DONALD FRASER. I. THE MAD DOG. ERE, Donald, run with this letter to Mr. "I will take the letter, sir, but I don't want the money," was the prompt reply. But before Mr. Burnet released the letter, he had forced the four large coppers into Donald's pocket. It was a lovely day, cool enough to be agreeable, and just the morning for a brisk walk. Mr. McFarlane's house was two miles out of the village, but in a few minutes Donald had entered the little wicket-gate and was striding up the gravelled walk to the house. Mr. McFarlane came himself to the door, and shook hands very cordially with Donald, and invited him in; but he refused to stay. As He was soon back in the village again. he was walking along the street, he saw a crowd collected round a door. Stepping up to see what had brought so many people together, he heard the words, "Going, going, gone," pronounced by a man standing on a bench just inside the door. It was an auction sale, or "roup," as it is called in Scotland. He was riveted to the spot. It was a curious sight to a boy who had never witnessed anything of the kind before. Chairs, bedsteads, carpets, and other articles of furniture were sold in rapid succession. Finally the auctioneer held up a folio copy of Josephus's Works, all in one volume, bound in leather, with very thick boards. One of the covers had been nearly broken off, but was still held in its place by a few threads. "How much for Josephus, the great historian of the Jews?" cried the auctioneer. "How much shall we have for Josephus?" But there was no response. The audience was by no means a literary one. The household furniture had called forth many bidders, but no one wanted Josephus. It is true it was rather rough-looking externally, but it was fair print and paper, and complete. "How much for Josephus?" was repeated, after quite a pause. Again for a moment there was no answer, when Donald, who by this time was well forward in the crowd, and was really breaking the tenth commandment over the book; almost without knowing it, exclaimed "Fourpence, sir." "Going, gone. You are the smallest customer I have had today, and the book is yours," the auctioneer replied, with a smile, at the same time handing it to Donald. The fourpence was dug from the bottom of the boy's pocket and handed over, after which he marched off in triumph, well laden with his purchase. It was no inconsiderable weight, and so he mounted it on his shoulder the more easily to carry it. He was passing the blacksmith shop, when |