" Únele," said Torn, one day, " it seems to me your things don't look as well a they might." They were iu the garden, and " the things " the boy had his oyes on were the curran t bushos. "Well, sir, what can you improve 'i " said his unció. " I can try on thfi eurrants," said Tom. "They want lo be trimmcd out, and the wood cut oif, and tho right suckers trained." " Suppnse you try, my boy," said his únele. His únele did not believe much would come ot' it ; but he had reason to change his mind. Much did come of it. l'eoiile when they walked into tho garden exclaimed : "What spleudid eurrants you have!" " That boy knows how to tako care of bis gold dust," said his únele often to himself. Tora went to collego ; and every account they heard of hiin he was going ahuad, - laying a solid foundation for the future. " Cert tinly, said his únele, "ceríainly ; that boy koows how to take care of his gold dust." "Gold dust!" Where did Tom get gold dust 'i He was a poor boy. He had not been to California. He never was a miner. Where did be get gold dust? Ah ! he has seconds and minutes : and these are the gold dust of time, - specks and partióles of time, which boys and girls and grown-up people are apt to waste and throw away. Tom knew their valué. His father had taught him that every ipeck nd partióle of time was worth its weightin gold; and hetookcare of them as if thoy were. Ho never spent foolishly, but oníy Ín good btirgains.