Chapter XIII…

Chapter XIII

The journey up-river was a very tedious one, and promised to be longer than Ping Wang had expected, for, as soon as darkness came up, the boat was moored for the night near a riverside village. The boatman declared, in a very humble tone, that he dared not go any further until daybreak for fear of being attacked by pirates.

On the following morning, at daybreak, the journey was resumed, but before the travellers had covered two miles, while the mist was still hanging over the river, Ping Wang noticed a boat rapidly overtaking them. It was a long, narrow craft, paddled by eight men. Another man knelt in the bows, and two more stood up in the stern. The latter were armed with old-fashioned rifles.

'Pirates!' the boat-owner shouted in terror when he had glanced at the pursuers, and instantly there was a panic among his men. One of them dived into the river and swam towards the bank; but the other three, who could not swim, ceased rowing, and hid themselves among the cargo.

'Make the cowards row,' Ping Wang commanded the boat-owner, but without any result, for the man was himself terror-stricken.

'Hasn't the wretched man got any weapons aboard?' Charlie said aloud.

Ping Wang translated Charlie's question, and the boat-owner answered promptly, 'Your miserable slave has one gun, which does not belong to him. He is taking it to a mandarin. Your wretched servant does not know where it was bought.'

'Never mind about that,' Ping Wang declared, guessing at once that the fellow had a rifle which had been stolen from some European. 'Bring it here at once.'

The boat-owner produced quickly a long bundle of cloth, and from the middle of it pulled out a rifle.

'A Lee-Metford,' Fred exclaimed, as he snatched the rifle out of the man's hand. 'Where is the ammunition?'

'Here it is,' Ping Wang said, as he burst open a box and displayed several packets of cartridges.

'That is splendid,' Fred declared, as he opened a packet. Like many London medical students, he had become a Volunteer, and was, moreover, a good shot. Having placed the open packet of cartridges beside him, he took up the rifle, and, after loading it, raised it to his shoulder, but did not yet fire. 'I won't shoot,' he said, 'until I am sure they mean to attack us.'

He had not long to wait before receiving proof of the pirates' intention. The boat was approaching fast, and when it was about a hundred yards from them, the pirates fired. Their rifles made a tremendous noise, and the travellers' boat was hit about an inch above water.

'That is enough,' Fred declared, and, placing his left foot on a seat and resting his left elbow on his knee, he took aim and fired.

'Good shot, Fred!' Charlie cried, as one of the pirates who had fired on them fell forward, wounded, among his comrades. The pirates had evidently not expected such a reception, and the result of Fred's shot filled them with dismay. They ceased rowing, and took counsel for a few moments.

'Look out, Fred,' Charlie said, 'there is a man in the bow with a breechloader. He's aiming at you.'

Just as he spoke the man fired, and the bullet whizzed perilously near to Fred's head.

'Get under cover,' Charlie begged, but Fred replied calmly, 'I can do best where I am.'

Again he fired, and this time he smashed the blade of an oar.

Finding that no one was hit by that shot, the pirates took courage, and the three men with guns fired simultaneously, but without doing any damage.

'I'll give them the magazine,' Fred said, and fired eight times in quick succession. How many men he hit they never knew. Charlie and Ping Wang saw five men throw up their arms, while a sixth, who fell overboard, made such frantic efforts to save himself that the boat capsized.

'Now row,' Ping Wang shouted, and, pulling the three boatmen from their hiding-places, pushed them back to their oars. Seeing that all danger was gone, the men smiled happily as they resumed work, and were not at all ashamed of their recent cowardice.

Charlie turned to his brother. 'Fred, I am awfully proud of you--you have saved our lives! I wish I had joined the Volunteers. But, I say,' he continued, 'put on your goggles, or the boatmen will see that you are not a Chinaman.'

'They must have found that out some minutes ago,' Fred answered, 'for we have been talking ever since we saw the pirates.'

'Perhaps they did not notice it,' Ping Wang suggested; but he soon discovered that this was not the case.

While Fred, from force of habit, was cleaning the rifle after using it, the boat-owner approached the travellers, and said to Ping Wang: 'The foreigner shoots very straight in spite of his sore eyes.'

'He has saved your life,' Ping Wang replied, sharply. 'If he had not shot the pirates, they would have killed all of us.'

'That is true, honourable brother. I and my men are full of gratitude.'

'Then you must all vow not to tell any one that he is a foreigner.'

The boatman considered the matter for a few moments. 'We will promise. We will take an oath,' he declared at length. He lighted a piece of paper, and, as it burned to ashes, he expressed the hope that, if he told any one that the two men with goggles were foreigners, he might also be totally destroyed by fire. The other men took the oath in the same fashion.

'Will they keep it?' Charlie inquired, when Ping Wang had made known to Fred and him the nature of the oath.

'I cannot be sure of it,' Ping Wang said.

'I will keep this rifle until we reach the end of our river-trip,' Fred declared.

Shortly after the sun had set, the boat arrived at the place where Ping Wang had decided to land.

'The foreigners and I will not land until daybreak,' he said to the boat-owner. 'Moor the boat. It will be safer for us to begin our journey by daylight,' Ping Wang said to Charlie and Fred, after telling them that they were to remain on board until the morning. 'I have not travelled by the road we are going to take since I was a small boy, and consequently it is not familiar to me. There is another road which leads to Kwang-ngan, but it is more frequented than the one by which we are to travel. Our road is a round-about one, and rarely used since the shorter road has been made. I hope that we shall meet very few people.'

'How far shall we have to walk before we reach the first village?' Charlie asked.

'About five miles; and Kwang-ngan is six miles beyond that.'

'Then we shall be there to-morrow night, I suppose?'

'I hope so. By-the-bye, do you feel hungry?'

'Very,' Charlie answered, speaking for Fred as well as for himself.

'Then I'll ask the boat-owner to sell us a couple of ducks I know he has on board.'

Ping Wang returned to his friends presently, holding in his hands two well-cooked ducks.

'We shall soon polish these off,' Charlie said, as he, Fred, and Ping Wang took their seats under the awning, with the ducks on a big wooden plate on their knees.

'Your appetite always was enormous,' Fred remarked. 'But I was thinking whether we ought not to save one of them. Ping Wang, shall we have any difficulty in obtaining food to-morrow?'

'I don't think so,' Ping Wang replied. 'However, it would be a good thing to save one of the birds until the morning, so that we may have a good meal to start the day.'

One duck was therefore kept, and the other eaten. Ten minutes after the meal, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were sound asleep, with the duck near them on the wooden dish in which it had been served up. When they awoke at daybreak the dish was where they had left it, but the duck had disappeared.

'This is serious,' Ping Wang said. 'One of the boatmen must have stolen it. I will ask them.'

He did so; but the men promptly vowed that they had not stolen the duck. They did not appear at all surprised, however, when the accusation was made; and Ping Wang concluded that they were not speaking the truth.

'As you have stolen the duck,' Ping Wang continued, sternly, 'you must return to me the money which I gave for it.'

'Would my honourable brother rob his slave?' the boat-owner asked, in alarm.

'Yes. If you cannot give me the duck, I must have back the price I paid for it. If you cannot give me the money, I will keep the rifle which the foreigner is holding.'

This decision alarmed the boat-owner. 'Honourable brother,' he said, after a few moments' silence, 'I will search for the duck: perhaps it has rolled off the dish.'

He searched in what appeared to Ping Wang to be very unlikely places, and found the missing dainty in a basket on top of the pile of cargo.

'The rifle shall be given you,' said Ping Wang, and then turned to speak to Charlie and Fred. 'We had better breakfast on shore,' he said; 'let us land at once.'

Ping Wang handed over the Lee-Metford to the boat-owner, and the three travellers stepped ashore, thoroughly glad to get out of the boat.

(Continued on page 317.)

ENCOUNTERS WITH LIONS.

The accounts which travellers and hunters sometimes give us of their encounters with wild animals are often very interesting, not only because they are exciting, but also because they show us the habits of the various animals, and the effects which are produced upon the human brain by these sudden and unusual attacks.

Mr. Moffat, the missionary, describes the very strange behaviour of a lion which caught a native asleep. The man was returning home from a visit alone, when, tired with his walk, he sat down to refresh himself by the side of a pool, and fell asleep. He awoke with the heat of the sun, and found a lion crouching scarcely more than a yard from his feet. He sat still for a few minutes, and tried to think what he ought to do. His gun was lying a little distance away beyond his reach, and he moved his hand towards it several times. But whenever he did so, the lion raised his head and uttered a loud roar. So long as the man remained quite still, the lion did not molest him. The day and the night passed, and neither the man nor the lion moved from the spot. At noon on the following day the lion went down to the pool for a drink, watching the poor man all the while, and then returned to its former position. Another night passed, and again on the following day the lion went for a drink. On this occasion it was alarmed by some noise, and made off to the bush. The poor native crawled to his gun, and then crept down to the pool to drink. His toes were so scorched by the heat of the rock that he could not walk. Fortunately, he was discovered by a person passing, and was rescued. He lost the use of his toes, however, and he was a cripple for the rest of his life.

Livingstone once nearly lost his life in an encounter with a lion in South Africa. He had gone out to shoot one of a troop of lions, in order to frighten the rest away from the village. After the natives who were with him had allowed several to escape, Livingstone shot at one about thirty yards off, and wounded it. He was quietly re-loading his gun, when he heard a shout from one of his attendants, and, looking up, he saw the lion springing upon him. It caught him by the shoulder, and shook him as a dog shakes a rat. The shaking seemed to deprive him of his sense of feeling, and he felt neither pain nor alarm, though he knew quite well what was happening. The lion growled all the while, and placed his heavy foot upon the doctor's head. At this moment one of the natives had courage enough to fire, and, though the shot failed, the lion's attention was drawn to the native, and it rushed upon him and bit him in the thigh. Another native tried to spear it, and he in his turn was attacked, and bitten in the shoulder. But this time the lion was exhausted by its wounds, and fell down dead.

Not long ago a Government ranger in the Transvaal had a fierce struggle with a lion, which was reported in The Field. He was riding homewards alone, having left his companions behind, when he heard his dog bark at something near the path, and saw a lion crouching near him on the right side, ready to spring. He turned his horse quickly and the lion missed his spring, but the ranger was thrown from his horse. No sooner did he touch the ground than another lion pounced upon him from the opposite side, while the first ran after the runaway horse. The second lion seized him by the right shoulder, and dragged him quickly along the path, his back and legs trailing along the ground. The animal growled and purred like a cat with a mouse, but in very much louder tones. The poor ranger was greatly distressed, both in body and in mind, and it was not until the lion had dragged him about two hundred yards that he remembered that he had a sheath-knife at his belt. As the lion stopped at the foot of a large tree, he drew his sheath-knife with his left hand, and stabbed the animal twice in the right side. The lion jumped back, and in a few moments he turned and walked away, growling and moaning as he went. Meanwhile, the ranger climbed a tree, and tied himself to a branch, lest he should lose consciousness and fall off. There he was found by his companions, and conveyed to the nearest hospital. The body of the lion was afterwards discovered not far away. Its heart had been pierced by the blade of the sheath-knife. The lion was an old male, and its empty stomach showed that it had been rendered unusually fierce by hunger.

PHILIP WOOD AND SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.

'Be off, I tell you! We want no loiterers here!' said a workman, roughly pushing away a country lad who was gazing with deep interest at the busy crowd of people engaged in the rebuilding of St. Paul's Cathedral.

This famous church, destroyed by the Great Fire in 1666, was now--some three years later--being restored under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren.

'I am not loitering, sir,' answered the lad humbly. 'I have come up from Suffolk to seek work. I can carve, and I can----'

'Be off, I tell you!' harshly interrupted the foreman; 'we want no hedge-carpenters here! Here comes the master. Be off, or he will make short work of you!'

The master, no less a person than the great Sir Christopher himself, now came up, and catching sight of the lad, said sternly:

'Who is that youth? Has he business here? If not, bid him begone, for lookers-on hinder the work.'

'Just what I was telling him, your honour,' said the foreman, scowling at the boy. 'He has come to look for work, he says, but I told him we wanted no country bumpkins here.'

Sir Christopher cast a searching glance at the boy. 'What sort of work can you do?' he asked.

The boy, Philip Wood, by name, was much flustered at being addressed by the great architect himself, and hardly knowing what he said, he stammered out, 'I am very fond of carving, sir.'

'Carving--umph! What was the last thing you carved?' asked Sir Christopher.

'The last thing was a trough, but----' and Philip was about to describe the group of roses and columbines he had made for the Squire's chimney-piece, but was interrupted by a scornful laugh from the foreman.

'A trough! and he to seek work on St. Paul's! Let him return to his swine.'

Sir Christopher joined in the laugh. Then, seeing the crestfallen look of the boy, he said, half-scornfully, 'Troughs! Well, then, you have seen pigs. Suppose your carve me a sow and her little ones; that will be in your line. Bring it me here this day week.'

He walked away, and the workmen burst into loud laughter as they hustled Philip out of the yard.

He, poor fellow, was utterly cast down at this mocking suggestion of Sir Christopher's, and hurrying back to his attic he flung himself on his bed and burst into tears.

Some hours later, his landlady, a motherly old soul, who pitied the friendless lad, toiled up the attic stairs with a basin of broth for him, knowing that he had had no food that day.

'Highty-tighty!' she said, going up to Philip and putting a kind hand on his shoulder. 'What's amiss? What's wrong to-day may prove right on the morrow, so never fret, lad.'

Philip could not resist her sympathy, and she soon got from him the story of his reception by Sir Christopher, and how the great architect had scornfully told him to go and carve 'a sow and her little ones.'

'It was all my own fault,' continued the boy. 'I was so confused, I never told him of the bedstead I had carved for the Hall, nor of the mantel-shelf, but I blurted out about the trough, and then he bade me "carve a sow,"' and Philip turned red at the remembrance.

'He said that, did he?' said the woman eagerly. 'Then do it, and show your skill. Sir Christopher bade you come again, and he will not refuse to see you. Set to work on the sow, and mind she is a good one.'

Encouraged by these words, Philip got up, drank the broth, and, feeling cheered by the food, took his last crown-piece, bought a good block of wood, and returned to his attic.

He worked at his wood block from morning to night for the next week, hoping--aye, and praying earnestly--that he might turn out something that the master would not despise.

It was finished at last, and pronounced by the landlady to be 'as like a sow as one pea is like another.' So, hoping much and fearing more, Philip took his group, carefully wrapped in an apron lent him for the purpose, and made his way to the Cathedral yard.

'Hallo! here comes our young hedge-carpenter,' exclaimed the foreman, as Philip passed the gate. 'What's he got so carefully wrapped up? Another trough, I take it. Let's have a look at the treasure,' and as he spoke he reached towards the bundle.

But Philip would not part with it. 'No,' he said firmly. 'Sir Christopher set me the task, and he shall be the first to see it.'

Before long Sir Christopher appeared, and, seeing the boy standing humbly waiting by the gate, he called to him, and, taking the bundle from Philip's hands, slowly unwound the wrapping. There, to the very life, was a fat old sow, with nine little piglings grouped about her in every possible attitude.

Sir Christopher looked long at the group, saying never a word, whilst poor Philip grew hot and cold with terror. He hardly knew if his work were good or bad; he only knew that he had put all his heart into it, and tried to do his very best.

At last the great man spoke.

'It is good! very good!' he said firmly. 'I will keep it and give you a guinea for it, and I engage you, young man, to work on this building. Attend at my office to-morrow forenoon.'

Philip bowed low; his heart was too full to speak, and Sir Christopher continued:

'I fear I did you some injustice a little time back, and for this I am sorry; but a great national work is entrusted to my care, and it is my duty to see that no part of the work falls into unskilful hands.'

* * * * *

So the country lad, Philip Wood of Sudbury, accomplished his ambition, and found regular work on St. Paul's Cathedral.

Those people who care to study the old parchments, still preserved, on which the building accounts of the Cathedral are kept, may read that large sums of money were from time to time paid to Philip Wood (or Haylittle as he was called after his marriage, when he took his wife's name), 'for carved work in the cathedral church of St. Paul.'

S. CLARENDON.

THE TWO DOLLS.

I have a doll, an old, old doll, The playmate of many years; I've danced around with her in my smiles, And hugged her tight in my tears.

And I've a doll, a new, new doll, 'Twas given me yesterday; Dressed out in silk and beautiful lace, Ever so bonny and gay.

One is battered and scratched and grey, The other has hair like gold; But much as I love the new, new doll, Better I love the old.

GEMMAL RINGS.

Rings, from a time very far back, have been worn as ornaments on the hands, and given by people to each other as tokens of affection or as a sign of power. The oldest rings known were very large and cumbrous, and they were adorned with stones, sometimes flattened to make seals on wax or clay. The gemmal ring, as it is called, is an old kind, probably several centuries old, and rings of this sort are not made now. From what we know about them, it would appear the first ones were of French work, that nation being long remarkable for skill in contriving curious jewellery. Some may have been made in Italy, and even in our own land rings have been dug up from the earth, where they were hidden away with other valuables, or perhaps occasionally buried with those who had worn them.

A gemmal ring has a double row of hoops, locked within each other like the links of a chain. One edge of each ring is flat, so that when one is slipped over the other, the gemmal looks like a single ring. While opened out, two persons can put a finger into the hoops, and this fact gives the origin of the old name applied to them, though it has somehow got a little altered. 'Geminal' was the proper spelling, coming from the Latin geminus (a twin), because such a ring is twin or double. Of course, owing to its form, a gemmal ring was valued as a love token; and at one period it was often used as an engagement ring, or even as a marriage ring. It is supposed that some gemmals, which have one ring gold and the other silver, were made for wedding rings, the gold being for the wife and the silver for the husband. There are gemmals still existing which are adorned with precious stones, and some have singular devices on their sides. One found at Horsleydown, in Surrey, had on each of the two parts of the ring a hand, draped, and holding half a heart; when the ring was closed, the hands appeared joined, holding a whole heart between them. Other rings had mottoes in French or English.

The word 'gemmal' was formerly applied to other objects besides rings. Thus we have in Shakespeare a mention of the 'gemmal bit,' some sort of double bit for a horse.

J. R. S. C.

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

IX.--THE GROTTO OF LA BALME.

The worshippers of Buddha and Brahma have not been alone in taking advantage of caverns to build temples and religious houses, for in Dauphiné, in Eastern France, we find the magnificent grotto of La Balme used for the same purpose. The builders of the West have not, however, taken the same trouble over hewing out the solid rock as did their Eastern brethren, but have contented themselves with building in an ordinary way a handsome church in the mouth of the cave. The cave is of great height, being more than a hundred feet to the roof, whilst the breadth at the entrance is sixty-five feet.

In reality the building consists of two chapels placed side by side, with rooms for the clergy and a belfry. The effect of the white building against the dark arch of the cavern, surrounded by a frame of rich green creepers, is very fine. Masonry has also been used to support the cliff to the right of the church. A broad causeway with parapets leads into the cave, and down each side rushes a stream, which comes from the recesses beyond.

On entering the cavern the roof soon becomes lower, and we soon find that the single cave divides into two long galleries. Taking the one to the left, we come into what is called the Grotto of Diamonds, in which the water oozing through the rocks has left a crystal sediment which sparkles like diamonds when light is flashed over it. Small rock basins form a ring, and, pouring water from one to the other in tiny cascades, have also crystallised into beautiful forms which reflect and multiply the gleams of light.

We follow a rocky ledge edged with a fringe of stalactite drops about six inches long, and then creep along a dangerous path with dark depths on either side. This leads downwards to a tranquil lake which reflects our lamps and torches.

On our return we take the gallery to the right, and come across a curious stalagmite (called the Capuchin Monk), wonderfully like a human being about six feet high. All around are stalactites and stalagmites of every possible form, and we long to do a great deal more exploration of the endless rock passages branching on every side. But, alas! they are too dangerous, owing to the endless crevasses of unknown depth which cross and recross the rocky galleries, where a slip probably means a horrible death.

As long ago as the time of Francis I. of France, who reigned in the sixteenth century, two criminals condemned to death, were, by order of the King, offered their lives if they explored the Grotto of La Balme to its extreme limits. No record seems to have been kept whether they accepted the offer. Possibly they preferred a certain and speedy form of death to long sufferings in the darkness and terrors of the gloomy cavern.

HELENA HEATH.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 311.)

As soon as the travellers had landed, they set out on the road to Kwang-ngan, eating the second duck as they went. They understood perfectly that they were about to begin the most dangerous part of their journey.

'Don't appear surprised at anything you see or hear,' was Ping Wang's sensible advice, 'and remember that an exclamation from either of you would probably lead to its being discovered that you are not Chinamen.'

Charlie and Fred promised not to forget what he had said.

When they had trudged about three-quarters of a mile they joined the main road to the village for which they were bound, and from now onwards at every few yards they met a Chinaman.

The Pages thoroughly enjoyed the novel scene. Chinamen of almost all stations of life seemed to be using that road. One moment they would see a pompous-looking man riding on a sturdy, shaggy pony; the next, a dandy being carried in a palanquin. Coolies with a long pole across one shoulder, and a basket or bundle hanging from each end, hurried past them at a shuffling kind of run. Heavier loads were carried on poles, which rested on the shoulders of two coolies. Occasionally some pedestrian would make a friendly remark to the three travellers, and when that happened Ping Wang replied in the most genial manner.

