a consciouslook, as he supposed, of course, that no one but himselfwould be thought of as leader.

　　Slips of paper were passed around, and the boysbegan to prepare their ballots. They were broughtto the chairman in a hat, and he forthwith took themout and began to count them.

　　``Boys,'' he announced, amid a universal stillness,``there is one vote for Sam Pomeroy, one for EugeneMorton, and the rest are for Frank Fowler, who iselected.''

　　There was a clapping of hands, in which TomPinkerton did not join.

　　Frank Fowler, who is to be our hero, cameforward a little, and spoke modestly as follows:

　　``Boys, I thank you for electing me captain of theclub. I am afraid I am not very well qualified forthe place, but I will do as well as I can.''

　　The speaker was a boy of fourteen. He was ofmedium height for his age, strong and sturdy inbuild, and with a frank prepossessing countenance,and an open, cordial manner, which made him ageneral favorite. It was not, however, to hispopularity that he owed his election, but to the fact thatboth at bat and in the field he excelled all the boys,and therefore was the best suited to take the lead.

　　The boys now proceeded to make choice of a treasurerand secretary. For the first position Tom Pinkertonreceived a majority of the votes. Though notpopular, it was felt that some office was due him.

　　For secretary, Ike Stanton, who excelled inpenmanship, was elected, and thus all the offices werefilled.

　　The boys now crowded around Frank Fowler, withpetitions for such places as they desired.

　　``I hope you will give me a little time before Idecide about positions, boys,'' Frank said; ``I want toconsider a little.''

　　``All right! Take till next week,'' said one andanother, ``and let us have a scrub game this afternoon.''

　　The boys were in the middle of the sixth inning,when some one called out to Frank Fowler: ``Frank,your sister is running across the field. I think shewants you.''

　　Frank dropped his bat and hastened to meet hissister.

　　``What's the matter, Gracie?'' he asked in alarm.

　　``Oh, Frank!'' she exclaimed, bursting into tears.

　　``Mother's been bleeding at the lungs, and she looksso white. I'm afraid she's very sick.''

　　``Boys,'' said Frank, turning to his companions,``I must go home at once. You can get some one totake my place, my mother is very sick.''

　　When Frank reached the little brown cottagewhich he called home, he found his mother in anexhausted state reclining on the bed.

　　``How do you feel, mother?'' asked our hero, anxiously.

　　``Quite weak, Frank,'' she answered in a low voice.

　　``I have had a severe attack.''

　　``Let me go for the doctor, mother.''

　　``I don't think it will be necessary, Frank. Theattack is over, and I need no medicines, only timeto bring back my strength.''

　　But three days passed, and Mrs. Fowler's nervousprostration continued. She had attacks previouslyfrom which she rallied sooner, and her present weaknessinduced serious misgivings as to whether shewould ever recover. Frank thought that her eyesfollowed him with more than ordinary anxiety, andafter convincing himself that this was the case, hedrew near his mother's bedside, and inquired:

　　``Mother, isn't there something you want me to do?''

　　``Nothing, I believe, Frank.''

　　``I thought you looked at me as if you wanted tosay something.''

　　``There is something I must say to you before Idie.''

　　``Before you die, mother!'' echoed Frank, in astartled voice.

　　``Yes. Frank, I am beginning to think that this ismy last sickness.''

　　``But, mother, you have been so before, and gotup again.''

　　``There must always be a last time, Frank; andmy strength is too far reduced to rally again, Ifear.''

　　``I can't bear the thought of losing you, mother,''

　　said Frank, deeply moved.

　　``You will miss me, then, Frank?'' said Mrs. Fowler.

　　``Shall I not? Grace and I will be alone in theworld.''

　　``Alone in the world!'' repeated the sick woman,sorrowfully, ``with little help to hope for from man,for I shall leave you nothing. Poor children!''

　　``That isn't what I think of,'' said Frank, hastily.

　　``I can support myself.''

　　``But Grace? She is a delicate girl,'' said themother, anxiously. ``She cannot make her way asyou can.''

　　``She won't need to,'' said Frank, promptly; ``Ishall take care of her.''

　　``But you are very young even to support yourself.

　　You are only fourteen.''

　　``I know it, mother, but I am strong, and I am notafraid. There are a hundred ways of making a living.''

　　``But do you realize that you will have to startwith absolutely nothing? Deacon Pinkerton holds amortgage on this house for all it will bring in themarket, and I owe him arrears of interest besides.''

　　``I didn't know that, mother, but it doesn't frightenme.''

　　``And you will take care of Grace?''

　　``I promise it, mother.''

　　``Suppose Grace were not your sister?'' said thesick woman, anxiously scanning the face of the boy.

　　``What makes you suppose such a thing as that,mother? Of course she is my sister.''

　　``But suppose she were not,'' persisted Mrs.

　　Fowler, ``you would not recall your promise?''

　　``No, surely not, for I love her. But why do youtalk so, mother?'' and a suspicion crossed Frank'smind that his mother's intellect might be wandering.

　　``It is time to tell you all, Frank. Sit down by thebedside, and I will gather my strength to tell youwhat must be told.''

　　``Grace is not your sister, Frank!''

　　``Not my sister, mother?'' he exclaimed. ``You arenot in earnest?''

　　``I am quite in earnest, Frank.''

　　``Then whose child is she?''

　　``She is my child.''

　　``Then she must be my sister--are you not mymother?''

　　``No, Frank, I am not your mother!''