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"MADE A REPAIERT."

These are the mysterious words we read over the inner door which is half way open. A stout, good-natured looking Frenchman answers our knock, and we step down into a dark little basement room that smells very strong of rubber and dyes.

There is a nicely polished cooking stove that fills up a goodly portion of the room, and all sorts of "kitchen furniture" seem in the act of "changing places." Estoup can talk English, and understands it, too; but he jabbers French a great deal faster!

Yes, he has plenty of balloons already made, but the man who makes them for him is out of town to-day. Estoup, however, is very obliging. He will tell us just how the work is done, and some day, perhaps, we can come in again.

Here are the sheets of rubber- a peculiar kind of gutta percha that Estoup says cannot be bought in this country.

"Way over England -- come," he explains, and when we take the rubber in our hands, its tint and its firm, close texture is quite different, we find, from ordinary rubber.

Then Estoup takes up a forlorn looking little "wab" of nondescript color, puts it to his lips, and with every puff of breath we can see it grow bigger and bluer.

"Him four parts -- see!" and, like a miniature globe quartered in regular divisions, we notice how neatly and firmly the four parts of the little balloon have been cemented together.

Then, Estoup brings out two big jars, such as chemists use, and shows us how the vitriol is poured upon the pieces of zinc, and a kind of gas formed to inflate the rubber.

"Dye all through -- blue, red, white -- no wash off!" and Estoup puts them to his tongue that we may see for ourselves.

"Pictures, flags -- paint-pot -- bad, poison the children! These no harm -- never!" he adds with many gestures. We nod assent, which brings another grimace of delight to Estoup's broad, good-natured face.

"But how about the whistles -- do you make them too?"

"Oui, oui! make all -- right here! "

Pedro buys a dozen of the balloons and pays seventy cents for them; so we know just how much profit he gets when he sells them on the Common.

"And do you have a great demand for the balloons?" we ask Estoup.

With just a bit of a consequential air, he shows us a large order he has lately had from California.

"Me makes twenty-five gross a week sometime -- Fourth of July me no make them fast enough."

"But where is your little boy? Doesn't he help you?"

"Oh! Non! non! -- him way off -- seminaire in France -- me no want him to make balloons- me give him an 'educate '"

Estoup fears we may not understand; and repeats his words with gestures innumerable.

With true fatherly pride, he talks about this little son who is to have such a fine "educate;" and we can't help wondering if the boy is making a good use of his opportunities.

Surely, he ought to study very hard, and grow up a comfort and honor to such a loving, devoted father!

"Please, sir, can I have a cent's worth of that rubber?"

It is a child's voice and looking up we see a little girl standing in the door-way.

Estoup welcomes her with a smile, and gets the cent's worth of rubber with as much alacrity as if it were one of those "big orders."

You see he is every inch a Frenchman, and never forgets his manners! I don't wonder people like to trade with him, for to be always obliging and always polite -- even in little things -- is the mark of a true gentleman.

As far as the making of toy balloons is concerned, I believe Estoup & Co. to have the whole monopoly in Boston.

Doubtless many toy shops in the city- especially the larger establishments -- send directly to New York or Paris for the ready-made article; but Estoup and his man "Friday" know the secret, and I think their little balloons are quite as well made as those that come from a greater distance.

How ingenious all these French people are! Why, if it hadn't been for their busy brains, I don't believe we should have had any sort of balloons, at all!

Ever and ever so many years ago, there was an old Catholic priest, Father Lauretus Laurus by name, who said if any one would take the egg of a goose, blow out the inside, and fill it with morning dew, something very wonderful would happen.

But to see it best, you must put it out in the hot sun at the foot of a long ladder. Then, when the egg grew very hot, it would begin of its own accord to mount up the ladder -- round by round! Of course, this was all a fancy of Father Lauretus' brain, but you see he had the right theory, after all, about the expansion of heated air.

It was a good many years after this, that Stephen and Joseph Montgolfier, two brothers who lived near Lyons, in France -- actually made a little bag which they called "balloon" from the French word "ballon" meaning "little ball."

After a few experiments, just among themselves, they resolved to have a public exhibition in the large open square where everybody could see this wonderful little ball that was lighter than the air itself.