When they had been on the tramp for about an hour and a half, Ping Wang looked round, and seeing that no Chinamen were near, said, as he pointed to a square-looking object in the distance, 'That is Su-ching, our first halting-place.'

After this the three friends were compelled to remain silent, so constantly were they meeting people, and the nearer they drew to the town the more numerous did the people become. The town was enclosed by a brick wall, and from a distance looked able to withstand the attack of any enemy; but a closer inspection showed that the defences were practically worthless, and that the town could be quickly destroyed by modern guns. In some places the walls had crumbled away. Some of the guns were so old and rusty that to have fired them would have done more harm to the gunners than to the enemy. But most of the guns were dummies--wooden things, mounted to give a formidable look to the place.

'Will there be any difficulty about getting into the town?' Fred whispered.

'Oh, no!' Ping Wang replied. 'We will enter by that gate facing us. There will probably be some soldiers there, but they won't interfere with us.'

Ten minutes later Ping Wang and the Pages arrived at the open gate, near which were some half-dozen dirty rascals playing some Chinese game. They were soldiers, but so interested were they in their game that they did not even glance at the people passing in and out. Ping Wang told Fred and Charlie, later, that these imitations of soldiers usually passed their time in that fashion.

Once in the town Charlie and Fred felt that they were comparatively safe, for it seemed that among the large population they would escape notice. No one appeared to suspect that they were not Chinamen, and Ping Wang, who had recently been regretting he had induced the Pages to take part in such a dangerous enterprise, became convinced that they would reach the house for which they were bound without any difficulty. The reason for entering the town was to discover from a cousin of his, who resided there, if Chin Choo were still alive. He knew that it was a risky thing for him to do to bring the Pages into the town, but he was convinced that to have left them by themselves outside would have been far more dangerous.

'In a few minutes,' he said, quietly, 'we shall arrive at my cousin's house. He is a Christian, and will not let any one know that you are Englishmen. He will give us a meal, and then we can start off refreshed to Kwang-ngan.'

But before they had gone another fifty yards, and just as they were passing a big building, which Ping Wang whispered was the residence of some high official, some twenty Yamên runners, or policemen, suddenly rushed out of the courtyard and seized the three of them. The men were armed with swords, and to have resisted would have been madness. Ping Wang indignantly asked to be told why they were treated thus, but got no reply. Charlie and Fred had the good sense not to utter a word, for, although they believed that it had been discovered that they were Europeans, they were determined not to convict themselves. With unnecessary roughness they were hurried into the courtyard from which their captors had sallied, and before long a mandarin came out of the house to inspect them. He was not attired in his official clothes, and did not come within twenty yards of the prisoners, but after a glance at them made some remark to the leader of the men who had captured them, and then returned indoors.

Ping Wang was still ignorant of the cause of their arrest, but, as no cries of 'Foreigners!' had been raised, he knew that it had not yet been discovered that Charlie and Fred were Europeans. Once again he demanded to be told why they had been arrested, but, instead of replying, the leader raised his bamboo cane menacingly. As Ping Wang had no desire to be beaten, he made no further efforts to solve the mystery of their arrest. His sole anxiety now was as to what would be done to them. That they were supposed to have committed some crime he guessed, and that they would be punished, although they had not been tried, he was also sure.

Without any delay, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were marched out of the courtyard, and through the streets, until they came to a large building, which Ping Wang recognised with dismay as a prison. But, with a thrill of hope, he found that they were not taken into the prison, but marched round the wall until they came to a spot where there were half-a-dozen wooden collars lying on the ground. These wooden collars are very much like the old English pillory, with the exception that the person who has to wear the instrument is not placed on a platform, but stands or sits on the ground.

Charlie and Fred did not recognise the instruments of punishment, and, when they were suddenly flung to the ground, they imagined that they were about to be executed. As they felt the collars tighten round their necks, and had their hands pushed through two holes lower down on the wooden board, they came to the conclusion that they were to be tortured to death. But when they found that nothing more was done to them they turned their heads--as far as their wooden collars would permit--to see how their companion was faring. Then, seeing each other, they understood the nature of their punishment.

The Chinamen, having chained the wooden collars to the prison wall, departed, leaving the three prisoners to the tender mercies of any passers-by.

'Now they are all gone I must speak,' Charlie exclaimed. 'How long will they keep us in these things?'

'I haven't the faintest idea,' Ping Wang answered.

For fully half an hour they did not speak a word. Scores of people passed them during that time, but very few took any notice of them, for it was by no means an unusual sight to see prisoners there. Two or three chaffed them, but no one molested them. Their first tormentors were two boys, who walked up and down in front of them, pulling their noses as they passed; but, fortunately, an official, whose duty it was to pay periodical visits to men in their position, came in sight, and the young rascals fled in alarm.

This official, who was aged, smiled with delight at having caused the boys to go without much exertion on his part. He wore a hat which reminded Charlie and Fred of a candle-extinguisher. In other respects his costume did not differ from that of any ordinary Chinaman.

'Venerable uncle,' Ping Wang exclaimed as soon as the old man reached them, 'why are your dogs of servants placed in the wooden collars?'

The old man smiled, for in his time he had heard hundreds of prisoners ask that question. Nevertheless he replied, for he always treated prisoners courteously, having seen many respectable men in the position of his questioner.

'Did not my honourable brothers steal a horse that belonged to the foreigners?' he asked.

'Your dogs of servants have not stolen anything.'

The old man laughed incredulously. 'The foreigners say that you did,' he declared.

'They have not seen us.'

'But they have declared to the mandarin that three men stole their horse at daybreak. Therefore you were arrested.'

Having given this very unsatisfactory piece of information, the old man calmly walked away.

When he was out of hearing, Ping Wang said to his friends in misfortune: 'We are arrested for horse-stealing. Some foreigners--missionaries, I imagine, as there are not likely to be any other Europeans in this place--have complained that they have had their horse stolen by three men. Evidently the mandarin, or one of his subordinates, promised to inquire into the matter, and, in order to give the missionaries the impression that they had caught the thieves, ordered the arrest of any three men. Apparently we happened to be passing just as the Yamên runners started out, and therefore they took us. Now the mandarin will inform the missionaries that he has had the thieves caught and punished.'

Nothing more was said by either of the unfortunate prisoners for nearly an hour, so continuously were people passing to and fro. Their necks were aching terribly, and, in spite of their determination not to lose heart, they became very dispirited.

(Continued on page 324.)

A COAT OF PAINT.

'I want the boat smartened up a bit, Jack. You will lend a hand this afternoon, and help me to give her a fresh coat of paint.'

'What is the use of wasting paint over an old thing like that, Grandfather? You only use her for taking out the lobster-pots. I wish we had a good boat we could hire out to visitors.'

'"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,"' the old man said, 'or perhaps, in the present case, they would sail. But I have not quite enough money put by for a new boat yet.'

'And there is little chance of making any,' Jack grumbled.

'Well, we must just make the best of what we have got. And, you know, Jack, I must have things ship-shape about me, and so, even if the Mary Jane has seen her best days, she can still be kept spick and span as well as seaworthy.'

'There would be some sense in keeping a smart little craft which looked nice,' Jack argued, 'but this old tub is only fit for firewood.'

'Now, look here, sonny, suppose I were to say, "It is no use for an old fellow like me to try to look respectable. I will just have done with brush and comb, soap and water, and go in rags, and will leave it for the young folks to be smart and tidy?"'

'Oh, that wouldn't do at all!' Jack said, looking at the old man, with his jolly ruddy face and white hair. 'Granny would never allow that.'

'And I am not going to allow my old Mary Jane to be slovenly either. But I will manage the job myself if old folks and old boats are not worth your troubling about.'

Now this made Jack rather ashamed of his reluctance to help, so in the afternoon he came and worked with a will, until the old boat in her new dress looked as if she had grown young again.

Indeed, the fresh paint had such a smart appearance that a little girl passing down to the beach stopped and gazed at it with admiration.

'Look, Daddy,' she called to her father. 'Isn't it a dear little boat? Could we have it to go for a row?'

'It certainly looks broad and safe enough for a small girl who finds it difficult to keep still,' was the answer, and the result was an arrangement to hire the boat at intervals for the rest of the summer season.

And when the Mary Jane was laid up for the winter, Jack and his grandfather counted their earnings, and found that enough had been gained to make up the sum wanted for a new boat.

'That coat of paint was worth something after all,' the old man said. 'And remember, sonny, that "taut and trim" is a good motto to hold by whether your work lies among boats or not.'

M. H.

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

VI.--THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR, OCT. 21, 1805.

'And since that day St. George's Cross Has ruled the dark blue sea, For Nelson led the windward line, And Collingwood the lee.'

E. H. MITCHELL.

It was in the early dawn of October 21st, 1805, when Nelson, pacing the quarter-deck of the Victory, could distinctly make out the enemy--the combined fleets of France and Spain. Villeneuve, the French Admiral, a skilful seaman, had placed his ships so as to leave the port of Cadiz open for himself, whilst bringing the British ships close to the shoals of Trafalgar.

Nelson, however, was confident of success, and asked Captain Blackwood 'what he should consider as a victory?'

Blackwood, knowing the enemy to be superior both in the number of ships and weight of guns, said he thought it would be a glorious victory if fourteen vessels were captured.

'I shall not, Blackwood, be satisfied with less than twenty,' was Nelson's reply, and he ordered the fleet to anchor, and prepare for battle.

Then he retired to his cabin, and calmly wrote a prayer, commending himself to God and begging for 'a glorious victory, and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be a prominent feature in the British fleet.'

About 11 a.m. he was again on deck, and turning to Captain Blackwood he asked him 'if there was not still a signal wanting?' Then, almost before the captain could answer that 'he thought the whole fleet seemed thoroughly to understand what was required of them,' Nelson had ordered his lieutenant, Mr. Pascoe, to hoist the memorable signal:

'England expects that every man will do his duty.'

This signal--Nelson's last signal--was received with hearty cheering throughout the fleet.

'Now,' said Nelson, 'I can do no more. We must trust to the Great Disposer of all events, and the justice of our cause. I thank God for this great opportunity of doing my duty.'

There was one matter which was causing great anxiety to the officers on board the Victory, and that was the conspicuousness of Nelson's dress. He wore on the left breast of his Admiral's frock-coat, the four stars of the different Orders with which he had been invested, and these shining ornaments at once singled him out from his officers, and rendered him an easy mark for the enemy's sharp-shooters.

No one, however, dared to remonstrate with Nelson on this subject--for on a previous occasion, when begged to change his dress, or cover his stars, he had answered somewhat shortly:

'In honour I gained them, and in honour I will die with them.'

At a few minutes before mid-day the battle began, Nelson and Collingwood each leading his line of ships, Nelson steering a little more to the north than Collingwood in order to cut off the enemy's retreat into Cadiz, so that the lee line under Collingwood was first engaged.

'See!' cried Nelson, pointing to the Royal Sovereign, as she steered straight for the enemy's line, 'See how that noble fellow Collingwood carries his ship into action!' whilst Collingwood, delighted to be the first in the heat of fire, exclaimed at the same time to his captain, 'What would Nelson give to be here!'

Nelson, however, had not cause for long to envy Collingwood, as very soon the Victory also was in the thick of the battle. The Admiral's secretary was shot whilst standing by his side, and shortly afterwards a shot struck the fore-brace bits on the quarter-deck and passed between Nelson and Hardy (his captain), tearing off his buckle and bruising his foot. Both men looked anxiously at each other, for each thought the other wounded, then Nelson smiled and said, 'This is too warm work, Hardy, to last long!'

The Victory was along-side the French ship Redoutable, whose tops were filled with riflemen. Suddenly a ball fired from her mizen-top, not more than fifteen yards from where Nelson was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, and he fell on his face on the deck.

Hardy, but a few steps away, turned round to see three men raising the wounded Admiral.

'They have done for me at last, Hardy,' said Nelson.

'I hope not,' said Hardy.

'Yes,' he replied, 'my backbone is shot through.'

He still, however, kept his presence of mind, and taking out his handkerchief covered his face and his stars, so that his crew might not be discouraged by knowing that the wounded officer being carried past to the cock-pit was their dearly loved commander.

'Had he but concealed those badges of honour from the enemy,' says Southey, 'England perhaps would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar.'

Nelson was well aware that his wound was mortal, and at once told the surgeon to attend to the other wounded men, who lay all about the deck and crowded cock-pit, 'for,' said he, 'you can do nothing for me.'

The life-blood was in fact fast ebbing away, and all that could be done for the dying hero was to fan him with paper, and to give him lemonade to alleviate the great thirst that always follows gun-shot wounds.

Meanwhile, the battle raged fiercely, and even in his dying agonies Nelson's eyes would gleam with joy when he heard the cheers of his men as often as an enemy's ship struck.

He now became very anxious to see Captain Hardy, but it was an hour or more before Hardy was able to leave the quarter-deck, and hasten to Nelson's side. He was so affected that he could only silently shake the Admiral's hand.

'Hardy,' said Nelson, 'how goes the day?'

'Very well,' replied Hardy. 'Ten ships have struck, and I have no doubt of giving them a drubbing.'

'I hope,' said Nelson, 'none of our ships have struck?'

'No fear of that,' answered Hardy. He had now to go again on deck, but in an hour's time returned to the cock-pit, and congratulated the dying commander on having gained a complete victory, fourteen or fifteen of the enemy being taken, perhaps more, but in the confusion of the battle it was impossible to be quite accurate.

'That's well!' said Nelson, 'but I bargained for twenty!'

Then a few minutes later he said in a low voice, 'Don't throw me overboard,' and then feeling life to be all but gone, he said, 'Kiss me, Hardy.'

Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek, and Nelson said, 'Now I am satisfied! Thank God I have done my duty.' These words he kept faintly repeating again and again until he died--just four hours and three-quarters after he had received his wound.

The victory of Trafalgar was complete. The fleets of France and Spain were not merely defeated, but completely shattered, and England had no longer any cause to dread a foreign invasion.

But great as were the rejoicings over this victory, the death of Nelson cast such gloom over the whole country that the rejoicings were said to be 'without joy.'

A fitting monument to Britain's greatest Admiral was erected some years later in Trafalgar Square, London. A statue of Nelson, in cocked hat and with empty right sleeve, stands towering aloft at a height of one hundred and forty-five feet; at the base crouch Landseer's four majestic lions, watchful as he who for so many years maintained for Britain the supremacy of the sea.

WELCOME TO THE FIRST FIRE.

The north wind is sighing, The daylight is dying, The sun has gone down, and the night shadows fall; But see, lightly dancing, And peeping, and glancing, The firelight is climbing our nursery wall.

Then greet this new-comer Who left us all summer, To hide in old cinders while weather was warm; Yet must have been near us, For now, just to cheer us, He comes back at once with the winter and storm.

Oh, ruddy flames leaping, Say, where were you sleeping? In some land of faery where fires never die, And wind always freezes? Or heard you the breezes That fanned our sweet roses through June and July?

'Twas spring when we parted-- You smouldered down-hearted; The lilacs were out, and we told you to go: But knew, when November Had come, you'd remember To cheer us again with your warmth and your glow.

OLD CONDUITS.

Young readers are sometimes puzzled, in reading accounts of ancient processions through city streets, at the frequent references to the Conduits passed on the way. A conduit was a strong tower built of stone, furnished with taps, through which water was supplied to the people. London householders used to send their servants and apprentices, with jugs and pails, to the conduits, to obtain water for daily use; and a great deal of gossiping and quarrelling went on at these places. On state occasions the conduits were decorated; and, at the coronation of one of the queens, we read that over the conduit near Shoe Lane was raised a turret, with figures of the four cardinal virtues; while the taps, instead of sending out water, ran for that day with streams of wine. Often, as a royal procession passed such places, a youth or child, in some strange dress, would stand forth, and deliver a speech, prepared beforehand, to the king or queen.

CLEVER BILLY.

A True Story.

'Well, Lucy, how have you been getting on since I saw you last?' said Miss Fanny Cresswell to her niece, Lucy.

Lucy had come on a visit to her aunt's pretty cottage in the country, and very pleased the little girl was to be there. Nevertheless, there was a shadow on her usually bright face as she looked up.

'We have had a great trouble at home, Aunt Fanny,' she answered. 'Our dear old dog, Carlo, is dead. He was so clever and so good that we shall never get another like him. Why, he even carried my basket when I went shopping, instead of being stupid, like other animals.'

Aunt Fanny could hardly help smiling. 'Carlo was indeed a good dog, and I am very sorry that he is dead,' she said. 'But you must not think, my dear, that all the other animals are stupid. My goat, Billy, is, in his own way, as clever as Carlo, as you may see to-morrow morning--that is, if you are up in time.'

Lucy thought to herself that Aunt Fanny's rough goat--of whom, in her heart, she was a little afraid--could not possibly equal poor, faithful Carlo. But she took care to be early next morning, and very soon she found out her aunt's meaning.

Miss Cresswell was writing at her desk, and Mary, the maid, was busy getting breakfast, when the postman came to the gate.

'There is the postman with a letter,' cried Lucy. 'Shall I run and take it, auntie?'

'Oh, never mind!' said Aunt Fanny. 'Billy will do that.'

Sure enough Billy trotted up to the smiling postman and received the letter in his mouth. Once or twice he capered round Lucy, who had followed to the gate, and then, standing quite still, he held up his head as if proud of his achievement, and allowed the letter to be taken.

'Good Billy,' said Lucy, as, ashamed of her former fears, she patted his shaggy side. 'You are clever. It is just as wonderful for a goat to bring the letters as for a dog to carry a basket.'

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 319.)

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Chapter XIV

An hour passed, and Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were still in the wooden collars. Charlie and Fred closed their eyes; but, as they did not succeed in getting any sleep, after ten minutes' endeavour they gave up the attempt, and had a short conversation in low tones.

Ping Wang was lamenting that he had persuaded the Pages to come to China, when they heard a shout of 'Foreigners!' and turning their eyes in the direction from which it came they saw a European approaching. He wore a beehive hat, but the remainder of his attire was European.

'He is coming towards us!' Fred exclaimed, joyfully.

'But he won't be able to set us free,' Charlie answered.

'He is a missionary,' Ping Wang declared, 'and you may be sure that he will do all that he possibly can to help us out of our trouble. Come closer!' he shouted, in Chinese. 'We want to speak to you.'

'I say,' Charlie exclaimed, 'it's Barton, the old "International!"'

'So it is,' Fred said, delightedly, feeling certain that a resourceful football-player, such as Barton had proved himself to be times innumerable, would devise some means for freeing them.

'Well,' said Barton, smiling, 'you're collared.' And Charlie and Fred laughed. 'How did you get in this fix?' Barton continued, seriously; and Ping Wang related in a few words how they had been arrested. 'This is very unfortunate,' Barton declared. 'Early this morning one of our converts saw three men make off with my colleague's horse. I reported the theft to the Chinese officials, and urged that steps should be taken to detect the thieves. I suppose that to save the trouble of making inquiries they arrested you. I received information about an hour ago that the thieves had been caught, and I came out to see if I knew the men. Now I must hurry away, and see if I can get you set at liberty. It will be difficult, I fear; but you may rely on my doing my best.'

Barton hurried away, leaving the prisoners in much better spirits. Nearly two hours passed before he returned, and they had begun to fear that his efforts on their behalf had not been successful.

'Barton's smiling,' Charlie whispered, as the missionary drew near. 'We are going to be released. I should like to give old Barton a cheer. It wouldn't be the first I have given him by many a score.'

'Don't talk,' Ping Wang said; and in a few minutes the men who had arrested them had unlocked the collars, and set them free.

'Come with me,' Barton said, as they rose from their cramped position on the ground.

'Can you speak Chinese?' he asked the Pages, when they had walked a few yards; and, on their replying that they only knew a few words, added, 'Then we will speak English. You need not fear that it will arouse suspicion, for several of our native Christians have learnt English. By-the-bye, I am sorry to have kept you waiting; the officials knew very well that they had arrested the wrong men; but when I told them that such was the case, they flatly contradicted me. However, after we had a long conversation, they told me that they would set you free, but would not arrest anybody else. I agreed to that at once, and they seemed quite as pleased as I was at the result of my interview.'

'We are very grateful to you----' Charlie began, but Barton stopped him.

'My dear fellow, you have nothing to thank me for. In fact, I am the innocent cause of the hardship you have undergone; for if I had not complained of our horse having been stolen, you would not have been arrested. But, I hope,' he continued, 'you have not suffered from the wooden collars?'

'Our necks have. Mine is horribly stiff.'

'We can remedy that with embrocation. When we reach our house--we shall soon be there--you had better have a bath at once.'

The Pages and Ping Wang were very pleased when they reached the mission station, and were able to indulge in the luxury of a warm bath. Having bathed, rubbed their necks with embrocation, and well shaken their clothes, they strolled out on to the verandah, where Barton was waiting for them. He led the way along the verandah, which ran the length of the building, and turned into a large, airy, plainly furnished dining-room. At the head of the table sat the senior missionary--a man of about fifty years of age--and facing him was his wife. An elderly lady and a young man were the other missionaries, and there were also at the table the four children of the senior missionary.

After dinner they all went out on the verandah, and there Charlie, by request, told his new friends why he and Fred were in Su-ching disguised as Chinamen.

The senior missionary strongly advised the Pages and Ping Wang to give up their journey, declaring that if they persisted they would probably meet with worse punishment than the wooden collar.

'But the jewels belong to me,' Ping Wang declared.

