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 Yamen 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.)

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.)

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.)

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.