'I do not doubt it, but nevertheless, Chin Choo would regard you as a common thief. Why not ask him to return the idol to you?'

'That would make him think it was more valuable than he had supposed. Moreover, he has threatened to kill me if ever he has the opportunity.'

'Then why give him an opportunity?'

'I do not mean to. We will wait at Kwang-ngan until we get a chance of regaining the idol without being found out.'

A little later Ping Wang's cousin arrived at the missionary's house, and was able to give the travellers some valuable information. He had paid a visit to Kwang-ngan during the previous week, and had seen Chin Choo on several occasions. One evening as he passed Chin Choo's house, he saw--the gate being open--the idol which the mandarin had stolen from Ping Wang's father, standing in the front room nearest the road.

To discover the room in which Chin Choo kept his stolen idol, Ping Wang had considered the most difficult part of their undertaking, and now that the information had been obtained without any exertion on their part, he felt surer than ever that the jewels would soon be in their possession.

'Our friends are tired,' the senior missionary said to his colleagues, about two hours after dinner, 'so we will have the evening service at once.'

The gong was sounded, and soon the native English-speaking servants filed into the big room in which the Europeans were assembled. It was long since the Pages had worshipped among their own people, and as they listened to the prayers, and joined in the evening hymn, they felt that this was one of the most peaceful half hours they had ever experienced; and before rising from their knees, they thanked God, silently but earnestly, for having brought them safely through so many dangers. Then, bidding good-night to their kind hosts, they retired to the large three-bedded room which had been placed at their disposal.

It was their intention to resume their journey early the following morning; but a few hours after they had turned in, Charlie and Fred were awakened by hearing Ping Wang groaning.

Jumping out of bed they lighted the lamp and looked anxiously at their friend.

'What's the matter, old boy?' Charlie asked, but Ping Wang evidently did not hear.

'He's unconscious,' Fred said. 'Call Barton, for he knows more about fever than I do.'

Fred soon saw that he had acted wisely in sending for Barton, as the missionary thoroughly understood what it was necessary to do in such cases.

For an hour or so there was, however, no improvement in the patient's condition, and Barton decided to sit up with him.

'No,' Fred said, 'let me sit up. I'm a medical student, and it's my right to look after the patient.'

'Medical students have plenty of pluck, I know,' Barton replied, with a smile, 'but they cannot defy nature with impunity. You are completely fagged out, and if you don't turn in at once I shall have two patients to-morrow instead of one.'

Charlie and Fred were soon sound asleep, and it was not until nine o'clock in the morning that Fred awoke. He relieved Barton at once, and the missionary went away to get a brief rest.

About an hour after Barton had gone out, Ping Wang awoke, and, to the delight of his two friends, spoke rationally. They forbade him, however, to talk, and told him that the quieter he kept, the quicker would be his recovery. He was an excellent patient, and the result of his obedience was that, in three days, he was able to leave his bed. But his illness left him very weak, and Barton and Fred agreed that it would be dangerous for him to attempt to proceed to Kwang-ngan until a fortnight had elapsed. This prolonged delay was, of course, a disappointment to the three travellers, but they enjoyed their stay immensely. When Ping Wang became strong enough to leave the verandah, Barton took him and the Pages to see his Chinese school. It was a most novel sight; but what pleased the Pages most was to find that Barton was as popular with his Chinese pupils as he had been, a few years previously, with thousands of English schoolboys.

(Continued on page 334.)

THE HIDDEN ROOM.

'Dreaming again, Millicent, and your hands folded in your lap! Your father would have to go without shirts if it were left to you!'

Millicent Basset started up from the pleasant rose-covered wall where she had been sitting, and her fair face flushed at her aunt's sharp words.

'Indeed, Aunt Deborah, I am very sorry; but the news from Newbury has driven all other thoughts from my mind. I was wishing I could have been with Antony and Father, instead of being left at home doing nothing while they are fighting.'

'There is no call for you to do nothing,' replied Aunt Deborah dryly, 'while work lies ready to your hand. Take your seam indoors to your chamber, and stir not from it till supper-time. I am going to the village to see the smith's son; I hear he was sore hurt in the fight.'

Millicent rose with a sigh, and carried her work to her room as she was bidden. She turned her back resolutely to the window, and set to work to make up for lost time. A quaint picture she made in the low oak-panelled room, in her grey dress and white kerchief--for her father, Sir James Basset, was a staunch Roundhead, and so was Dame Deborah, his sister, who had ruled his household since the death of his wife.

These were stirring times. The civil war between the Roundheads and Charles I. was at its height, and two days before, the sound of guns had been distinctly heard at Wootton Basset, for a battle had been fought at Newbury, and night had fallen before either side could claim the victory. Sir James Basset and his son had both been fighting, but had escaped unhurt, and had gone on with the Parliamentary army to London, finding means, however, to send a message home about their safety.

Aunt Deborah, with the calmness of a strong nature, after assembling the family to return thanks for the good news, went quietly on with her usual duties, expecting every one else to do the same; but to Millicent this seemed impossible. How could she be expected to sit and stitch wristbands, when, only six miles away, the sun, shining so quietly in at the window, was looking down on the battlefield? 'Oh, if I had only been a man,' she cried, 'to ride forth instead of being left here!'

Hardly had the words crossed her lips before one of the panels in a dark corner of the room flew back, revealing to her startled eyes a tall youth, whose long curls and the dainty lace ruffles on his torn and stained shirt proved him to be one of those young Cavaliers whom Millicent had often wished to know, but who to Aunt Deborah represented all that was lawless and wicked. She started to her feet in terror. At that moment the presence of her aunt, or even of one of the babies, as she called her nine-year-old twin sisters, would have been a comfort; but the stranger's voice reassured her.

'Am I speaking to Mistress Millicent Basset?' he asked with a low bow, which brought the colour to Millicent's face, for few people spoke to her as if she were grown up.

'Yes, I am Millicent Basset, at your service,' she answered. Then, plucking up her courage, she added, 'How did you come here, and what right have you to take the panel out of the wall?'

A smile passed across the young soldier's face. 'Bravely asked,' he said, 'and easily answered had I time; but I must show you something first. Do you recognise that?' and, stepping forward, he laid something on the table beside her.

At that moment hurrying feet and shrill voices were heard in the passage. It was the twins. Happily in their eagerness they paused for a moment, disputing which should open the door. Then a strange thing happened. Millicent had turned from the stranger for a moment as the children fumbled at the lock; and when she turned her head again he had vanished, and the panelled wall looked exactly as it had always done. All that remained to prove that she had not been dreaming was the little packet he had placed on the table.

Millicent quickly placed her sewing on the packet and swept it into her lap before she listened to what the excited little girls had to say.

'See, sister,' cried Alison, holding out her apron to show six little fluffy chickens, 'what my speckled hen has hatched, all unknown to any one. We do not know where to put them. Will you come out and choose a place for them?'

'Nay, children, that I cannot do, for I promised Aunt Deborah to stay here and sew; but I can show you a place from the window. The old dog-kennel yonder would be a good house for the hen and her brood, and you can watch for Aunt Deborah and let her see them when she returns. Run away now, like good little maidens; the chicks will soon grow cold without their mother, and I have this long seam to stitch before supper.'

The children ran off well pleased, and Millicent was left alone, feeling safe from interruption, for she knew she would be warned of Aunt Deborah's approach by their excited voices. When the door closed behind them, she went softly to it and drew the bolt. Then she took up the mysterious little parcel, and was greatly surprised to find it was a little Testament which belonged to her brother Antony, which he always carried in his pocket. To make sure she opened it, and there on the fly-leaf was his name, 'Antony, from Millicent,' and beneath was written as if in haste: 'I send this by the hand of Ralph de Foulkes; help him as he helped me.'

(Continued on page 330.)

THE HIDDEN ROOM.

(Continued from page 327.)

Millicent sprang to her feet. For the last six months she had added this name to her prayers, for its unknown owner had saved the life of her brother at the battle of Hopton Heath, when his side had been routed, and he--his horse killed under him, and a terrible sword-cut in his arm--had hidden in a little copse, hardly expecting to escape being caught and hung as a rebel.

'He was a slight young fellow, like a girl, with a laughing face and yellow locks hanging on his shoulders. His name was Foulkes, but more than that I had no time to ask or he to answer; had it not been for him I had scarce hoped to see you again, sister,' Antony had said in answer to her eager questions as to what the young man was like; and she had treasured up the description in her heart. And now here he was at her side, for no sooner was she seated than the panel flew back and he stepped into the room.

She held out the little book. 'You are Ralph de Foulkes,' she said, 'and Antony sent you; but I do not know how you have got behind the woodwork, or how you dare come to this house--you, a Royalist! If Aunt Deborah knew!'

Again a smile crossed the young man's face. 'Nay,' he answered, 'but Aunt Deborah must not know. I trust to you, Mistress Millicent; your brother said you would help us.'

'Us!' repeated Millicent in surprise; 'is there then another?--where is he?'

'You know not the secrets of your own house,' answered De Foulkes, and, stepping back, he showed her that a few steps led from the secret door to a small, narrow room, lit only by a grating far up in the wall. It was barely furnished and evidently meant for a hiding-place, as a door at the further end pointed to another way of escape.

She followed her guide down the steps, and when her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw an elderly man, wrapped in torn and stained garments, lying asleep on a low bed in the corner.

''Tis my father,' whispered Ralph; 'he was wounded in the thigh by a ball at Newbury; but I got him on his horse and set off in the darkness, hoping to reach Oxford somehow. But we had gone but eight miles when he fainted and fell from his horse. Some one was riding up behind, and careless whether it were friend or foe so long as I found help, I cried out. It was your brother, and he, in gratitude for some slight service which I did him months ago, held the horse while I lifted my father up, and then guided us to the entrance to that passage,' pointing to the door in the corner; ''tis in an old tower a mile hence, and so we brought him here.'

'Antony brought him! Antony here, and did not tell me?' cried Millicent hastily.

'He had no time; in truth he laid himself open to suspicion by loitering so long. But see! my father wakes,' and he hurried forward as the old man raised himself on his arm and gazed round.

'Water,' he muttered; 'water, Ralph! I feel weak,' and he fell back again unconscious.

'He has had no food since he left the field, and my water-flagon is long since empty,' explained Ralph. 'I thought that mayhap you could get us some food in the night when the household is quiet, for I too am well-nigh famished.'

'Famished!' cried Millicent impetuously; 'I should think so. I shall go and get some food this very moment.'

'But stay!' said her companion hastily; 'we are safe so far, but a little want of caution would ruin all; rather wait than be discovered.'

'Antony said you could trust me,' she said proudly, and she vanished through the panel, shutting it carefully behind her, leaving Ralph wondering if he had done rightly in trusting his secret to this impulsive young girl. There was something in her face, however, which gave him confidence.

It seemed a long time before he heard a little tap on the wood, and, drawing back the door, he found her standing with her arms full. In one hand she held a glass of milk, while under her arm was a flagon, and in her apron was a large loaf of bread, with some cups and a knife.

'I got these easily from the cellar,' she said, 'but I could not bring any meat, for old Joan was in the buttery; I must get that at night.'

To Ralph, faint with hunger, what she had brought was food fit for a king, and he began to feed his father while Millicent slipped away to her room again.

That night, when every one was asleep, Millicent went up and down the house without her shoes, flitting about like a ghost from place to place, taking things here and there which she did not think would be missed. Some blankets from the great chest in the gallery, a pair of sheets, an old shirt of Antony's, some soft rags, a good supply of provisions--anything, in short, that she thought would be of use to the two occupants of the hidden room, for she knew that she must not visit them too often, in case her secret was discovered. When she had collected them in a heap behind the panel, she tapped lightly on the wood and Ralph came. The tears came into his eyes when he saw the comforts which she had gathered together.

'May Heaven reward you,' he said, 'for I cannot.'

'Nay,' answered Millicent, ''tis but little to thank me for, as you will find if you have an appetite like Antony; for there were only one round of beef and two pasties in the buttery, and I dare not take too much for fear Martha the cook should notice in the morning; and I must not come again till to-morrow night, but then I will bring a few eggs--they will nourish your father.'

And with a sigh of relief Millicent saw him disappear with the things; and she went to sleep thinking that after all it would not be so difficult to provide the strangers with food until the old knight was able to travel, and no one would ever find out.

Alas! her troubles were just beginning, for next evening, while she was waiting in her room until it was safe to carry food to the fugitives, a small stone came sharply against the window, and, looking out, she saw a dark figure standing in the shadow of the great yew-tree.

'Who is there?' she cried softly.

''Tis I, Mistress,' said the figure, moving close up to the window. It was Mark Field, Antony's own man and foster-brother.

'What brings you here, Mark? Has aught befallen Antony?' she asked in haste.

'Nay, the young master is well and safe in London, Mistress Millicent, but he bade me carry this note to you and to deliver it into none other hands but yours. It is of importance, for he bade me ride like the wind and spare not my steed, and I was to tell no man I was here, or wait for an answer, but just give it to thee, get a fresh nag from the stable and hasten back to London, so that no man might mark my absence; so good-night, Mistress,' and the honest fellow handed up the paper to Millicent and vanished in the darkness.

She opened it and read: 'Dearest,--Rumours have got abroad that Sir Denvil de Foulkes and his son are harbouring near Basset Court. Our father knows nought of the matter, and is anxious that troopers be sent to watch the district. They will live at the Court and doubtless search the house. Set your wits to work, for my honour is at stake. I would fain have those two escape. The younger had better depart; his appearance with the King's force would remove suspicion. For the other you must do your best.--ANTONY.'

Millicent sat still for a long time. The danger was great, but her courage rose to meet it. If she could prevent it, no harm would come to the helpless old man in the secret room; neither would the disgrace of having harboured an enemy fall on her father. No one, so far as she knew, knew aught of the hidden room. If the soldiers could be kept from discovering that, all might be well. There seemed only one way to prevent them doing so. If she were ill and in bed while they were in the house, they would not search her room too narrowly.

But her conscience told her that she must really be ill, not pretend; and she gave a shiver as she thought of a mixture of mustard-and-water which Aunt Deborah had administered to Marjorie once when she mistook laburnum-pods for peas. She remembered how ill the child was afterwards, and she thought if she could make herself as ill as that, there would be no deceit in saying she could not get up.

Having come to this decision she rose, and tapping on the panel, she was soon talking over the situation with Ralph and his father, whose wound was healing, although he was not yet able to walk. When he heard the contents of the letter he was anxious to give himself up, rather than bring disgrace and danger on the house which had sheltered him; but this Millicent would not hear of.

Ralph at once began his preparations for his departure, as he felt that Antony's advice was good, and that if once he were known to have joined the King at Oxford the search for his father might be given up. Oxford was only some thirty miles distant, and if he started at once he would not be far from it at daybreak.

Millicent's heart felt heavy when, after bidding her a courteous adieu and embracing his father, he vanished along the dark passage which led to the opening in the woods. She wondered if she would ever meet him again. She a Puritan, he a Cavalier--their lots seemed to lie so far apart.

Before the thought had passed he was back in the room again. 'The way is blocked,' he said; 'the rains have loosened the soil, and there has been a heavy fall of earth. 'Tis so much the better for you, father; even had the soldiers not discovered the door in the wainscot, they might have found the other entrance in the woods. The question is, how am I to get out?'

'You must get out through my window,' said Millicent; ''tis not far from the ground, and there is the apple-tree.'

Ralph did not speak as he followed her up the steps and through the room to where the casement-window stood half open, but he turned before he swung himself over the sill.

'Hitherto have I dreamt of no fair lady save my mother,' he said; 'she had ever been my guardian angel. Now your face will mingle with hers in my memory, and your name with hers in my prayers. These are troublous times, but if I live I will see you again some time, and meanwhile, as a remembrance, may I have these?' and he touched a bunch of yellow roses which she wore in her belt.

Hardly knowing what she did, she placed them in his hand, and a moment afterwards she was alone. She stood a long time where he left her; then awaking from her reverie, she went to the buttery, where she mixed and drank her nauseous draught. Then she went back to her room, and for the next few hours she felt as ill and miserable as any one could be.

(Concluded on page 338.)

THE RABBIT AND THE HARE.

'I've been to town,' a Rabbit said, 'O sleepy Mr. Hare, And if you don't get out of bed You'll miss the market there.'

'How mean of you!' the other whined; 'You've bought the best, I see, And in the market I shall find The worst is left for me.'

The Rabbit mutely turned away From language so unfair; He trotted home, and from that day He shunned the lazy Hare.

'For this,' said he, 'is plain to me, All lazy folk are prone To blame their friends, and never see The fault is theirs alone.'

A MOTOR-CAR OF THE PAST.

Motorists have cause to be thankful they live in a good-natured age. Of course, they are often blamed for accidents, not always deservedly; but had they lived in the early part of the nineteenth century, they would have been much worse off. About that time, several persons constructed steam carriages, meant to run upon ordinary roads; the popular anger, however, was so great that they had to give up running them. Nearly every town and village greeted them with jeers and hostile cries, with occasional presents of brickbats or stones, and it happened more than once that a furious mob attacked a party, and tried to break the machine to pieces.

Mr. Gurney was a notable contriver of such carriages. He had several, of different styles, and probably the most remarkable of his experiments was the making of one with a divided boiler, to relieve the fears which were common then amongst people to whom steam was a novelty, and who fancied that a boiler was in great danger of bursting from the pressure of the steam. Some folk said that Mr. Gurney, who was a doctor, took the idea of his peculiar boiler from the arteries and veins of the human body; at any rate, he had a double arrangement of pipes, taking the form of a horseshoe, and made of welded iron. There were forty pipes, so that if one burst it could only do a trifling amount of harm, and the damage was easily repaired. The principle was that of the 'water-tube' boilers of the present day. Mr. Gurney had also what he called 'separators,' which returned to the boiler any water that was not needed in the pipes. A tank supplied water to the boiler by means of a pump with a flexible hose; coke or charcoal was burnt in the furnace, so that there was very little smoke, and the machinery moved almost noiselessly. It was reckoned to be about twelve horse-power, and travelled at any rate between four and fifteen miles an hour. Inside and outside the vehicle eighteen or twenty persons could be seated; the guide or conductor sat in front, and steered the machine by pilot-wheels fastened to a pole, which went from end to end of the carriage. He had also under his management a lever which would stop the carriage speedily, and another to reverse the action of the wheels. The tank, containing about sixty gallons, and the furnace were placed in what they called the hind boot; the fore boot contained luggage, if any was carried. Another of Mr. Gurney's special contrivances was a propeller fixed at the back of the carriage; it could be made to touch the ground when travelling up a hill, assisting the steam-power. A few experimental trips were made, but the carriage was not brought into general use.

J. R. S. C.

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

X.--THE CLIFF-DWELLERS OF NORTH AMERICA.

One of the tribes which at a very early date sought refuge in cliff caverns is supposed to have been that of the Pueblo Indians of the Mesa Verde in Colorado, whose descendants, though not cave-dwellers, are still found in New Mexico. From the proofs of partial civilisation found in their deserted homes, we may believe them to have been more refined and gentler than the savage Apaches and similar fighting tribes who overcame them, and drove them out to find fresh abiding-places.

Their caves are generally built in with masonry, and had queer-shaped windows here and there; the floors were smoothed and covered with red clay beaten hard, whilst occasionally the walls received coats of fine red and yellow plaster, with stripes of darker colours. The larger caves were divided into several rooms, and in many there was an 'Estufa,' or specially warm, dry apartment. The 'Estufa' was always round in form, and is supposed to have been used for religious purposes. It was probably a sort of private chapel for one or more families, and the round shape was most likely a survival of the old round huts or wigwams wherein their ancestors had dwelt in the old days. Most of these cave-houses are of rough workmanship, but here and there, especially in one known as the Cliff Palace, the blocks of stone have been carefully hewn and put together.

The condition of early races may be largely judged by the pottery they used, and the Pueblo Indians have left really beautiful specimens of this ancient craft. The bowls are often of a fine red, with white patterns outside, and black and red designs inside. The lamps found are of a curious boat-shaped form, and hold quite a lot of oil. Mummies have been discovered perfectly preserved in their rock places of burial, each wrapped in cloth made entirely of feathers.

Besides their cliff homes, the Pueblos, though probably much later, had another form of settlement, building huge villages on the top of a steep rock, surrounded with precipices all but inaccessible. The walls of the houses were sometimes of stone, sometimes of bricks dried in the sun, or more often of 'adobe,' or in common English, 'mud.' The Indians were careful to choose a rock on which a spring of water rose, round which the dwellings clustered. Here, safe in their fortress homes, with a plentiful supply of provisions, the Pueblos might defy their enemies below.

Many, both of these rock and cave dwellings, were 'Community houses,' in which a number of families lived, each owning one or more rooms, very much after the fashion in which people now-a-days occupy flats in London and New York. Probably the finest of these combinations of rock and masonry is that near Beaver Creek in New Mexico, known as Montezuma's Castle. The foundations of masonry let into the solid rock begin eighty feet above the valley, and the building is about fifty feet high. It is in the form of a crescent, and parts of it have five stories, though the top one cannot be seen from below, as it is close under the roof of the cavern.

The owners of these top rooms would have had a dull time but for the projecting roof of number four story, which served them for a balcony and general look-out. The building has twenty-five rooms of masonry, besides many rock chambers at the sides and below the castle. The timber of the houses is still sound, and the rafters which project outside the walls have the ends burnt off instead of sawn, whilst many of the roofs, both of mud and thatch, are still perfect.

The building overhangs the canyon, and to reach it ladders were placed from one shelf of rock to another, all sloping outwards--just the wrong way for safety; and yet up these giddy stairways not only all supplies of food, but the solid materials for building this immense structure, had to be carried.

HELENA HEATH.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 327.)

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Chapter XV

Ping Wang recovered fairly quickly, and it was early one morning, nearly a fortnight after he had been taken ill, when, having bidden farewell to their kind hosts, the three friends passed out of the town, and began their six-mile journey along the muddy track which led to Kwang-ngan.

Before they had gone far they found a cart stuck in the mud. The owner and his wife--the latter looking very comical with her tiny crippled feet and black trousers--stood helplessly beside it.

'Noble brothers,' the man called out to the approaching travellers, 'your dog of a servant implores you to assist him to move his cart.'

'He wants us to help him get his cart out of that hole,' Ping Wang said to the Pages, in an undertone. 'Shall we?'

'Certainly,' Charlie answered.

Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang walked up to the cart, and putting forth all their strength moved it, at the first attempt, out of the rut in which it had stuck. The Chinaman thanked them profusely for their help. His wife said nothing, but stared at Charlie in a way that made him feel quite uncomfortable. He was much relieved when, in obedience to her husband's call to come and take her seat, she toddled off towards the vehicle.

'It's a wonder,' Charlie whispered to Fred, 'that she doesn't fall on her nose. If she did it would not spoil it, for it's flat already. Hallo, what's Ping Wang saying to the old man?'

In a few moments they knew. Ping Wang came over to them, and said, quietly, 'These people are on their way to Kwang-ngan, and they will drive us there for one hundred cash.'

A cash is a copper coin with a square hole in the middle. Its value is about a fifth of an English farthing. These coins are carried strung together, and their value being so small a man can have a heavy load of coppers without being even moderately rich.

'It's cheap,' Fred answered. 'Let us accept.'

Ping Wang therefore informed his noble brother that the sons of dogs would have the pleasure of riding in his magnificent carriage. Before they had travelled far the Pages came to the conclusion that the ride was by no means a cheap one, and that instead of paying to ride they ought to have been paid, so frequently were they called upon to pull or push the cart out of some rut in which it stuck fast. They felt that the wily old Chinaman had made a very good bargain, and if they had been able to speak Chinese they would have told him so. Charlie, however, disliked the woman much more than he did her husband. She stared at him almost continuously while they were on the cart, and when he was in the road helping to get the vehicle out of a rut, he could see her still peeping out at him. When the cart had stuck in the mud for the tenth time in half an hour, Charlie whispered to Fred, as they were extricating it, 'I have had enough of this. Let's walk.'

Fred nodded his head, and then told Ping Wang their decision. Ping Wang was as ready as they to get away from the cart, and when it had been pushed and pulled out of the rut he informed the cart-owner that they were about to leave him.

'Noble brother,' he said, 'if your dogs of servants walk, your magnificent carriage will be lighter, and not stick in the mud so frequently.'

'Noble brother,' the cart-owner answered, with a savage expression on his face, which proved that he considered Ping Wang far from being noble, 'you will not forget that you promised to pay your humble slave one hundred cash.'

Ping Wang paid the cart-owner. But when the woman saw that the money was safe in her husband's wallet, she stretched forth her hand, seized Charlie's pigtail, and tugged at it with all her strength.

'Foreigner!' she screamed as she fell backwards in the cart with the pigtail, and skull-cap attached, in her hand.

'Foreigners!' the man shouted, on seeing Charlie's unmistakably European head--for his beehive had fallen off--and, seizing Ping Wang's pigtail with both hands, pulled it with tremendous force.

Ping Wang shouted with pain, but the cart-owner being convinced that if he pulled hard enough the pigtail would come off, tugged still more vigorously.

In great pain Ping Wang suddenly turned right about, and, before the cart-owner had time to move, seized his own pigtail with his mouth, about an inch from his tormentor's hands, and held it tight between his teeth. The cart-owner continued to tug viciously, but Ping Wang struck him several blows on the face with his fist, and finally compelled him to release his hold.

In the meanwhile Charlie had climbed into the cart, and was struggling with the Chinese woman to regain his pigtail. At first he thought that she was sitting on it, but when he pulled her up, he found he had been mistaken.

'Foreigner! Foreigner!' she screamed as he searched about the cart, and frequently she struck him with her open hands.

'If you won't keep quiet, madam,' Charlie said, 'I shall have to put you out.'

He caught hold of her with the intention of lifting her out, so that he might search the cart undisturbed. But the moment that he touched her she screamed frantically. Her husband was too busy holding his bruised face to heed her, but Ping Wang went at once to see what was happening, and finding that Charlie was lifting her bodily, shouted, 'Put her down, Charlie. Don't touch her!'

'But she has hidden my pigtail,' Charlie protested.

'Never mind. Don't touch her again, for it's a terrible insult to a Chinese woman to lay hands on her. Put her down and jump out.'

Charlie put the woman down, jumped out of the cart, and picked up his 'beehive,' but he was very indignant at having been robbed of his pigtail. To stop the cartman from following them, he caught hold of the horse, and led it into the thickest mud, where the wheels sank in almost to the axle.

They started off at a trot immediately, the Chinaman and his wife yelling after them insulting remarks. Fortunately there was no one about just then, and the three travellers were out of sight before the cartman and his wife had an opportunity of telling any one about the foreigners whom they had seen disguised as Chinamen.

When they had run for about a quarter of a mile, they began to walk, and discussed what should be done to hide the loss of Charlie's pigtail.

'To start with,' Fred said, 'we had better take off our goggles now.'

'If you can hide the loss until we get to Kwang-ngan,' said Ping Wang, 'I will buy you a new one. Put your "beehive" on the back of your head.'

Charlie did so, but as he was without a skull-cap, his European forehead was most noticeable.

'That will never do,' Ping Wang declared. 'Put your beehive as it was before. We will walk in single file; I in front of you, and Fred behind you.'

In that order they had walked for nearly two miles, when a man, passing in the opposite direction, mistook Fred for an acquaintance. He stopped short, and shook his own hands. Fred knew that the Chinese, when they meet a friend, instead of shaking his hand, shake their own. Wishing to be polite, he shook his own hands in reply.

Then the Chinaman made some remark. Fortunately Ping Wang, having been nudged by Charlie, turned round, and seeing Fred being addressed by a Chinaman, explained that Fred was a man of weak intellect. The Chinaman was astonished, but having satisfied himself that Fred was not the man he had fancied, went on his way, turning round, however, after walking a few yards, to have a look at the three friends. Then he noticed that Charlie had no pigtail, and immediately shouted jeering remarks at him.

Ping Wang told the Pages what the man had said, and they agreed that it would be unwise for Charlie to enter Kwang-ngan as he was.

'I will leave you outside the city,' Ping Wang said, 'and come back to you as soon as I have bought a new queue.'

'But suppose somebody speaks to us?'

They were wondering what would be best, when Fred seized Ping Wang by the arm, and pointed to a spot some two hundred yards away from them.

'Are they human heads?' he gasped.

'They are,' Ping Wang answered gravely, and when they had gone a little nearer, all three could see clearly the heads of six Chinamen hanging by their pigtails from six tall canes.

'I have an idea,' Fred said. 'I do not like the notion, but we are in a difficulty, and as we must have another pigtail, I think we need not have any scruples about cutting off one of these.'

'I don't like it,' said Charlie.

'But it will be a great pity, and it may be dangerous too, if we miss this opportunity,' Ping Wang declared. 'By taking one of these pigtails we shall lessen the risk of being found out.'

'Very well, then,' Charlie said, 'I will wear the pigtail. Let us get it and be off as soon as possible.'

'We must not try to get it until after dark,' Ping Wang replied. 'We must hide until then.'

(Continued on page 342.)

THE HIDDEN ROOM.

(Concluded from page 331.)

It was scarce seven o'clock, and Aunt Deborah was busy in the dairy, when a clatter of hoofs was heard in the court-yard, and, looking out, she saw half-a-dozen troopers sitting stern and straight on their horses, while their leader handed a note to Joan, which was speedily brought to her. It was from her brother, telling her to give the men board and lodging and to aid them in every way in their search for Sir Denzil. 'There is a rumour,' he wrote, 'that he is hidden about the Court, which is absurd.' (How had he forgotten the secret chamber? This question puzzled Millicent in after years, but it was never answered.)

Aunt Deborah went to give orders for the men's comfort, sending little Marjorie to call Millicent down to help; but the child came back with a grave face and the unlooked-for news that Millicent was so ill she could not rise.

Aunt Deborah was kindness itself when any one was really ill, and she hurried off at once to see what was the matter.

Millicent's flushed face and heavy eyes were enough to rouse her sympathy. 'You have taken a chill, child, dreaming in the garden; the wind was keen though the sun was hot. 'Tis a pity just when these men will want to go through the house; but there is nothing to hide from any one here. You must lie still for a day or two, and Joan shall send you up some soup and cooling drink.'

So Millicent lay still all that day, her heart beating quickly at every sound, while the sergeant in charge went leisurely over the house, tapping the wall here and the floor there, and even glancing casually, chaperoned by Aunt Deborah, round her room, while his men scoured the country round without success.

Indeed, she was in such a state of excitement that her hot hands and bright eyes made Aunt Deborah think herself right about the chill, and keep her in bed for four days.

Millicent felt rather a hypocrite when the twins, in much concern, brought her up nice things to eat, which she, in her turn, secretly carried to the old knight, who was now recovering fast; while she sallied forth in the dark to the buttery to get more substantial fare for her own healthy appetite.

By the time Aunt Deborah pronounced her well enough to be up, the house was once more quiet, the soldiers having been recalled to London.

More than two weeks passed, and the days were growing cold, for it was now October, when one afternoon Millicent was walking up and down the garden in deep perplexity. Sir Denzil was now able to walk about his little cell, and he was very anxious to set out to join his friends; but he was still very lame, and she saw clearly that even if he got safely out of the house, he was almost sure to be recognised and captured before he reached Oxford. Moreover, her father had had a touch of ague, and was coming home that very night. Aunt Deborah had gone to Reading with the family coach to meet him, and she knew she could not keep the secret long from him. What was to be done? Plan after plan rose in her mind, only to be thrown aside.

She was roused by the sound of voices, and going into the court-yard, she found all the maids and her little sisters gathered round a pedlar, who was showing off his wares to them.

Millicent was as fond of pretty things as any girl of her age, and soon forgot her troubles in turning over the piles of ribbons and lace laid out before her. She chose some ribbons, some lace, and a few trinkets.

'I will add this too, lady,' said the pedlar as he handed her the goods, laying a faded yellow rosebud on the top; 'it once was sweet, and the perfume lingers long.'

Millicent gazed thoughtfully at the pedlar, and he met her eyes with a meaning look.

''Tis growing dusk, good man,' she said carelessly, 'and the court-yard gates will soon be shut, so I advise you to take the straight road through the park if you would be at the village ere dark. Come, children, we will go indoors out of the cold,' and she turned away.

But having once got rid of the little girls and gained the privacy of her own room, she hastily fastened the bolt; then drawing a dark cloak round her, she got out through the window, and by the aid of the apple-tree easily reached the ground. A few minutes more and she had overtaken the pedlar, who was walking slowly through the park.

'You carry more than a rosebud in your basket, good man,' she said cautiously.

'That do I, lady,' he answered; 'but mayhap we could talk more safely under these trees.'

Then when they were out of sight of any passer-by he went on: 'I am Jasper Pope at your service, Sir Denzil de Foulke's own man, and I have in my basket such a disguise as would puzzle his dearest friend, that of a pedlar's wife. Also there is a packet for you, lady; you will find it at the bottom. I could not see you sooner. I have been selling my wares in the village for a day or two, but durst not venture near the Court until I heard the old madame was absent.'

The basket seemed a light weight to Millicent, as she carried it back to the house, for now she saw the end of her difficulties. She had some trouble getting it up to the window, but after that all was easy. The children were in bed and the servants lingering over their supper, and the back-stairs so far away that no one noticed the stealthy footsteps as Sir Denzil crept down them in his strange attire.

Little did Sir David Basset or Dame Deborah dream that the lame pedlar-woman, in the lilac print dress and white mob-cap, whom they passed in the park, and who curtsied so low as the great coach lumbered past, was the Royalist leader whom everyone was searching for; neither did they dream that Millicent, who was waiting so demurely on the steps to receive them, wore under her smooth white kerchief a little crystal heart hung from a slender gold chain, which she had found in a packet, addressed to her, in the bottom of the pedlar's basket.

More than eleven long years came and went. Charles I. was beheaded, Cromwell ruled and died, and at last, one bright May day, Charles II. was brought back to his father's throne.

Many changes had taken place at Basset Court. Old Sir David was dead, and his son, Sir Antony, reigned in his stead. Antony and his young wife had gone up to London to see the merry-makings, but Millicent preferred to stay at home; and she is walking up and down the rose-garden this sunny evening, waiting for the return of the travellers.

All these years Ralph de Foulkes had been in France with the King, and all these years she had waited. Would Antony have seen him in London? Would he remember? Hark! there is the sound of wheels, and the great coach lumbers into the courtyard. She turns to welcome Antony and his wife, but she sees instead a tall, strong man, with a sunny smile on his face, and a few withered roses in his hand.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

15.--LADDER PUZZLE.

Take the first and last letters of the 'rounds,' and add a letter between each round, to form the 'posts.'

Right post. A large town in England, not far from Birmingham.

Left post. The act or process of reasoning.

Round 1. A boy's Christian name. " 2. A small singing bird. " 3. A town prominent in the South African War. " 4. A large island in the Pacific. " 5. A terrible monster of Greek legend. " 6. Another island in the Pacific. " 7. A race which invaded and conquered England.

C. J. B.

[Answer on page 371.]

ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 290.

14.--1. F-rail. 2. S-tale. 3. B-one. 4. S-hake. 5. F-right. 6. T-haw.

THE ASS OF DENMARK.

A Dane once brought to his country a beautiful he-ass from Andalusia, and the animal was exhibited as a curiosity in all the towns. An innkeeper of a place between Hamburg and Lubeck took it for a sign; he had it painted, and hung the sign at the door of his inn, with the inscription, 'The Ass of Denmark;' and the good accommodation of the inn rendered it famous.

Many years after, the Prince of Denmark, in passing by that place, took lodging there. The honour was so highly appreciated by the innkeeper that he begged the prince to allow him to take his portrait for a sign, and this was granted him. Another innkeeper immediately bought the well-known sign of the Ass, and by this means attracted to his inn all travellers. The other then perceived his want of foresight; and in order to remedy it, he had written at the foot of the portrait of the Prince of Denmark, 'This is the original Ass.'

ETHEL'S ORANGE-PLANT.

'My little orange-tree is coming up! It has put out two leaves since yesterday!' said Ethel, joyously, as she put the precious pot on the rustic table in the arbour, which in the summer holidays was the favourite sitting-room of Ethel and her sister May. 'I am so glad. I wonder when it will begin to bear oranges,' and Ethel already saw, in imagination, the tiny shoot, with its twin green leaves, growing into a bushy tree, weighed down with golden fruit!

'Here comes May,' she continued. 'May, May! isn't it nice? My orange has two leaves!'

May, however, was in no humour to rejoice with her little sister. Her orange-pip, planted at the same time, showed no signs of life whatever, and now to hear of Ethel's plant putting forth leaves was too much; and so her only answer was to say crossly, 'What have you brought the stupid thing here for? I want the table for my scrap-book.'

'Oh, let it stop,' pleaded little Ethel. 'The sun always leaves the schoolroom window at ten o'clock, and orange-trees want so much sun. There is plenty of room for your desk and the pot.'

May did not answer, but she pettishly pushed the plant to one side, and placed her scrap-book on the table with a bang.

'There is not room,' she said at last; 'where is my desk to go with that great plant blocking up everything? Take it back to the schoolroom, Ethel,' and not looking at the plant, she carelessly pushed it to one side--too much to one side, for it fell to the ground and was broken to pieces, the heavy scrap-book falling on top of it.

'Oh, my plant! my beautiful plant is broken!' cried Ethel. 'I shall never see the oranges grow on it,' and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly.

'What is the matter? Are you hurt, dear?' asked her mother, hurrying up from a flower-bed where she was planting out seedlings.

'It's the orange-plant!' sobbed Ethel; 'but May did not mean to break it,' she added loyally.

'Oh, dear, what a pity!' said Mrs. Randen, as she carefully lifted the plant in its broken pot, and placed it on the table. 'How came you to be so careless, May?'

'I--I don't know,' stammered May, and she turned away feeling ashamed and miserable, for her conscience told her it was scarcely an accident, for she meant to be rough with the plant, though perhaps she had hardly meant to break it.

'How could I do it?' she asked herself, as she threw herself on the schoolroom sofa, and burst into tears. 'Ethel is so good, too; how horrid I must be to have grudged her pleasure in her plant, even though mine is dead.'

She raised her eyes to the window, where stood her pot, and there, to her amazement, she saw a tender little leaf pushing through the dark soil. It was not dead then! Quick as thought she jumped up, seized the pot, and flew down to the arbour.

'My plant is coming up, and you must have it, Ethel, because I am so very sorry I broke yours,' she said eagerly. 'Take it, do, and say you forgive me.'

'Oh, May, you could not help it,' said Ethel, drying her eyes, and trying to smile, 'and I won't take your plant. I am very glad it is coming up.'

'You must have it,' said May firmly. 'I shall never like it unless it is yours; it will always remind me of a horrid day,' ended up May, somewhat lamely, for she could not say how guilty she felt in the matter.

So Ethel had the plant, and nursed it so well that in days to come it really did produce a small orange, and this time May was the first to rejoice with her sister.

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

IV.--CURIOUS CUPBOARDS.

The inborn wisdom which Providence gives animals for their good is clearly shown by something very like forethought about food supplies, an instinct which tells creatures to lay by 'for a rainy day.' It is less strongly marked among the winged races, because they prefer to fly in search of fresh supplies when the old fail, and seldom provide cupboards or larders at home. Yet there are birds that make stores. After a full meal many of the crow tribe, including the raven, rook, and jackdaw, will put away and hoard what is left. A magpie once paid me a visit, perching on an ash-tree, the boughs of which almost brushed against my bedroom window. Very early one morning he awoke me by calling out his own name, together with a lot of chattering, the meaning of which appeared to be that 'Maggie' was both hungry and thirsty. He was tame and talkative, and had clearly escaped from somewhere. I placed a saucer of milk and bread, with a dish of meat, cut up, and another of fresh water, on the sill of the open window, and soon had the pleasure of seeing my guest making a hearty meal. After eating till he could eat no more, he took a splendid bath out of the water-dish, muttering hoarsely all the while, and strutting up and down as he eyed the remaining meat, which he felt unable to swallow. From time to time he cast a cunning look my way, as if to hint politely that he wished to be alone. 'Go about your business, do,' I thought the look said; so I went out, shut the door, and watched him through the keyhole. With much chuckling Maggie then laid his plans, and carried them out.

That night, on going to bed, I found several lumps of meat hidden under my pillow; a further search revealed a second layer beneath the bolster. A few bits were crammed into chinks round the window-sashes, and the rest was concealed in various convenient spots. There Maggie had placed them to await the time when they should be wanted. He himself roosted on one leg in the ash-tree, looking like a feather mop, and was spared the grief of seeing his hoards discovered. But, in spite of the hidden store, he roused me at dawn the next morning by shrill screams for breakfast.

I knew Maggie would be claimed by somebody, and sure enough a woman, who had tracked him by his voice, soon came and asked leave to 'call him back.' But Maggie refused to come, and as the idea of a cage for any living creature is distasteful to me, I was glad to arrange for his free board and lodging in the tree near my window. I found that at his old quarters, one of a row of cottages hard by, he had kept things lively by his playful habit of watching the neighbours hang out their clean linen in the back yards, getting loose from his cage, pouncing down on the clothes-lines, pulling out the pegs, and chuckling with glee when all the 'wash' fell down in the dirt, and had to be done over again.

Dogs and cats, as descendants of wild races, still keep a trace of the old customs of their ancestors. Who does not know the anxious look with which a well-fed pet dog will dig a hole and bury a bone that he does not happen to want, as if he had an old age in the workhouse to dread? I have seen a little Yorkshire terrier go the round of the dinner-table, sit up and beg piteously, pretending that 'the smallest trifle is most thankfully received,' look carefully round, and, thinking that no one saw him, bury those trifles under the hearthrug, and return for more. The habit is not so common in cats, but I have known more than one puss do the same thing. One little tabby, found in the snow on my doorstep, would play with a piece of meat as if it were a mouse, make believe to kill it, and then hide it away under the edge of the carpet, with a great show of sniffing and scraping, as if to make sure that no other cat could scent it out. She had once been nearly starved, and so had learnt prudence.

A few small animals, the squirrel, field mouse, and dormouse, are store-keepers by nature. The larder is placed at a convenient distance from the nest in which these little animals sleep, and if forgotten, or accidentally left unused, the nuts, seeds, &c., often taken root and grow. Many a spreading chestnut, sturdy oak, and shady beech, to say nothing of hazel copse, owes life to these thrifty little folk, and thus the tiny woodlanders give back to nature a thousandfold more than they take. More than a bushel of raw potatoes was once found laid up by a water-rat in his winter cupboard, underground.

It is not every squirrel, however, that lays up a winter store. It seems that if that prudent little animal sees his way to a fair supply of food, or lives where human beings will provide victuals, he takes no such trouble. He is, at any rate, a good judge of nuts. A gardener who liked ripe filberts, and was looking forward to a fine crop in his plantation, found out that a squirrel in the neighbourhood liked them too, and knew how to 'sample' them better than himself. One day the master of the filbert-trees came to his wife with a happy air. 'I have done the squirrel this time, at all events,' said he; 'for I found a heap of filberts he had put together, all ready to carry off, little by little, and now when he returns he will find them gone.' Not a bit of it! Every nut was a bad one, which the knowing little rascal had tossed away in disgust, while he picked out all the good ones to eat or take home!

EDITH CARRINGTON.

A SHORT CONVERSATION.

The celebrated physician, Dr. Abernethy, was famous for the brevity and bluntness of his answers; he never used a word more than was necessary. One day a lady who knew his peculiarity came to him and held out her finger without a word.

'Cut?' asked the doctor.

'Bite,' answered the patient.

'Dog?'

'Parrot.'

'Go home and poultice,' said Abernethy.

The next day the finger was again shown.

'Better?' was the doctor's question.

'Worse.'

'Poultice again.'

Lastly, when the finger was at length cured, the doctor even went so far as to compliment his patient.

'Better?' he asked.

'Quite well.'

'Good. You are the most sensible woman I ever met. Good-day.'

WHAT INSECTS LOVE.

'I love,' said a Beetle, 'The Buttercups all.' 'And I,' quoth a Fly, 'Like the Daisies small.' But a Humble Bee Said, 'As for me, My love is true To the Cornflowers blue, And Violets hid by a moss-grown wall.'

'All flowers I adore,' Laughed a Butterfly; And murmured a Wasp, 'Red Heather, say I.' Then a grey Moth said, 'When you're all in bed, I have the bliss Of the Woodbine's kiss; She waits for me when the day doth die.'

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 335.)

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Chapter XVI

After strolling some distance, the three travellers discovered the ruins of an old brick building. They entered it, and found that there were no signs of its being used by any one.

'The first thing to do is to have something to eat,' said Charlie.

He took from his pocket some of the food which the missionaries had given them. Fred and Ping Wang followed his example, but in the middle of their meal Charlie startled them by declaring that their plan for getting him a pigtail was not worth carrying out.

'What is the good of my having a pigtail?' he asked. 'I haven't a skull-cap, and it can't be sewn to my "beehive."'

'I will lend you my skull-cap,' Ping Wang said.

'Thank you,' Charlie said. 'But how are we going to sew the pigtail to the cap?'

'I have a pin,' Fred replied. 'We must use that for a needle; and as for thread we must pull some out of our clothing. That can easily be managed.'

As he was speaking, he rummaged about the inside of his coat, and succeeded at last in pulling out about a yard of blue cotton. Then they sat down on portions of the ruin which had fallen in, and prepared to wait until it was dark enough to carry out their unpleasant but necessary task.

Three holes in the wall commanded a view of the surrounding country, and they were satisfied that there was no one near them at present. For nearly an hour they chatted quietly. But, when Charlie peeped out again, he started back with a little cry of surprise.

'Hallo!' he said, 'here comes the old woman who stole my pigtail.'

Fred and Ping Wang sprang to their feet, and saw the cart in which they had ridden coming slowly along the road.

'I say, I should like to recover my pigtail,' said Charlie. 'Let us run out and take it from her.'

'No, no,' Ping Wang protested. 'While we were struggling to get hold of it some one would be sure to see us. There's a man coming along now.'

The occupants of the cart began to speak to the man some moments before he met them. After a time the woman produced Charlie's pigtail, and handed it to the man to look at. For a few moments he examined it carefully, and apparently he came to the conclusion that he had as much right to it as the woman, for suddenly he rushed off with it. The cart-owner shouted to him to come back; his wife shuffled out of the cart and hobbled a yard or two after the thief, but soon realised that she would not be able to catch him. The Pages and Ping Wang thoroughly enjoyed the scene.

'The old lady does not appear to be in a hurry to go,' Charlie remarked. 'Hallo! she's coming over to look at the heads.'

But when the woman had hobbled to the nearest pole, she contented herself with looking up at its grim burden, and then began to hobble back towards her cart. But, before she had gone five yards, she noticed the ruin in which the Pages and Ping Wang were hiding. She stood still and gazed at it.

'She is coming over here to see what this place is!' said Charlie.

'She is,' Fred declared, and, as he spoke, the woman began to hobble in their direction.

'What shall we do?' Charlie whispered.

'Stay here,' Ping Wang answered. 'We must lie down flat and then she may overlook us.'

'Down we go,' Fred said; 'she's very near.'

About a minute later they heard the woman approach the hole in the wall, through which they had been watching her. From a grunt of annoyance which she uttered, they knew that she was not tall enough to see through. They could hear her hobbling round to the next hole, and from another grunt they guessed that she found it, like the other, above her reach. She toddled round to the third hole, which was lower down. When they heard her stop before it, they held their breath and lay motionless, wondering whether she would see them. Their suspense was soon at an end.

'Foreigners!' she shouted, wildly.

'Come on, Fred--come on, Ping Wang!' cried Charlie, jumping up; 'we must bolt.'

The Chinese woman was so startled by his voice that she moved hurriedly back, and, being unsteady on her tiny crippled feet, she toppled over and fell, shouting to her husband to come and catch the foreigners.

'There is no one about,' Fred declared, when all three had scrambled out of their hiding-place, 'so we will get a pigtail at once.'

Fred and Ping Wang without a moment's hesitation ran to the nearest execution pole, and by tugging vigorously at it brought it to the ground.

'Have you a knife?' Fred said to Ping Wang, who immediately produced one, which, fortunately, was fairly sharp. Quickly, and as reverently as possible, Fred performed the task which his brother's need had made necessary, and placing the pigtail in his pocket he started off, accompanied by Ping Wang, to rejoin Charlie, who had been having a busy and exciting time. When Fred and Ping Wang ran to obtain a pigtail, he dashed off towards the cart, and the cartman, seeing him coming, and believing that he intended to rob him of his one hundred cash, left his horse and vehicle and bolted across country. But Charlie, of course, had no intention of acting the highway robber. He unharnessed the horse, and turning him round started him off in the direction from which he had come. But the horse knew that his stable was at Kwang-ngan, and had a very natural objection to being sent in the reverse direction. After trotting about twenty yards he turned round, and, breaking into a gallop, approached Charlie, who stood in the middle of the track, with arms extended, to stop his progress. But the cunning horse pretended that he was going to pass on the right of Charlie, and, as soon as Charlie jumped aside to stop him, changed his course suddenly and shot by him on the left.

It was fortunate, however, that the horse did insist upon going towards Kwang-ngan, for, when the Pages and Ping Wang followed in the same direction, they saw two Chinamen coming towards them.

'Let us pretend that the horse has escaped from us,' Charlie suggested, and they broke into a run. The horse hearing their footsteps, changed his leisurely walk to a trot. The Chinamen made no attempt to stop him, but stood aside to let him pass, and laughed and jeered at the pursuers.

'Well, I am glad that they did not stop the horse,' Charlie declared. 'But what are we going to do now? Chase that wretched horse all the way to Kwang-ngan?'

'No,' Ping Wang replied. 'We must leave the horse. We must take that track on the left, get round the town, and enter it by the gate on the far side. To enter it by the one on this side would be very risky, as the cartman and his wife will tell every one they meet that we are bound for Kwang-ngan, and some of my more violent anti-foreign countrymen are sure to start in pursuit of us.'

They left the main track and joined a little-used one which led round the town. For half an hour they marched along in single file without meeting or catching sight of any other human beings. Night came on, and they were about a mile from the town, when they heard the shouts of an advancing mob.

'We must hide: follow me!' Ping Wang exclaimed, and ran in the direction of the town. The ground between the track and town wall was very uneven, and abounded in little hollows which would have afforded ample concealment, but Ping Wang did not halt until they had run fully half a mile.

'Let's sit down here,' he said, panting.

They sat down in a hollow surrounded by shrubs, and listened to the shouts of the men whom they had so nearly encountered.

'I imagine that they are the members of some society,' said Ping Wang. 'If they had discovered that Charlie and you were Europeans, they would probably have killed us all.'

'The best thing we could do if we do meet them,' Charlie joined in, 'is to pretend that we are deaf and dumb. We are deaf and dumb as far as Chinese is concerned. And, now, if you will give me that pigtail, I will try to sew it to this skull-cap. I've never yet tried sewing with a pin, and I fancy that it won't be an easy job.'

Charlie repeated that opinion several times during the next half-hour, for, what with the difficulty of getting the head of the pin through the cap, and the cotton constantly slipping off the pin, it was a most irritating job. However, after working hard for a little more than half an hour, he finished it.

'It doesn't look at all bad,' Fred declared.

Then they talked for some time of their journey, and of the treasure for which they had travelled so far.

'There's somebody coming!' Fred exclaimed, stopping Ping Wang in the middle of a sentence.

They listened. 'Let's get up and walk on,' Ping Wang said, quietly. 'I fancy there are quite fifty men approaching. Probably they are some of the men whom we heard an hour ago. There are more of them on the left, and they're closing in on us. Remember that, if they do see us, you are both not to say a word.'

(Continued on page 346.)

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

X.--PARACHUTES.

Venturesome people are always on the look-out for fresh excitements. To them it is not enough to go up in the car of a balloon in the ordinary way. They must do something that no one else had ever done. So a M. Margat ascended sitting astride a wooden horse, and Madame Blanchard attached fireworks to her balloon, and discharged them in mid-air. At Paris, on July 6th, 1819, she meant to make a finer display than usual, and succeeded in letting off fountains of fire from a wooden platform beneath the car. But, not content with this, she hoped to surprise and delight the people of Paris still further by letting off a fresh display from the car itself. Unfortunately she overlooked the fact that a small stream of gas was pouring from the lower end of her balloon, owing to the envelope having been too fully charged, and the moment she struck the match this stream caught fire. A tongue of flame ran up the outside of the bag, and, her efforts to put it out proving in vain, she pulled the valve-rope to descend. The gas rushed out at the top, but caught fire in turn, and the falling car, coming in contact with the roof of a house, threw Madame Blanchard to the ground with fatal result.

Accidents in the air have been countless, a large number of them being due to the use of the parachute. But this invention has frequently been employed effectively. Though the idea of such a machine may be traced back many hundreds of years in old drawings and old books, the inventor of the first in which a descent was actually made, was Jacques Garnerin, a pupil of the celebrated Professor Charles. The first to make use of it was his little dog. M. Garnerin carried the parachute, tied underneath a balloon, above a dense cloud. Here the little dog was carefully secured in the car of the parachute, and the next moment disappeared swiftly into the cloud. Garnerin pulled the valve-rope, and followed. But his little dog was nowhere to be seen, on account of the mist. His master was about to let out more gas, thinking that he was behindhand in this race to the earth, when a loud and joyous barking fell on his ear. It came from overhead, but Garnerin could see nothing until, when the cloud was left behind, the parachute emerged into the sunshine a few yards away. The dog, with senses quicker than his own, had been conscious of his master's presence, and hailed him as he passed. But the balloon continued rapidly on its downward course, and, answering the barks with consoling words, the aeronaut hurried to the earth. A moment or two later he welcomed his strange little traveller from the clouds. The dog, happily, suffered nothing, and even seemed to enjoy the experiment, which might have proved both cruel and fatal.

Garnerin's dog was the pioneer of many human travellers in the same machine. The master himself was the next to perform the feat, and, watched by a large crowd, on October 22nd, 1797, he cut his parachute loose from his balloon at a height of three thousand feet. A cry of horror broke from the watchers as the parachute was seen to descend with awful swiftness. But it flew open the next moment, and though M. Garnerin was swung dangerously from side to side, he reached the ground in safety. This swaying was due to the fact that he had not made a hole in the top of his 'umbrella,' to allow the air to rush through. Imprisoned in the dome, its only outlet was over the sides, and this caused the apparatus to swing. M. Garnerin took advantage of the lesson, and made the opening before his next flight.

This parachute was built like a huge umbrella, the cords supporting the car coming from the outside ends of the 'ribs.' Being closed, when detached from the balloon it, of course, descended at a great speed till the rush of air became strong enough to force it open. It was used without mishap in many descents, and is still the pattern for parachutes.

Among many who sought to improve upon M. Garnerin's machine was an Englishman, named Cocking. In 1836 he built a parachute with the sides turned up instead of down, like an umbrella blown inside out, thinking that it would give greater steadiness in the descent. Thus far he was correct, but, being too sure of success, he allowed himself, without first making experiments, to be cut loose from a balloon three thousand feet up, and was instantly killed, the parachute being too weak in construction. Sixteen years later another inventor made a parachute like Garnerin's, but provided with large wings. Standing in an iron frame he worked these wings with both arms, with the intention of directing the parachute in its fall, thus, to a certain extent, turning it into a flying machine. But when he was descending near Tottenham, on June 27th, 1854, an unfortunate accident resulted in the inventor's death.

Such were some of the misuses of the parachute; but, though with care it may be employed with safety, it is not popular with aeronauts, who have pointed out that the balloon itself may, in emergencies, be turned into a parachute. When the gas has nearly all escaped the passage of air will drive the silk up into the netting, and so check the speed of descent. Mr. Coxwell more than once came safely to earth in this way. Only a short time ago, on July 24th, 1904, an incident bearing on this point occurred in France. A captive balloon, when some hundred feet from the ground, was torn from its anchorage by a sudden gust of wind. The nine passengers in the car were horrified to find themselves a few moments later sailing above the clouds. At ten thousand feet the pressure of gas had become so great that the silk envelope was ruptured, and the terrified travellers realised that they were falling rapidly. They then left the car, and climbed into the network. Fortunately, as the balloon collapsed more and more, it took the form of a parachute, and eventually landed two miles from the starting-point, with its passengers more terrified than hurt.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 343.)

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Chapter XVII

They walked on in silence. Soon they were able to distinguish some of the men. All of them were armed--some with swords, some with sticks, and one or two with bows and arrows. None, so far as could be seen, carried fire-arms. They soon caught sight of the Pages and Ping Wang, and stood watching the travellers as they approached.

Concealing their excitement, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang continued walking on until they came face to face with the men, who wore yellow cloths round their heads and also round their bodies and legs. One of them spoke sharply, and Ping Wang replied promptly and cheerfully. His reply evidently pleased them, for they spoke to him in a friendly manner. Charlie and Fred stood silently a foot or two in rear of their friend, and, as they did not understand anything of what was being said, it was easy for them not to show any sign of interest. Suddenly one of the men spoke to Charlie, who acted his part well, continuing to gaze at Ping Wang's back, and appearing ignorant of the fact that he had been addressed. Ping Wang turned round instantly, and, with a sorrowful air, spoke to the man. Charlie and Fred guessed from Ping Wang's manner, and the surprise which his words created, that he had declared that they could not speak or understand.

When the people had, apparently, expressed their sorrow, Ping Wang suddenly addressed the crowd in a loud voice. He pointed to Charlie and Fred, and, as he did so, his tone became more indignant, his manner more excited. When he had brought his speech to an end, the crowd behaved like a gathering of madmen. Swords, spears, and sticks were flourished about in a most reckless and threatening manner.

After the performance, which might be called a war-dance, had subsided, a portly Chinaman, with a red cloth tied round his head, and cloth of a similar colour covering his body and legs, advanced to within a yard of Ping Wang, and shook hands with himself. Ping Wang instantly shook his own hands. Having thus greeted each other, the two men entered into an earnest conversation, and it was clear that they were discussing a matter of importance from the manner in which the crowd closed on them, so as to hear everything that was said. And then it was that Charlie and Fred noticed that every man present was wearing either a yellow or a red cloth round his head. The majority wore yellow ones, those who were wearing red being, evidently, the bodyguard of the fat gentleman who was talking to Ping Wang.

At length the conversation came to an end, and from the smile on the portly Chinaman's face Charlie and Fred concluded, rightly, that Ping Wang had succeeded in pleasing him. But what followed puzzled them completely. The crowd moved back, leaving them with Ping Wang and the big man in the centre of a circle. Then three men advanced to join them. One was carrying a long cane, the second two lighted incense candles, and the third a handful of square pieces of paper, on which were written some Chinese characters. The fat man and Ping Wang then went down on their knees, face to face, and so close to each other that their noses almost touched. As they knelt, the man with the paper set light to one of the pieces, and tossed it in the air above the kneeling men. As he did so Ping Wang and the man opposite to him bent down their heads, and butted each other gently. When the kneeling men had butted each other seven times, the man with the cane struck Ping Wang one blow across the back. The butting ceased at once, and Ping Wang stood up, the crowd giving vent to harsh cries, which were meant for applause.

The fat man remained on his knees, and Ping Wang signed to Charlie to take the position which he had just left. Charlie was put through the same performance as Ping Wang, and when he rose up, Fred knelt down, and went through the same ceremony.

When the portly Chinaman had got on his feet, he shouted to some one in the crowd, and a man ran to him, carrying in his hand three pieces of yellow cloth. These were presented to Ping Wang and the Pages. Ping Wang did not don the yellow cloth, but placed it in his pocket, and Charlie and Fred followed his example.

The crowd now separated, some men proceeding towards Kwang-ngan, and others starting off to more distant villages. The Pages and Ping Wang went with the former; but, as they walked slowly, they were soon left behind, much to their satisfaction. Having looked round and satisfied himself that the nearest men were more than a hundred yards ahead of them, Charlie said to Ping Wang, in an undertone, 'What was the meaning of it all?'

'Simply this,' Ping Wang answered with a smile, 'we have been sworn in members of the Big Sword, or Boxer Society--a Society which exists for the sole purpose of ferreting out and killing foreigners.'

Before Charlie and Fred had recovered from the surprise of this announcement, the people in front started running quickly towards the town.

'The town gates are about to be closed for the night,' Ping Wang explained. 'We will stay out here until they are opened to-morrow. Let us hide among these bushes, in case any more men should come along and be suspicious of us for not hurrying.'

They pushed their way through the dwarf bushes until they came to a small clearing. Then they sat down and waited silently until the last townsman had hurried by.

'They have all gone,' Ping Wang declared a quarter of an hour after the last man had passed, 'so now I will tell you all about the Boxers. After we had exchanged greetings they told me that they were members of the Big Sword or Big Fist Society, commonly known as Boxers, and asked me to join them. I agreed to do so; if I had refused we should not be alive now. Then they told me that the Empress Dowager, Tsi-Hsi, and most of the mandarins were supporting them, and had approved of their plan to destroy every European and native Christian in the land. I asked when the rising was likely to take place, and was told that, as far as they knew, it would begin in about three weeks' time. Then I heard a man address you, and therefore declared at once that you could not speak, and after that I made a speech pretending to be very hostile to foreigners.'

'Don't you think,' said Charlie, 'that we ought to hurry back to warn Barton and his friends of the threatened rising?'

'We can warn them without going back to them. I will send word to my cousin. Since he has become a Christian, all the members of his family, excepting his youngest brother, have refused to speak to him. His youngest brother, who is in Kwang-ngan, is very fond of him, and when I tell him of his brother's danger, he will, I am certain, hurry off to warn him--and, of course, my cousin will tell Barton.'

Then they began to discuss once more the object of their visit to China--the recovery of the idol.

'I'm very anxious to get that treasure,' Charlie declared, 'but I feel just now as if I would willingly sell my share of it for a good meal. I'm both hungry and cold.'

'Then let us walk about,' Ping Wang suggested. 'It will keep us warm. Our hunger we shall have to put up with for several hours, I'm afraid.'

As they tried to get warm, Ping Wang told them of many curious customs of his countrymen, to make the time pass. But in spite of his stories they became very tired and hungry, and were exceedingly thankful when, at last, daylight appeared.

(Continued on page 354.)

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

Frank Ardlamont and his younger brother Dick had a liking for every kind of country sport, and were always ready for any adventure which required skill and daring. When, therefore, they were spending a holiday in the Highlands of Scotland, and learned that there was an eagle's nest built upon an almost inaccessible ledge on the steep side of Ben Galt, scarcely three miles away from the house where they were staying, they thought it would be a fine thing to try and capture one of the young. The lads had recently seen an eagle in one of the cages of a travelling menagerie, and they thought that if they could capture a young one, they might perhaps be able to rear it. They talked the matter over, arranged their plans, and finally proceeded to carry them out.

The nest was a little below the edge of a steep cliff, and there was a rugged, winding path, leading up to the top of the cliff. Having provided themselves with a strong iron bar, a rope, and several stout sticks, Frank and Dick started out for Ben Galt, accompanied by a Scotch gillie. They climbed to the top of the cliff without much difficulty, and drove the iron bar firmly into a crevice of the rock. Then Frank tied one end of the rope round his waist, and having fastened the other to the iron bar, he passed the middle of the rope round it in a loop, and told the others how to pay it out in sailor fashion. This done he dropped over the edge of the cliff, and began his descent.

The boys had seen the eagles starting out upon their morning hunt, as they were on their way to Ben Galt. The birds were nowhere in sight when Frank swung himself from the cliff, and he had no fear of an attack. He was careful, nevertheless, to carry a good stout stick with him. He dropped upon the edge where the nest was built, and drew down just enough rope to allow him to move about freely. The nest was a flat pile or floor of sticks, covered with rushes, heath, and grass. It was not hollowed out, but the eaglets upon it were protected to some extent by the overhanging of the cliff itself. About the nest lay the scattered bones of hares, rabbits, and moor-fowl, with here and there a larger one which might have belonged to some young lamb or kid.

Frank stood looking at the nest for a few minutes before he took up one of the young birds. The eaglet gaped hungrily as he lifted it up, and made a sort of screeching noise, struggling apparently to reach something behind Frank. He turned quickly, and was horrified to see one of the parent birds sweeping up from the valley below. His first impulse was to give the signal for those above to haul him up, and to jump off the edge at once; but a moment's reflection showed him that it would be foolish to do so. The eagle was close upon him, and he saw that he would be much more helpless dangling at the end of a rope, than standing firmly upon his feet. So he withdrew as far as he could under the shelter of the overhanging rock, and waited, stick in hand, for the angry bird. As it came up, he hit out with all his force. It was well that he had remained where he was, for the eagle was placed at a disadvantage by having to draw in its wings in order to approach him. With gaping beak and extended claws it flew at him, but before it could touch him he delivered another heavy blow at its neck, and three or four in quick succession upon its shoulders. The first blow crippled it for the moment, and the succession of them so disabled it that it dropped in the air, and fell fluttering helplessly down into the valley.

Frank cast a quick glance across the sky, and saw the companion eagle returning high in the air. The pair had evidently been hunting in their usual way, one near the ground, and the other at a great height. He saw that he had no time to lose. He gave three sharp tugs at the rope, and sprang from the ledge. In a few minutes he was drawn up safely to the top of the cliff, carrying the eaglet in his arm. The returning eagle flew straight to the nest; then, hearing the cries of his wounded companion, he directed his course to where it lay. The two boys and the gillie, finding the eagles' attention diverted from them, made haste to return to the valley, glad to have escaped without injury.

FAIRY SONG.

Ding-dong, The Sun has gone: A crimson night-gown he put on: I saw him cover up his head: Ding dong, He's now in bed.

Fairy maid, Come to the glade: The meadow is with pearls arrayed: The moonbeams cling to every tree Lovingly. From thy bower To dance an hour Come, and leave the cosy flower That cradles thee.

Fairy man, Arise, arise! Stars are dancing in the skies: Leaves are dancing on the trees To the music of night's breeze. Come a-tripping, Come a-tripping, Time is slipping fast away, Ever slipping towards the day! Drag each lazy fairy-fellow From his sleepy bed; Dress him up in crocus yellow, Or in roses red. Arise, arise! Stars are kissing in the skies.

Ding-dong, The Sun has gone: A crimson night-gown he put on: I saw him cover up his head: Ding-dong, He's safe in bed.

REGIMENTS IN THE CITY.

The regiment of the Third Grenadier Guards not long ago changed its quarters from the Tower to the Wellington Barracks, and marched past the Mansion House in the City of London in full panoply of war, band playing, colours flying, and bayonets glittering in the bright sunshine.

Before, however, their Colonel could thus proudly lead his regiment through the old historic streets of London, he had to obtain permission from the Lord Mayor, who, by virtue of a power dating back to a very remote period, can refuse the marching of troops through the City without his permission.

Two regiments only are exceptions to this law, the 'Buffs,' or East Kent Regiment, and the Honourable Artillery Company; both these are descended from the old trained bands of the City, and therefore have the right to march through when they will, with arms and unfurled colours.

Unfurled colours, it may be mentioned, always claim great honour and respect. When first presented to a regiment, the officer receives them on bended knee, and to this day very many people raise their hats to the colours as they are carried by.

HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

IV.--THE STORY OF SINBAD THE SAILOR

(From the 'Arabian Nights.')

There once lived in Bagdad a poor porter, whose name was Hindbad. One day, during the excessive heat of summer, he was carrying a heavy load from one end of the city to the other, and, just as he was feeling very tired of his burden, came upon a street refreshed by a gentle breeze. The pavement was sprinkled with rose-water, and in a fine position, close to the street, stood a splendid mansion. Asking whose house it was, Hindbad was told that it was the residence of Sinbad the Sailor, 'that famous voyager who had sailed over all the seas under the sun.' Hindbad could not help thinking how different this man's situation was from his own, and he exclaimed in a loud voice, 'Alas, what a difference there is between Sinbad and myself! I suffer daily a thousand ills, and find the greatest difficulty in providing my wretched family with bad barley bread, whilst Sinbad spends his riches freely, and enjoys every pleasure. What has he done to be so happy, or I to be so unhappy?'

As he said this, he struck the ground with his foot angrily, and stood there looking at the house, the picture of despair. As he remained thus, a servant came out from the great house, and, taking hold of his arm, said, 'Come, follow me; my master, Sinbad, wishes to speak with you.' Very soon Hindbad was brought into the presence of the great man, who was surrounded by a crowd of officers and servants. He was a very grave and venerable person, with a long white beard. The poor porter felt very much afraid when he saw so much magnificence; but Sinbad drove away his fears by his kindness, and helped him to the choicest dishes.

After the feast Sinbad addressed Hindbad by the title of 'brother,' and asked his name and profession. Hindbad answered him faithfully. Sinbad wished to know what it was he had said in the street, and this also Hindbad told him. Then Sinbad pointed out how foolish the porter's anger and envy had been, since he did not really know whether this wealth had not been won worthily by toil and hardship; and when Hindbad began to see that he had spoken without thought, Sinbad went on to give some account of his adventures in seven voyages that he had made on different seas. We shall not narrate the whole of these adventures during the various voyages, but shall only take two of them, one of which has passed into a proverb.

When Sinbad was a young man, he spent the fortune he inherited from his father foolishly. But there came a day, happily while he was still young, when he saw his folly, and determined to use what was left of his fortune in a better manner. As a first step in this direction, he sought the advice of some merchants who traded by sea, with the result that he embarked with several of them in a vessel which they had fitted out at their united expense. It was a lovely day when they set sail, but before long the wind fell, and they were becalmed off a small island. The captain ordered the sails to be furled, and gave permission for those who wished to go ashore. Amongst those who took advantage of the permission was Sinbad himself. He and his comrades sat down to lunch on one of the greenest parts of the island, and had just begun their meal, when the island suddenly trembled, and they felt a great shock. They at first supposed that it was an earthquake, but in this they were mistaken, for the island turned out to be nothing more nor less than a huge whale! The most active of the party jumped into the boat, while others threw themselves into the water to swim to the ship. Sinbad himself was still on the 'island' when it plunged into the sea. He had only time, as he sank, to catch hold of a piece of wood which had been brought to make a fire with. A breeze had sprung up, and the captain of the ship set sail, leaving Sinbad, whom he had possibly not missed, to the mercy of the waves.

At last a great wave dashed Sinbad, nearly exhausted, on to an island which, this time, he found to be really good firm earth. The men of the island were kind to him, and told him that had he been a day later he would very likely have perished from starvation, for on the following day they were leaving that part of the island, with the horses which they were to take to the King.

The King received Sinbad in a friendly manner, and the wanderer stayed in the chief city for some time. At length, one day, when he was standing near the harbour, he saw a ship come towards the land. It was loaded with goods, and as he was looking he saw his own name on some of the packages, and knew them to be those which he had left behind him in the vessel. On making inquiries of the captain, whom he recollected as the captain with whom he had formerly sailed, he was told that the parcels belonged to 'a merchant of Bagdad, named Sinbad.' Of course, it took but a short time to convince the captain that the man to whom he was speaking was the missing passenger. Sinbad related his adventures, and was soon in possession of his merchandise again. He selected from it some of the most valuable things, and presented them to the King of the island. He sold the remainder for a good sum of money, and at length returned in the ship to his native land, where he was received by his family and friends with great joy.

(Concluded on page 354.)

HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

IV.--THE STORY OF SINBAD THE SAILOR.

(From the 'Arabian Nights.')

(Concluded from page 351.)

Sinbad bought a magnificent house and grounds, and thought of settling down and forgetting all the disagreeable things that had happened to him; but this state of idleness did not please his active turn of mind, and he soon gave it up and took to his travels again. He made no less than seven voyages before he retired and settled down with his family. On one of these voyages he was again wrecked, and after a narrow escape from drowning, was cast up on another island. He wandered along the shore for some time, and presently came upon a little stream. On the banks of this brook he saw an old man seated, who seemed to be very broken down and weary. 'I approached and saluted him,' said Sinbad to Hindbad, 'but instead of replying he made signs to me to take him on my shoulders and cross the brook, making me understand that he wanted to gather some fruit.' This Sinbad did, and when he had reached the other side of the stream with his heavy load, he stopped and asked the old man to get down.

But then a strange thing happened. 'This old man,' said Sinbad, 'who appeared so decrepit, nimbly threw his legs, which I now saw were covered with a hard skin, over my neck, and seated himself on my shoulders, at the same time squeezing my throat so tightly that I expected to be strangled. I was so alarmed that I fainted away.' The old man, however, would not loose his hold, but made his prisoner carry him and gather fruit for him, and work for him generally, without paying him any money or allowing him any liberty, merely raining down blows on him for all that he did.

But at last, one day, Sinbad's opportunity came. The old man having taken a drink which Sinbad had prepared for him out of some grapes he found, became drowsy, and began to sway about on the shoulders of his carrier, who, understanding how things were, threw his burden to the ground, and thus got rid of him. Overjoyed at being once again free, he walked towards the sea-shore, and here, to his great joy, he met some people who belonged to a vessel which had anchored there to get fresh water. He told them of his adventures, and they assured him that he had fallen into the hands of the Old Man of the Sea, adding, 'You are the first whom he has not strangled; he never left those whom he had once mastered till he had put an end to their lives. The sailors and merchants who land here never dare approach him except in a strong body.'

No doubt Chatterbox readers have often heard the phrase, 'The old man of the sea,' which is only another term for a weight that we have taken upon ourselves and cannot shake off. Thus, if a man is in debt, and cannot get clear, the debt is said to be a veritable 'old man of the sea' to him who carries the burden.

All Sinbad's fatigue at last ended, and he arrived happily at Bagdad, where he lived a quiet and worthy life till the hour of his death. Hindbad, when he heard the tale, was obliged to admit that the man whose riches he had so envied had not won them without fearful perils, and that his own miseries, as compared with those undergone by the owner of the mansion, were as nothing; and Sinbad, remembering what he had once suffered himself, behaved kindly and generously to the porter, making him his friend, and promising him that all his life he should have reason to remember Sinbad the Sailor.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 349.)

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Chapter XVIII

The Pages and Ping Wang were among the first twenty to pass in at the town gates, and the latter at once crossed over to an inn and peeped in at the door. The glance he gave satisfied him, and he beckoned to Charlie and Fred to enter. It was not an attractive-looking place, but there was a smell of roast pork, that made the hungry travellers sniff with delight.

The dining-room into which Ping Wang led the way was very dirty, and until Charlie and Fred were told what the room was they had no idea that it was there that they were to breakfast. They sat down on a form at a little, bare wooden table, and before long were enjoying a hearty meal of roast pork and tea.

'And now,' Fred said, when they had satisfied their healthy appetites, 'I should like to lie down and sleep.'

'So should I,' Charlie declared. 'What kind of beds do they have here?'

'We can lie on the floor here if we like,' Ping Wang answered.

'I'll do so,' Charlie said, and down he went on the floor, turned his face to the wall, rested his head on his arm, and closed his eyes: Fred followed his example at once.

Ping Wang waited until his friends were asleep, and then, having satisfied himself that their pigtails were not slipping off, and that there was nothing about their appearance to attract attention, he lay down beside them.

All three slept soundly until the landlord came in and awoke Ping Wang, who had an argument with him about the price of roast pork.

'What is our next move?' Charlie asked, quietly, when the landlord had left the room.

'To go and see my cousin,' Ping Wang replied, 'to warn him of the danger which threatens his brother and all other Christians.'

Ping Wang found his cousin--a fan-maker--at his shop. He had heard of the Boxers' intentions the day before, and had already been to his brother to warn him and his friends. This was indeed good news, and Ping Wang was anxious to tell his friends of it, but dared not, for his cousin's work-people were in the next room, and would probably hear them speaking English. He told his cousin, however, that his friends, who were standing at the door, were Englishmen, a piece of news which caused the fan-maker much uneasiness. He begged Ping Wang not to introduce him to the Englishmen, and urged him to get them out of the town as quickly as possible. Ping Wang chatted with him for a few more minutes and then departed.

The streets were now crowded with people, and Ping Wang whispered to his friends not to speak on any account until they were safe at another inn. He led them through numerous narrow streets, and was within a hundred yards of the inn where he hoped to get a room when a man came running along the street, shouting wildly, slashing about with a whip, and driving the people back against the houses on either side. Ping Wang pushed the Pages back quickly and stood in front of them.

A few moments later Charlie and Fred understood the cause of the excitement. A gorgeous palanquin was borne rapidly past them, but not so quickly that they were unable to see the occupant. He was a fat, cruel-looking man, and took no notice whatever of the kowtowing of the people. On his head he wore a yellow cloth, such as the Boxers had worn on the previous evening, and this was regarded, as it was meant to be, as a sign that he was in sympathy with the Boxer movement.

'Chin Choo,' Ping Wang muttered, as the palanquin passed out of sight, and Charlie and Fred knew that they had seen the murderer of their friend's father, and the possessor of the treasure which they had come to China to secure.

The inn to which Ping Wang led his friends was the best in Kwang-ngan. It was roomy, fairly clean, and was the only place of its kind that was two storeys high. The other inns had but one storey.

Ping Wang took a room on the first floor, and they entered into occupation at once.

'Let us sit in the middle of the room,' Ping Wang said, 'and then, if we talk very quietly, there will be no fear of any one hearing that we are not talking Chinese.'

Ping Wang then told his friends of what his cousin had said to him. They were very much relieved to hear that the missionaries had been warned of the danger that threatened them, but were rather worried by the difficulties before them.

'The easiest way to get into Chin Choo's garden,' Ping Wang said, 'will be by climbing over the wall. It is a high one, certainly, but I do not think that we shall have much difficulty in scaling it. What I do fear is that, as Chin Choo's house is in the busiest part of the town, we may have to wait days, perhaps weeks, before we find the road deserted, even at night. As soon as it is dark, we will go out and find the most convenient spots for climbing. In the meanwhile, are either of you hungry?'

Charlie and Fred had had such a hearty breakfast that they almost shuddered at the mention of food.

'Well,' Ping Wang said, 'I'm not hungry either, but we shall want some dinner.'

He went downstairs to give the order and have a chat with the inn-keeper. He was absent about twenty minutes, and when he returned the Pages saw that he had some news to tell them.

'What is it?' Charlie asked.

Ping Wang quietly turned the key in the door and then sat down beside his friends.

'There is to be a feast to-night. It's to be held at the other end of the town, and everybody who possibly can will be there. That will leave this end of the town nearly deserted. A better opportunity for climbing over Chin Choo's wall we could not possibly have. The road will be deserted, and most of Chin Choo's servants will be at the feast. Perhaps Chin Choo himself will be there. Don't let us talk about it just now. Our dinner will not be brought up for three hours, and in the meantime we had better get all the sleep that we can. We must be as fresh as possible this evening.'

Charlie and Fred agreed, and five minutes later all three were sleeping soundly.

They were aroused from their slumber by a terrific banging at their door.

'Who's there?' Ping Wang asked in Chinese, and the reply came, from the landlord himself, that he was their disreputable nephew, who would, if permitted to intrude his worthless body upon their exalted presence, lay the dinner.

Ping Wang replied instantly that if their intellectual uncle would condescend to demean himself by waiting on such idiotic monkeys, they would at once admit his glorious body to their ridiculous and contemptible presence.

These flowery Chinese compliments having been exchanged, Ping Wang opened the door to his 'uncle,' and his 'nephew' walked in and placed a couple of ducks on the table.

As soon as they had finished their meal, the Pages and Ping Wang went to the window and stood gazing down into the busy street. Charlie quickly noticed that nearly all the people who were proceeding in one direction were carrying provisions.

'Are they taking those things to give to their ancestors' ghosts?' he inquired.

'Well, no,' Ping Wang replied. 'The feast to be given to-night has been got up by the priests of Fo.'

'Who is Fo?'

'Buddha. Fo is our name for him. The Buddhists decided, many years ago, that the Confucians were to be blamed for neglecting to feast the ghosts of those who had been so unfortunate as to die without leaving any descendants, and agreed to do the work themselves. They published accounts of the terrible sufferings of the starving ghosts who had no descendants, and urged the people to contribute food to relieve their wants. The people gave willingly, and from that time the Buddhist priests have had feasts at intervals. I think that we shall be able to see part of this evening's performance. At dusk we will go out and examine the wall round Chin Choo's house, and when we have found the best place for scaling it, we will hurry off to the feast. We will stay there a short time, and then return to finish our job. By this time to-morrow I hope that we shall be back at Su-ching, with our pockets full of rubies. But Chin Choo is not likely to be merciful to any one found robbing him.'

'But we are not going to rob him,' Charlie declared. 'We are simply going to recover what he has stolen from you.'

'That is so,' said Fred; 'but Chin Choo will think that as much stealing as if we were taking from him something to which he had a perfect right.'

'Oh, well, don't let us look on the gloomy side of the affair,' said Ping Wang. 'We need not talk about it any more now. I must go out for a few minutes. Wait for me here.'

(Continued on page 366.)

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

XI.--CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.

The feebler folk among Nature's children have many enemies; against these they are, as a rule, nearly powerless; but here and there, among the different groups of animals, we meet with strange devices for repelling attacks. Though these are by no means always successful, it seems clear that they are good enough to serve as a fairly sure protection. This is especially the case with the Caterpillars.

There are two methods of defence used by caterpillars. One of these is the device of squirting noxious fluids from the body; the other is found in the poisonous hairs and spines which are scattered more or less all over the body.

Those who have taken up the study of butterflies and moths, will do well to be careful in handling hairy caterpillars, especially those of the family known as the Bombyces. Some of the members of this family, such as the Fox-moth and the Brown and Gold-tailed moths, when in the caterpillar stage are thickly clothed with long stiff hairs, and these, if the creature be handled, pierce the skin and break off. In consequence very painful itching and irritation is set up. But this is nothing to the pain caused by the caterpillars of the wonderful 'Procession moth' (fig. 1). In these caterpillars the poison hairs are very loosely attached to the body, and studded with exceedingly fine hooks that curve inwards, as may be seen in the diagram of a magnified portion of one of the spines (fig. 2, D and E). Partly by adhering to the skin, and partly by means of a very fine dust with which they are covered, these hairs set up a very violent inflammation on the skin of men and animals, which is hard to get rid of. On this account, moreover, the neighbourhood of the nests of these larvæ is dangerous, for the surrounding air is filled with the hairs and dust borne about by the wind. These are thus inhaled, and give rise to internal inflammation and swellings which have sometimes caused death.

One of the most remarkable of all hairy caterpillars is that of an American species (fig. 3), burdened by scientific men with the terrible name--Megalopyga! The shorter hairs are poisonous.

The caterpillar of our British 'Festoon moth' belongs to a very remarkable family indeed. All the caterpillars of this group, which is found in many parts of the world, are very slug-like in form, and many have an evil reputation as poisoners, though our English species is happily innocent. A small Australian species has the body armed with slight reddish knobs, four in the front and four in the hind part of the body. These knobs can be opened at will, and from them slight rays or bunches of stings of a yellow colour are thrust out. The wounds which these darts inflict are very painful. Of one Indian species a collector records that 'the caterpillar stung with such horrible pain that I sat in the room almost sick with it, and unable to keep the tears from running down my cheeks, for more than two hours, applying ammonia all the time.'

(Concluded on page 364.)

A FAIR-SIZED FIELD.

Hugh Martin had come home from Canada, where his father owned a ranch, on a visit to some English relations.

Willie Pearse was the cousin nearest him in age, and the two boys became great friends.

'It must be a jolly life out there, and money seems to be made much more quickly than in England,' Willie said one day. 'I wish Father would let me go out with you.'

'You would have to make up your mind to work harder than you do here,' Hugh told him, for he had noticed that his cousin was inclined to be lazy.

'Oh, I like that! Why, you were telling me how little there was to do in the winter, with everything frozen up! I thought that when you were not having a ripping time with sleighing parties and tobogganing, you just sat by the fire and read.'

'Compared with the summer, of course, the winter work is nothing. We just have to feed the calves every day, and ride round the field where our stock are wintering, to look up the cattle. But even that is more than you seem to get through, Will.'

'Not more than just ride round a field!' cried Willie. 'I should be glad if that ended my day's work.'

'Perhaps you do not quite realise the size of what we call a field,' Hugh said quietly.

'How many acres?' asked his cousin.

'Oh, a matter of two thousand acres or so,' was the answer, and then Willie began to think that if all the little jobs of work were on the same scale, perhaps only the energetic folk were the sort to go to Canada, and those who loved their ease had better stay at home.

M. H.

A STROLL AMONGST FERNS.

We cannot show in Britain such tall and beautiful natives of the fern tribe as may be found growing freely in tropical countries, but still we have some fine ferns belonging to our islands. These are much commoner in some parts than in others, and probably, many years ago, when a great part of the country was covered with damp forests or woods, there was a greater abundance of ferns generally than there is now. Indeed, even in the last few years, some ferns that used to be abundant have become quite scarce, often owing to the fact that unwise people dig them up, to carry the plants away from their haunts, and put them in gardens.

There are, fortunately, some ferns which such thefts do not harm, because they are plentiful. The well-known bracken, for instance, though quantities of it may be cut for wrapping or decoration, is not thereby thinned much, and it covers acres and acres of ground in some woodlands, especially about the western counties. The West of England is the home of ferns, big and small; but some southern counties, such as Sussex and Hampshire, have a good display. In Scotland, again, glens or copses, often the haunts of wild deer, are green with a thick growth of bracken.

A well-known writer, who lives where ferns abound, says that the bracken is the fern of ferns in the British Islands. The shelter of it is a pleasure and a safeguard too, not only to the tall deer and their fawns, but to thousands of quadrupeds and birds, whose home is amid the copses, shady lanes, or moorlands. In sandy wastes, this fern only grows a foot high; along the paths in woods it will attain to six or seven feet, or grow taller still in a lofty hedge, or in a clump of supporting trees. Even in the winter months the ferns have their uses; it is delightful, after walking over some moist lowland, to come upon a hilly ridge of ground, where, amongst the birches and the fragrant firs, the brown ferns grow freely.

Grand in its growth, but only to be found in a few places, is the Osmund or Royal Fern, which throws up a tall spike bearing the spores or seeds of the plant. Sometimes, in moist places, the crown of the root is a clump of more than a foot high, from which the stem rises. Of late years, this kingly fern has become still more rare, and happy is the fern-hunter who comes upon a specimen.

Who can help admiring the beautiful Lady Fern, which seems to be most at home when growing near a streamlet or pond? It is stately and graceful, with large fronds of clear green, and the tips of its sprays bend like plumes. What is called the Male Fern grows in hedges or banks, and indeed almost anywhere; a handsome cheery-looking plant, though of moderate size. It will even manage to live in a London back-garden, or area, and many cottagers have it amongst the flowers of their small garden plots. Occasionally, by the side of a copse, we may come upon a great bed of the male fern, which frequently keeps green all the winter. Often, about the same spots where the male fern flourishes, the Shield Fern displays its fronds, larger and broader, but fewer in number, and prettily toothed along their edges. Fond of damp hollows or the sides of ditches is the handsome Hart's-tongue Fern, which will also, now and then, choose to grow on a cracked wall, or perhaps down a well.

We must not forget the Polypody, which delights to creep amongst the trees and bushes of a lane, and looks very fresh in June, keeping its fronds till some sharp frost brings them off. It took the name of Polypody from its jagged leaves, upon which the seeds or spores appear in bright orange spots. The humble Wall Rue and the Wall Spleenwort grow on walls chiefly, sometimes on rocky banks. The true Maiden-hair Fern is amongst the rarest of our native ferns. What is so commonly grown by gardeners, and used for bouquets and buttonholes, is the Black Maiden-hair, a rather stronger plant.

THE CONTENTED PANSY.

'I wish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been planted To catch the full force of the wind from the east; But, somehow, the gardener takes it for granted That that's not a hardship I mind in the least. 'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing, Her glittering leaves were a capital shield; But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowing Can whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.

'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected, They're touched but by winds from the south and the west; Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expected To blossom in colours my brightest and best. The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders, And only when night is beginning to fall; While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders, He never looks twice at my corner at all.

'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses, For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone, I heard some one say, who was gathering posies, "I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone." Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing! I don't want the wind from the south and the west, And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing, I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'

HOW HETAIS WORE HIS MEDAL.

A True Story.

Hetais was a French sailor, a carpenter of the Ville de Paris, and he and his ship-mates took part with our soldiers in the siege of Sebastopol in 1854, where Hetais, having shown great gallantry during one of the sorties, was adjudged that coveted decoration, the médaille militaire--a medal that is only given to privates and non-commissioned officers.

The presentation of this medal was to be made on a certain evening, and on the morning, as he and his mates were on duty in the trenches, the chief subject of conversation was the honour that had befallen Hetais.

He was a modest, brave-hearted fellow, and though much pleased at the prospect of his medal, was pleased, too, to think of the treat he meant to give his comrades to celebrate the event.

'Look here,' he said to his particular chum, 'I have just drawn out all the money owing to me, and I mean you fellows to have a good, hot supper to-night at the canteen, and I foot the bill!' and as he spoke he pulled out a handful of silver from his pocket and showed it with a laugh to his friend.

Hot suppers were a rarity in that camp, and the very thought of such a treat was cheering to the half-starved men.

'You are a good fellow, Hetais,' said one of the men, 'and you deserve your luck.'

'Hold your tongue, you silly fellow,' said Hetais, with a good-natured thump on the speaker's back. 'Get on with your coffee-making, and do not talk nonsense!'

'All right,' said the man, cautiously lifting his head above the shelter of the trench, so as to see what the Russians were about. 'The "Moscos"' (so the French termed the enemy) 'seem keeping quiet to-day, and we shall be able to enjoy our coffee in peace,' he continued.

A fire was lighted, and the water put on to boil in a saucepan, the men all sitting round in eagerness, for it was bitterly cold in the trenches, and a hot cup, or rather tin, of coffee seemed to warm and cheer them better than anything else.

'Now then,' at last said the coffee-maker, 'hold out your mess-tins, and we will divide fairly.'

Every man held out his mess-tin--but not one drop of coffee was to be drunk by any of them, for at that very moment a bomb from the Russian battery landed in their midst, upsetting the saucepan of coffee and exploding in the midst of the little crowd of men.

It seemed as if none could escape! Yet, strange to say--for this is a true story--of all that group, no one was hurt, except the brave Hetais, whose head had been all but blown away by the bursting of the bomb.

It is impossible to describe the grief and consternation of his comrades, who felt, one and all, that each could have been better spared than the man who lay dead at their feet.

Just then the officer in charge of the party came up, and the senior man told him how Hetais had met his death. The officer was no less sorry than the men, for Hetais was popular with all ranks.

'Poor fellow! he was a brave man if there ever was one,' said the officer. 'Carry his body back to camp, my lads; he shall be honoured in death, if he has just missed it in life,' for the officer was thinking of the medal and the ceremony of presentation which was to have taken place that evening.

The men extemporised a sort of bier out of a litter on which the dead man was lying and their muskets, and thus they reverently carried him back to camp, the relief party presenting arms as the funeral procession passed by them.

When the General in command was informed of the death of Hetais, he issued the following order to the troops:

'I was to have presented Hetais, of the Ville de Paris, with the médaille militaire, and his untimely death must not deprive him of this honour. I shall fasten the medal on him at his burial.'

A few hours later, all the sailors and soldiers who could be spared from the trenches were drawn up in a hollow square outside the camp around the body of Hetais, who, wrapped in his cloak, slept his last calm sleep on the rough litter in which he had been carried from the trenches.

The deep silence was at last broken by the loud voice of the commanding officer: 'Present arms!' Then he took off his helmet, and followed by another officer, who carried the medal, he advanced towards the bier, and read out the brief account of the gallant action which had gained Hetais his medal.

Then, taking the medal from the hand of the subaltern, he fastened it on to the cloak of the sailor, and, turning to the assembled soldiers and sailors, he thus addressed them:

'A glorious death has ended a noble life,' he said, in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by all; 'but death, though it has robbed us of a brave comrade, shall not rob him of the honour due to his services. In the name of the General commanding the forces in the East, I confer on our dead comrade the médaille militaire!'

Then all ranks passed in turn, bare-headed, past the still figure of Hetais, lying all unconscious of the honour done to him; and thus were the last honours paid to a brave man.

TWENTY POUNDS REWARD.

It was the visit to Dan Webster which brought it all about; but for the fact that the handle of Charlie's bicycle got badly bent, so that only the village blacksmith could put it right, the most exciting incident which ever befell the boys would probably never have taken place.

It happened thus.

'Dan,' said Charlie, as he and his brother Sydney were waiting while the blacksmith finished a job he was at work on when they arrived, 'how would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'

'I should like it amazingly well, sir,' was the reply; 'a third of that sum even would be a godsend to me.'

'How would you spend it?' asked Sydney, with an amused smile.

A serious look came into old Dan's face. 'I'd send my daughter away to the seaside for a change,' he said. 'The doctor tells me it would do her more good than all his medicines. But what's all this,' he asked, 'about twenty pounds reward? I suppose it's some joke of yours, young gentlemen?'

'It's no joke,' said Charlie; 'at least, Lady Winterton does not think so. She is on a visit to our house, you know; and this morning she discovered that she had lost a valuable necklace. Father was so angry that such a thing should have happened that he at once offered twenty pounds reward for the recovery of the necklace.'

Dan thought seriously awhile. Then he said, 'I wonder if the young chap who roused me up this morning at six o'clock, because his horse had cast a shoe, had anything to do with it?'

Both boys were instantly on the alert. 'What was he like?' they asked, in a breath.

Dan described the stranger as minutely as he could. 'He had a small bag slung round him,' he finished, 'and seemed in a great hurry to be off.'

'That's the thief, you may depend upon it,' said Charlie. 'If we can only track him, Dan, you shall share the profits.'

Dan laughed. 'He didn't look much like a thief, now I come to think of it,' said he. 'He had too honest a face for that.'

'Oh, you never know,' was Sydney's comment. 'I dare say he's a thorough bad 'un, if the truth is known. Which way did he go, Dan, when he left you?'

The blacksmith then told all he knew, and the boys, as soon as Charlie's bicycle was ready, started off, as they fondly hoped, on the track of the thief. After a good long ride, they suddenly came upon the object of their search. He was leisurely taking photographs on the outskirts of a wood. No horse was visible, so he had evidently been home to breakfast, and had started forth again.

As the lads drew near he eyed them with interest, his idea being to photograph them.

Charlie, plucking up all the courage he possessed, went straight to the point. 'I wonder if you would mind,' said he, growing very red, 'if we looked into that case of yours?'

'And what for, young stranger, may I ask?' was the reply, given with a slightly American accent.

'Because--because,' stammered Charlie, 'we think you have something there belonging to Lady Winterton.'

'Upon my word,' laughed the young fellow, 'you are a "cute" chap. As a matter of fact, I have, but how did you know it?'

'We guessed it,' said Sydney, thinking it was time he put a spoke in the wheel; 'and now, if you will give it up to us, without making any fuss about it, we won't give you in charge.'

'Very kind of you, I am sure,' replied the thief. 'How am I to reward you for your goodness?'

'Oh, Father is going to give us the reward!' cried Charlie, very pleased with himself. 'It's twenty pounds, you know.'

'Is it, indeed?' said the young man, looking rather mystified. 'Tell me all about it, and what you are going to do with the money?'

There was something so winning about this innocent-looking criminal that the boys grew quite confidential, telling him the history of the whole morning.

'Dan said you had too honest a face for a thief,' said Sydney, at the close of the recital. 'I wonder what made you do it?'

The stranger was nearly doubled up with laughter, which he turned away to hide. 'Well, you see,' he replied, as gravely as he could, 'Lady Winterton left it about so temptingly that I really couldn't help it. It's my first offence, though.'

'Yes, so I should say,' Charlie's voice was eager as he spoke, 'and we should like you to get off, awfully. You are much too nice to go to prison.'

'Thanks, old chap, you're very kind,' said the thief; 'if you really mean to let me off scot-free I will be making a move. Take this case'--here drawing forth from his satchel a small package--'to Lady Winterton, with my regrets and apologies.'

* * * * *

'We have got the necklace!' So cried Charlie, as with flushed, triumphant faces the boys entered the dining-room, where the whole family party was assembled together.

'My dear boy, that's impossible,' replied Lady Winterton, 'for I found it myself, only ten minutes ago, behind a chest of drawers.'

'Then what is this?' cried poor Charlie, looking very surprised. He then told his story, which was certainly a very strange one. However, the mystery was soon cleared up. The case contained nothing but photographs, one of which was a portrait of Lady Winterton taken with her daughter, Alice. Clearly this was the theft to which the stranger (a wealthy, if somewhat eccentric, young American) alluded. He was Alice Winterton's accepted lover, and, half in earnest, half in jest, had taken the photograph for his own use.

The reward was not paid, after all. But when Mr. Hereford and Lady Winterton heard, from Charlie's story, of the blacksmith's trouble, they put their heads together, with the result that Dan Webster's daughter spent a happy time in a seaside home, and came back very grateful, and quite restored to health. The amateur detectives had done some good, after all.

WHY THE SEA SOBS.

The Sea no father has, Nor any mother: A trouble quite enough One's mind to bother. That's why, my dear, Where'er it be, We sometimes hear A sobbing Sea.

If we no fathers had, Or loving mothers, No little sisters fair, No baby-brothers, We'd shed a tear, (Poor You, poor Me,) And sigh, 'Oh, dear,' Just like the Sea.

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

XI.--THE GROTTOES OF ADELSBERG

About twenty miles north-east of Trieste, which stands at the north of the Adriatic Sea, is the little town of Adelsberg. It is a market town, and would have no more claim to notice than thousands of similar places in Europe, had it not chanced to have been built within a mile of one of the natural wonders of the world.

Thousands of years ago, when Europe was covered with dense forests, and savage man was struggling for existence with savage man and yet more savage beast, living in rude huts and ignorant of any kind of civilisation, Nature was hard at work deep below the slopes of those Adelsberg mountains. Age after age, with her simple tools of water, lime, and carbonic acid, she dug, scooped, carved, and built, fashioning by slow degrees vaulted chambers, halls with lofty domes, arches, and galleries, all gleaming like frosted silver set with diamonds, far more wonderful than Aladdin's palace, or the marble halls of the Arabian Nights. And all the while, even when Christianity and civilisation spread over the country, no one thought of the beautiful world down below those grassy slopes; though now and again some one might wonder why a deep basin in the hills, where according to tradition a lake once existed, should have been turned into dry pasture, with only the little river, Poyk or Pinka, running through it; or some more inquiring mind might have been puzzled to know why that little river should suddenly bury itself in the ground and vanish utterly from sight.

At last some enterprising being, a boy most likely, climbed into the fissure down which the waters went, most probably in the summer-time when the stream was low, and there discovered a cavern nearly three hundred feet long, now known as the Old Grotto. For ninety years this was one of the sights of the country; and then a large piece of stalactite was broken from the end, and the entrance to a far more superb cavern, known as the New Grotto, lay bare.

This New Grotto is ten times larger than the old one. It is furnished with stalactites and stalagmites of huge size and of every imaginable shape, forming arches, pillars, cornices, and fringes of exquisite beauty. The roof and walls are covered with lacework and pendants of crystals, to which great fissures, leading into narrow galleries, form backgrounds of dense shadow. The ornamental work was effected from outside by damp lime and carbonic acid, but the actual excavator was simply the river Poyk, which in time drained the lake and carried its waters through soft spots in the rock below. Every little drop that poured in did something of the digging process, and when the snows on the mountains melted, and great floods came to help, the river was able to tear away the rocks above, beside, and beneath its channel. Sometimes, for a long time together, it found itself imprisoned and could get no further, and then it would whirl round and round, boiling with anger and beating against its rocky walls, until it had hewn out quite a lofty chamber. Then sooner or later it would reach some softer formation which would yield, and the great volume of water would rush through, tearing down everything in its way, until it last it found itself once again in the sunshine.

Now, with its work in the Adelsberg Grottoes done, the river Poyk is taking a well-earned rest, and flows gently through the Grottoes, reflecting in its waters the lofty bridges and vaulted roofs hewn out by its former toil. Not that the Poyk has grown lazy! It only desires fresh worlds to conquer; after enjoying a little run in the daylight, it changes its name to the Laybach, and again plunges into the Grottoes of Reifnitz, where with all its old energy it is working as hard as ever to make the Laybach Caves as celebrated as those of Adelsberg.

Various animals live in these caverns, of which the most celebrated is the 'Proteus,' a creature which has greatly perplexed naturalists. At first sight it looks like a lizard, but its movements are those of a fish. The head, lower part of the body, and tail resemble an eel, but it has no fins, and its breathing organs are quite unlike those of fishes. Round its neck is a ruffle, which seems to help it to breathe, although it has perfect lungs and can breathe, as well as move, equally comfortably on land and in water. The front feet are like hands, and each has three fingers, whilst the back limbs have only two. The eyes are very tiny, like those of the rat or mole; its mouth is well set with teeth, proving it to be a beast of prey, and its organs of smell are fully developed. A great authority has declared its spine to be like those of the monster animals of pre-historic ages known as Saurians. The most extraordinary part of the Proteus' history is that it seems perfectly able to live without food. It has never been seen to eat in captivity, and one has been kept alive for years by occasionally changing the water in which it lives. These animals were originally discovered in the Grottoes of Laybach, and later on at Adelsberg, being rare in dry seasons, but plentiful after heavy rains.

HELENA HEATH.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

XI.--CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.

(Concluded from page 357.)

The caterpillar of the North American Great Peacock moth (fig. 4) is armed with numerous tufts of prickles ending in minute black points which pierce the hand if touched, and cause severe pain. These spines, as shown in the illustration (fig. 2, A B, on page 357) are hollow, and filled with liquid poison. 'A' is the portion which breaks off; 'B' the hollow base which contains the poison.

In some few caterpillars the poison spines take the form of balls armed with short prickles and one large spike; hence they are known as caltrop spines (fig. 2, C), from their likeness to the cruel weapons, known as caltrops, which used to be scattered over the ground in time of war to repel the attacks of cavalry; the spikes forced their way into the horses' feet when trampled on, and so disabled them.

The spines of the caterpillar of our Oak Eggar moth are very brittle, and in handling these insects, great care must be taken, as cases are known of blindness having been caused by the spines being carried into the eyes by the fingers.

Let us now turn to the liquid squirts with which some caterpillars are provided. Our Spurge-hawk caterpillar, for example, when threatened, squirts from the mouth a spray of poison. In our illustration (fig. 5) it is shown repelling the attack of the dreaded ichneumon fly by means of this spray. The quaint Puss moth, which many Chatterbox readers must have seen, can squirt out an irritant fluid, generally supposed to be formic acid, from the mouth, when alarmed, and this, if it enters the eye, causes acute pain.

The caterpillars of the Swallow-tailed moths, when irritated, give out an offensive smell, but they are unable to 'spray.'

Many beetles have the power of forcing drops of blood from a minute hole in one of the legs. This blood is saturated either with a fluid which causes a burning sensation on everything it touches, or with an intolerable odour; in either case the result is the same--they are given a wide berth by all who have discovered their power. The little lady-bird beetle, for example, sends out, when frightened, a tiny drop of a yellow fluid from the 'knee-joint,' which has a smell like opium. The Javanese 'violin-beetle' gives off a fluid which is said to paralyse the fingers for twenty-four hours.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

THE BLACK SWAN.

The Black Swan is an Australian bird, and was not known in Europe until that continent began to be explored, although black swans had been often spoken of before that time as a kind of fabulous monster. The ordinary white, or mute, swan, which graces our rivers and lakes, has been admired, and even protected by laws, for many centuries, and its plumage is so beautifully and uniformly snowy that we can hardly be surprised if people thought that all swans must be white, and should regard a black swan as impossible, like the two-necked swan sometimes painted upon inn-signs. But travellers have discovered many strange animals in unexplored countries, and we now know that there are not only black swans, but even swans that have a black neck and a white body.

The plumage of the black swan, with the exception of the quill feathers, which are white, is entirely black. The bill and the skin between the eyes are a beautiful red, which contrasts handsomely with the black feathers. The tail of the bird is very short, and, next to the colour of the plumage, this is the chief peculiarity which distinguishes it from the white swan.

The black swan frequents the swamps and secluded bays on the Australian coast. It is not a very shy bird, and is frequently seen by the sportsman and the camper-out. It enjoys the companionship of its kind, and congregates usually in small flocks. August and September are, it is believed, the breeding months, and shortly before this the swans leave the swamps and seek the nesting-grounds, which are usually on the islands in the bays. Western Port Bay, not far from Melbourne, is one of their favourite haunts. The nest is a collection of reeds, and in this the female swan lays five or six eggs of a whitish-grey colour, and a little smaller than those of our white swan.

The black swan is rather strong upon the wing, and, when flying, it frequently utters a musical cry. But, being a heavy bird, its flight is very exhausting, and it appears to have more confidence in its webbed feet than its wings. It is said that when it is startled it tries to escape by swimming, if it can, rather than by taking flight. As the birds breed upon islands on the coast, they may occasionally swim out, or be drifted out, to sea. A short time ago, two black swans were picked up off Norfolk Island. They were miles away from the nearest part of Australia, and they must have been driven from their native land by winds and currents until they were lost. They were greatly exhausted when taken up, but a bath in fresh water and a good supply of food soon put them right again.

This incident is not only interesting because it shows the endurance of the swans and how long a journey they may sometimes make almost by accident, but because it illustrates the way in which animals which are natives of one country may be carried to a new one. If these two swans could have continued on to Norfolk Island, which is about nine hundred miles from Australia, and, after arriving there, could have recovered their health, made a nest, and reared a brood of young ones, then there might have been black swans in Norfolk Island as well as in Australia. These swans were probably too much exhausted to have accomplished this long journey, but we have many reasons for believing that animals have often been unwillingly driven by winds and currents to new homes across the seas, and have thus helped to extend their species over a larger portion of the earth.

W. A. ATKINSON.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 356.)

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Chapter XIX

When Ping Wang returned, he locked the door and signed to his friends to come and sit in the middle of the room.

'I have bought some offerings for us to make to the ghosts,' he said, and produced from his pocket a handful of pieces of coloured paper.

'It doesn't look very satisfying food,' Charlie remarked, 'but I dare say that it is good enough for ghosts.'

'This is not food,' Ping Wang replied--and, as he spoke, he took from the heap several round pieces of paper--'it is money. Our ghosts, according to the belief of our wise men, lead a life, in some invisible world, which is very much like what they lived here; but, as they don't appear to have a mint, we offer them money--this money. To-night we shall have the pleasure of burning those pieces of round paper, which my countrymen believe pass in the form of money into the ghosts' possession as they disappear from our sight. We will not, however, confine our gifts to money. Here are houses, carts, wheelbarrows, horses, and suits of clothes, all made of paper, to be burnt. The ghosts, my countrymen think, will find them very useful.'

Ping Wang was now in the humour for talking, and held his friends interested nearly the whole of the afternoon. Just before darkness came on they had some tea, and then paid the landlord and departed.

The people by now were flocking, or had already gone, to that part of the town where the feast was to be given, and consequently the Pages and Ping Wang found the track round the ten-foot wall of Chin Choo's house almost deserted. For this they were very thankful indeed, as it gave them a better opportunity for examining the wall.

'This will be the place,' Ping Wang said when they had gone about half-way round the wall. He pointed to several holes in it just large enough to insert the toes or fingers.

After taking note of the surroundings so that they would be able to find the spot again, they continued their journey until they reached the place from which they had started.

'Now for the feast,' Ping Wang said, quietly, and they started off in the direction of the ghosts' feast. It was a merry, jovial crowd they joined. Most of the people were carrying provisions as well as offerings for the ghosts, and Ping Wang, not wishing that he and his friends should be conspicuous, purchased three legs of pork. Then they walked on again, but, before long, came to a large and excited crowd gathered round a poster on the outside wall of a joss-house or temple. Ping Wang, leaving the Pages in a dark corner, hurried forward to read the placard, and, to his horror, found that his fears were realised. It was an anti-foreign poster, and the following is what he read:--

'We publicly announce that the foreigners who entered our Middle Kingdom many years ago have made plans to seize our territory. They ignore the teachings of Confucius, and have already taught the people their false religion, and have practised their sorceries upon them. Now the right-minded and superior men of our land are boiling with rage at the harm which the foreigners have done, and are determined to kill them. Every foreigner must be killed, and every house, shop, and church which they inhabit must be destroyed. Any one who shelters a foreigner will be killed, and all converts to the foreign religion who do not recant immediately will be executed. Kill the foreigners who are hoping to seize our country and introduce their barbarian customs! Kill the men who have made friends with them! Kill the foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'

Ping Wang turned away. He knew that the placard would have the desired effect of rousing the people to a state of frenzy. Already hundreds of people were shouting, 'Kill the foreigners!'

The cry was, by this time, familiar to Charlie and Fred, and there was no need for them to ask Ping Wang what was printed on the poster.

By a slight movement of his head, Ping Wang signed to the Pages to follow him. He walked a few yards down the crowded street, fearing every moment that his friends would be detected by the mob and killed before his eyes, and then turned into a narrow lane, dark and almost deserted. The people had evidently flocked into the main road. He sighed with thankfulness, and, having glanced round and seen that the Pages were following, he quickened his speed. It was some years since he had traversed the bye-streets of his native town, but they were not changed to any great extent, and he had no difficulty in finding his way. He led his friends through street after street--gloomy and squalid places, but happily deserted by the residents. At last they came into a main road which led to the town-gates; not the ones at which they had entered early that morning, but those on the other side. He could see them in the distance. They were open, and he was tempted to lead his friends straight out into the country, and away from the danger which threatened them. At any rate, it seemed to him that he would be doing an unfriendly action if he did not tell them that escape was still easy.

'There are the gates,' he said in an undertone. 'Shall we go out and hurry off to Barton?'

'No,' Charlie said, firmly; 'not until we have got your treasure.'

'But do you know what was on that poster?'

'We have a very good idea, I fancy. An order to kill all foreigners, was it not?'

'Yes. Shall we escape?'

'No. Hurry on to Chin Choo's.'

Ping Wang again led them through narrow, dirty streets until they caught sight of Chin Choo's house. When they were about fifty yards from it, they saw the gates thrown open and the mandarin's palanquin borne out. From the shouts of the man with the whip who ran ahead of it, they knew that Chin Choo was inside.

'That is good,' Ping Wang whispered. 'Now that Chin Choo is out, the servants will start gambling and smoking opium. We need not fear being disturbed by them.'

In less than five minutes they arrived at the spot where they had decided to start their undertaking. They looked up and down the road, and, seeing no one about, Ping Wang climbed the wall.

'It is very easy,' he said, when he reached the top; 'the drop on the other side is only about six feet.'

He disappeared into Chin Choo's grounds and Fred at once scaled the wall. Charlie was about to follow him, and had already climbed five or six feet from the ground, when he heard some one approaching, and, before he was able to decide whether to jump down or continue climbing, his left foot was seized and tugged so viciously that he came down with a rush on top of his assailant.

In an instant he was on his feet again, ready to defend himself from any further attack. Looking down at the person on whom he had fallen, he saw to his astonishment that it was the cart-woman who had caused him so much annoyance before.

She lay glaring at Charlie, speechless and panting. But he had barely recognised her when he heard a shout of 'Foreigners!' and looking round saw the woman's husband running at him. He jumped quickly aside, and to defend himself snatched up one of the legs of pork, which had been left on the ground.

He rushed at the Chinaman, who, being a great coward, immediately turned about and fled. But Charlie was upon him in a moment, and with the leg of pork dealt him a blow on the back of the head, which sent him sprawling on the ground. A knife fell from his hand and Charlie at once seized it. The woman, seeing what had befallen her husband, scrambled to her feet and toddled to him shouting, 'Foreigners!' as she went. To prevent her being heard Fred clapped his hand over her mouth, and, in spite of her biting it, kept it there.

Meanwhile Ping Wang and Fred had scrambled back, hearing the noise. They joined Charlie, and between them managed to tie the Chinaman's pigtail round the woman's neck, so that neither could move without difficulty.

'Now let us leave them,' Ping Wang said, and they started running. But before they had gone many yards they heard the Chinaman and his wife shouting frantically, 'Foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'

Their shouts were heard by others, also, and a man rushed forward to stop them, but Charlie raised his knife threateningly and the fellow ran. Nevertheless, he too shouted 'Foreigners!' and, gathering together some friends, started in pursuit. At every few yards others joined in the chase.

'Where are you going to take us?' Charlie asked of Ping Wang, after glancing back at the mob pursuing them.

'To the gates,' Ping Wang answered. 'This is our way.'

They turned into one of the narrow streets which they had traversed earlier in the evening, and, as they ran at full speed along it, here and there men came out of their houses to see what the noise meant. They heard the shouts of 'Foreigners!' but the average Chinaman has a great respect for his skin, and consequently not one of the men who saw the Pages and Ping Wang rush by attempted to stop them.

'I'm done up,' Ping Wang gasped before long; 'our only chance is to hide.'

The next street was a short one, and the Pages were surprised after what Ping Wang had said about being tired to see him sprint along it. They followed close on his heels, and when he stopped at the end of it, they did the same. Instead of crossing the wide road which faced them, Ping Wang turned to the right, and after walking quickly for about thirty yards made another turn to the right which brought them into a narrow street running parallel with the one down which they had sprinted. There was no one visible; all the residents were evidently at the feast. Ping Wang stopped at the second house and pressed his hand against the door, which opened. He peeped into the place, and, seeing no one, entered stealthily, the Pages following quickly and equally cautiously. As soon as they were in, Ping Wang shot the bolt of the door. It was a dark and dirty room in which the fugitives found themselves, and by the faint light of a lantern they could see that it was a poverty-stricken place.

(Continued on page 374.)

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

XI.--MODERN AERONAUTS AND THEIR AIR-SHIPS.

At an electrical exhibition held at Paris in 1881, most of the sightseers were very interested in a little model balloon which had been made by two famous balloonists, Messrs. Gaston and Albert Tissandier. It was quite unlike any balloon ever seen before. The silk bag for containing the gas was long and pointed at either end, and floated horizontally in the air, so that at a little distance it was not unlike a fish without a tail, though a sheet of canvas, shaped like a fish's tail, was placed beneath the balloon at the rear end to be used as a rudder. Suspended by a number of slender ropes, which met under the centre of the gas-bag, were the car for the sailors and a small electric engine for driving a powerful screw, the wings of which striking against the air would propel the 'ship' at the rate of some nine feet a second. The baby balloon may be said to have set the example for all modern air-ships, though others something like it had been built before. Two years later Messrs. Tissandier made a large copy of their model, and ascended on October 8th, 1883. As the screw succeeded in driving the balloon forward at a greater speed than that at which the wind was blowing, they were able to steer a course, just as the steamboats on the St. Lawrence River are able to shoot the rapids in safety by putting on full steam and over-racing the current. Messrs. Tissandier repeated their experiment in November, 1883, and actually drove their balloon against the wind for a short distance. As night overtook them while on this triumphant journey they did not attempt to return by balloon to Paris, but descended in the country two hours after leaving the capital.

Such was the first successful effort to steer a balloon, and it was not long before many aeronauts were following in their steps. In 1884 the air-ship 'France,' with Captains Krebs and Renard on board, was watched by a large crowd as it sailed from Meudon, near Paris, and after a wonderful flight came back against the wind to the place from which it started. Five more similar voyages were made, and in each the 'France' showed great obedience to the rudder and sail. But all these experiments were very expensive, and involved great danger. It was found, moreover, that the machinery necessary for driving the screw could not be made light enough to be really suitable. Thus there was not much heard about steerable balloons until some years later, when M. Santos Dumont began his cruises--and many strange adventures he has had.

Instead of the electric engine used by the Tissandiers, he employed the small petrol engine out of a motor tricycle. With this he started on his aerial voyages. But before we follow him we must look at his ship for a moment. From each end of the long balloon he allows a cord to hang, supporting a small weight. These are to enable him to alter his course upward or downward. If he wishes to travel upwards, he pulls into the car, by means of a thin cord, the weight which is hanging in front. This, of course, allows the head of the balloon to rise, at the same time changing the angle of the screw in the rear so that it drives the balloon upward. When he pulls the rear weight into the car, the reverse takes place. The car, the engine, and the screw are all suspended from the silk envelope by piano wires, so that it looks, from the ground, as though M. Santos Dumont were moving about in a spider's web.

On one of the first cruises the balloon behaved very well while floating at a great height, but when he descended into denser atmosphere, the gas contracted in the long thin bag, and he saw with horror that it was doubling up 'like a pocket-knife.' This made some of the cords so much tighter than others that at any moment they might cut through the silk and send him to the earth like a stone. Yet it was no use throwing out ballast, though to rise into thinner atmosphere might have put the balloon right again. 'I must descend sooner or later,' thought the aeronaut, 'so why not now?'

Beneath him lay a grassy stretch of country on which a number of boys were flying their kites. As he rapidly drew nearer, M. Santos Dumont, leaning from his basket, called to them to seize the guide-rope, which had already reached the ground, and run with it as fast as they could against the wind. The boys were sharp-witted, and obeyed at once. The speed of the descent was checked by the rush of wind, and the voyager landed in safety.

Misadventures of this sort have only increased the keenness with which M. Santos Dumont pursues his studies. The principal triumph he has yet secured was won some three years ago, when he steered his balloon round the Eiffel Tower and back to the starting-point. It only meant a distance of some fourteen miles in all, but it carried him to fame and honour in half an hour, and the Government of his native country (Brazil) had a gold medal struck to commemorate the event. Never before had the power of navigating the skies been proved so thoroughly. But it was not accomplished without several unsuccessful attempts. On one occasion the engine stopped when the winning-post was only a few yards away. Another time, the balloon lost gas through a faulty valve, and some of the suspension wires slackened so much that they caught in the whirling screw, which was beating itself into shreds. The traveller instantly stopped the engine, and found himself the next moment drifting dangerously near to the Eiffel Tower. It was safer under the circumstances to let the ship sink, and a few minutes later, like a vessel being driven on the rocks, the aeronaut's car crashed against the roof of a large hotel, the framework of the air-ship lodging itself at last over a deep courtyard, with its occupant in mid-air. From this perilous position he was rescued by a party of firemen. In each of these misadventures M. Santos Dumont reads some lesson for the improvement of his ships, so that the day may come when he will be able to show us an aerial vessel in which even timid people might travel without anxiety.

THE SLATE'S STORY.

Said the Pencil to the Slate, 'We've been strangers, sir, of late, And 'tis many weeks, I fancy, since we met; There was surely something wrong To have parted us so long; But if I've heard the reason, I forget.'

Then the Slate looked blank, and said, With a voice of pain and dread, 'Ah, yes! for days we've both been in disgrace, For Master Johnny Scott Shunned the lesson he had got, And used us both to draw a funny face.'

'Now, of course, I needn't say That such deeds will never pay-- A fact which Johnny realises now-- For the picture that he drew, With a sunny smile or two, Was rubbed out with a frown upon his brow.

'And the teacher said that day We should both be put away Till Johnny understood his duty plain, And that he now has done, For I hear his laugh of fun: The cloud has passed, and--here we are again!'

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

16.--ANAGRAMS: NAMES OF FAMOUS MONARCHS.

1. A deer next; lag at her. 2. Real name C. H. 3. Quiz! he bet an eel. 4. A racer! Shut in foes. 5. I. E. into tan tear me. 6. Part coal E.

C. J. B.

[Answer on page 395.]

ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 339.

15.--W a l t e R O A L i n n e T V I E r m e l O R C H a w a i I A N M e d u s A P T T a h i t I O O N o r m a N

Right post--Wolverhampton. Left post--Ratiocination.

Round 1. Walter. Round 2. Linnet. Round 3. Ermelo. Round 4. Hawaii. Round 5. Medusa. Round 6. Tahiti. Round 7. Norman.

PRESENCE OF MIND.

A general had been very unfortunate in a battle, and his defeat so preyed on his mind that he lost his reason. He had to be kept confined in a room in his own house, and an attendant was always near to wait upon him, and to prevent him from doing harm. One day, an officer who had been paying him a friendly visit happened to leave his sword and scabbard in the general's room. As soon as the officer had gone, the general seized the sword. Then he rushed at the man who attended him, saying, 'Now I can cut off your head.' The attendant answered, 'Oh, sir, anybody can cut off one head; it would be a stroke more worthy of you to cut off two. Wait a moment till I go for another.' To this the general consented, and the man quickly made his escape from the room. Needless to say, he returned with help and overcame the madman; he owed his life to his ready presence of mind in this strange peril.

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

V.--FRIENDS IN NEED.

The goodwill shown by one animal to another in time of need is an example to us all. Very lowly creatures are able to understand, and are ready to help each other like brothers, with no other motive than their comrade's need, and no other reward than the power to relieve it.

There is a kind of beetle which makes a ball or pellet of manure, in the middle of which it places its egg. This it rolls towards a hole previously dug, and drops it in. One of these beetles was seen painfully toiling to roll its little ball out of a cart-rut, into which it had tumbled; he was trying with all his tiny might, but all in vain. After pushing it up the side a great many times, the ball rolling back again, he went off to a manure-heap close by, and came back with two other beetles, his neighbours. All three set to work shoulder to shoulder, and between them shoved the ball out of the rut. Having done as they would be done by, the assistants then returned to their own business.

Sir Frederick Doyle, while watching some wasps eating plums on his trees, knocked one down without killing it. The wasp fell into a large spider's web below. To his surprise a fellow-wasp instantly flew down to the rescue. He poised himself close to the spider's web, whirling his wings till they looked like glittering rainbows, so fast that their shape could not be seen. This was to prevent them from being caught in the sticky web, and all the time he was striking deft and rapid blows at the threads that held his friend fast. At length he cut him out, but the poor rescued insect fell down to die upon the ground. The observer adds: 'I was so much struck with this proof of a heart as well as a brain in the case of wasps that I not only spared the "V.C." wasp who rescued his friend, but also the rest of the troop, and left the plums to their fate.'

The weasel, that terrible foe to rabbits and rats, is not famous for good temper, yet a pretty tale is told of one of them. A gentleman was riding home, when his horse trod on a weasel, which was unable to get out of the way in time. The poor little animal's spine seemed to be hurt, and it could not move its hind legs. Presently another weasel came out of the hedge by the roadside, and went up to the injured one. After carefully inspecting it, the second weasel picked up the first and carried it to the side of the road, out of the way of the traffic, where he gently laid it down.

Wild elephants seem unable to bear the sight of suffering friends without an attempt to save them, and in particular the wild herds of these noble beasts love and protect their leaders. When pressed by hunters, they place him in the midst and crowd in front of him, eager to save his life at the expense of their own. Professor Romanes gives an instance of a fine 'tusker' which, when badly wounded, was promptly surrounded by his companions. They supported him between their shoulders, and actually succeeded in covering his retreat to the forest.

Birds are very generous towards each other in these ways, particularly such as live in communities together. If one rook of a colony gets into trouble, all the rest are worried about him directly. A great mob of rooks, living in trees near the river Irwell, were seen chasing each other playfully on the wing, dancing idly with joy and pleasure at the coming spring, when one of them accidentally knocked against another, and fell into the river below. In an instant a chorus of distress was raised; the birds hovered over their friend, as he struggled in the water, with cries of sorrow and alarm, and seemed to be giving him advice in some fashion of their own. At any rate, urged by their voices, he sprang into the air, and by one strong effort managed to reach a point of rock. The shouts of joy at his safety echoed far and wide.

Much tenderness is shown by grown-up birds to helpless orphans in need of their aid. A redbreast was mentioned lately in Science Gossip as doing a deed of kindness towards a young starling one bitterly cold morning. The starling had left the nest, and was sitting frightened and shivering in a cellar, whither it had crept, too weak and hungry to fly. In vain kindly human hands offered it bread; it refused all food, till a little hungry robin came down on his daily visit to the house and spied the baby-bird, sitting on one leg, calling his absent mother. Off he went, and soon came darting back with a worm, which was gratefully accepted. When the beggar-bird had been fed, both flew away. Seagulls have been seen assisting a wounded comrade over the wave, and a crane, seeing one of its fellows shot, placed itself under the sufferer in such a way as to prevent his falling to the ground; then, weighted as he was, he bore him away beyond gun-shot.

In sickness, too, not only monkeys, dogs, cats, and the higher animals, but the lowest also, as well as birds, show good feeling. On a salt lake in Utah lived an old and completely blind pelican, which was very fat, 'and must,' says Darwin, 'have been well fed for a long while by his companions.' Crows feed their blind friends, and so do rats, and a case is on record of a barn-door cock who did the same thing. These and similar facts, which could be multiplied by thousands, prove how beautiful a spirit is that which our great Creator breathed into even the humblest of His creatures, and how worthy, for His sake, they are of our reverence and regard.

EDITH CARRINGTON.

IN THE SNOW.

'Step out, Jack! There's a mile yet before we get to the station.'

'Yes; and a mile in this snow counts for three!' answered Jack. 'But we have nearly an hour for it. We shall catch the train right enough; but it is a heavy snow-storm, and no mistake!' And then the two young fellows plodded resolutely on.

It was Christmas Eve, and they were on their way to catch the mail-train to town, and were looking forward to a right merry time with their people at home. But somehow to-day everything seemed against them. First of all, they were detained beyond time at the bank, in which they both were clerks, and so missed the last train to town from their little branch station. There was just time, however, for them to catch a train on the main line, but to do this they had to take a short cut through Lord Ravensmere's woods, and the thick snow having covered the paths, they lost their way several times, and this, of course, delayed them again.

However, the walk was nearly over; the station lamps could be seen twinkling in the valley below, and the young fellows were hurrying on, when they heard a faint cry, 'Help! help!' coming seemingly from the wood alongside.

They stopped, and listened. Again came the cry, 'Help! By the big oak!'

Both made a dash for the oak. It was but a few paces off; and there, almost hidden in the deep snow, lay a young fellow of about their own age.

'I'm Lord Ravensmere's son. Take me up to the Castle, if you can,' he said, feebly. 'I'm done!' And, having said this, he fainted away, and lay like dead on the snowy path.

'The Castle! That's a mile off. He will freeze to death if we leave him here and go for help,' said Jack, the elder of the two lads.

'We must carry him. We can do it between us,' said Ralph; 'but--I say, old fellow, we shall miss our train, and have to return to those dreary lodgings of ours for Christmas!'

Jack nodded, and then, without another word, the two lads lifted the unconscious youth, and somehow, with interlaced hands to form a seat, they stumbled along that snowy mile to the Castle, supporting the stranger between them as best they could.

By the time they had reached the Lodge, both Jack and Ralph were thoroughly exhausted with their exertions; but here help was at hand.

The Earl himself was there, and with him quite a band of grooms and keepers, all about to start in different directions, to look for the young heir.

The old man's gratitude to the young clerks was simply unbounded. He insisted on their spending the night at the Castle, and here, dressed in some of the young heir's suits, they sat down to what Jack afterwards described as a Lord Mayor's banquet; and, later on, in the drawing-room, Lady Ravensmere herself, with tears in her eyes, thanked them warmly for saving her son, and told them they should never forget what they had done.

The Earl himself drove the lads to the station next morning, so they did not miss the Christmas dinner with their friends, after all.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(Continued from page 367.)

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