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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Princess Mary's Gift Book
+       All profits on sale given to the Queen's "Work for Women"
+       Fund which is acting in Conjunction with The National
+       Relief Fund
+
+Author: Various
+
+Illustrator: Various
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39592]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCESS MARY'S GIFT BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _Painted for Princess Mary's Gift Book by J. J. Shannon,
+R.A._
+
+                                                               Mary.]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BUCKINGHAM PALACE
+
+
+_I desire to express my very best thanks to the Authors and Artists who
+have so generously contributed to my Gift Book._
+
+                                                      Mary.
+
+
+
+
+PRINCESS MARY'S GIFT BOOK
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    All profits from sale are given to
+    THE QUEEN'S "WORK FOR
+    WOMEN" FUND
+    which is acting in conjunction with
+    The National Relief Fund
+
+    HODDER & STOUGHTON
+    LONDON · NEW YORK · TORONTO
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CONTENTS]
+
+
+  H.R.H. PRINCESS MARY      _Frontispiece_
+  _Painting by_ J. J. SHANNON, R.A.
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  A HOLIDAY IN BED                                 _J. M. Barrie_    1
+    Author of "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens."
+    _Painting by_ W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., _and
+    Drawings by_ C. E. BROCK
+
+  THE SPY                                      _G. A. Birmingham_    9
+    _Drawings by_ H. R. MILLAR      Author of "General John Regan."
+
+  CHARLIE THE COX                                    _Hall Caine_   17
+    _Painting by_ CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A., _and_ Author of
+        "The Manxman."
+    _Drawings by_ ARCH WEBB
+
+  CANADA'S WORD                                    _Ralph Connor_   22
+  _Drawings by_ A. J. GOUGH           Author of "The Sky Pilot."
+
+  BIMBASHI JOYCE                                _A. Conan Doyle_    23
+  Author of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.
+
+  THE ANT-LION                                      _J. H. Fabre_   31
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ E. J. DETMOLD
+        ("The Insects' Homer").
+
+  AN ANGEL OF GOD                     _Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler_   35
+  _Drawings by_ STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.       Author of "Concerning
+        Isabel Carnaby."
+
+  A MODEL SOLDIER                               _Charles Garvice_   43
+  _Drawings by_ J. H. HARTLEY          Author of "Nance."
+
+  THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND                     _Lady Sybil Grant_   57
+  Author of "The Chequer Board."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.
+
+  MAGEPA THE BUCK                              _H. Rider Haggard_   63
+  _Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.           Author of "She."
+
+  TRUE SPARTAN HEARTS                         _Beatrice Harraden_   75
+  Author of "Ships that Pass in the Night."
+  _Painting and Decorations by_ EDMUND DULAC
+
+  BIG STEAMERS                                  _Rudyard Kipling_   79
+  Author of "The Jungle Book."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.
+
+  A TRUE STORY FROM CAMP                   _The Bishop of London_   81
+  _Drawings by_ JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.
+
+  THE EBONY BOX                                  _A. E. W. Mason_   83
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.      Author of
+        "The Turnstile."
+
+  A SPELL FOR A FAIRY                              _Alfred Noyes_  101
+  Author of "A Tale of Old Japan."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A.R.W.S.
+
+  OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH: A PIMPERNEL
+  STORY                                          _Baroness Orczy_  105
+  _Painting by_ A. C. MICHAEL _and_      Author of "The Scarlet
+        Pimpernel."
+  _Drawings by_ H. M. BROCK, R.I.
+
+  WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?                       _John Oxenham_  112
+  _Painting by_ EUGENE HASTAIN _and_      Author of "Barbe of
+        Grand Bayou."
+  _Drawings by_ GORDON BROWNE, R.I.
+
+  ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT                            _W. Pett Ridge_  115
+  _Painting by_ M. E. GRAY _and_     Author of "Mord Em'ly."
+  _Drawings by_ LEWIS BAUMER
+
+  THE ESCAPE                                      _Annie S. Swan_  123
+  _Drawings by_ HAROLD EARNSHAW        Author of "Mary Garth."
+
+  FLEUR-DE-LIS                              _Kate Douglas Wiggin_  130
+  Author of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm."
+  _Painting by_ CARLTON A. SMITH, R.I., _and_
+  _Drawings by_ EDMUND J. SULLIVAN, A.R.W.S.
+
+      SPARTAN HEARTS, by Beatrice Harraden, was first
+      published in a volume entitled "Untold Tales of the
+      Past"; BIG STEAMERS, by Rudyard Kipling, in "A History
+      of England," by C. R. L. Fletcher and Rudyard Kipling;
+      BIMBASHI JOYCE, by Arthur Conan Doyle, in "The Green
+      Flag, and other Stories"; and we have to thank Messrs.
+      William Blackwood & Sons, The Oxford University Press,
+      and Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for permission to
+      include these contributions in Princess Mary's Gift
+      Book.
+
+      With these exceptions the poems and stories in this
+      book have not previously been issued in volume form.
+      The illustrations have all been specially painted and
+      drawn, and an exhibition of the work of the artists
+      who have thus contributed to Princess Mary's Gift Book
+      will be held at the Leicester Galleries, Leicester
+      Square, W.C., and the originals sold in aid of the
+      Queen's "Work for Women" Fund.
+
+
+
+
+A Holiday in Bed by J.M. Barrie
+
+[Illustration: _Painting by_ W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., _and Drawings
+by_ C. E. BROCK]
+
+
+PEOPLE have tried a holiday in bed before now, and found it a failure,
+but that was because they were ignorant of the rules. They went to bed
+with the open intention of staying there, say, three days, and found to
+their surprise that each morning they wanted to get up. This was a novel
+experience to them; they flung about restlessly, and probably shortened
+their holiday. The proper thing is to take your holiday in bed with a
+vague intention of getting up in another quarter of an hour. The real
+pleasure of lying in bed after you are awake is largely due to the
+feeling that you ought to get up. To take another quarter of an hour
+then becomes a luxury. You are, in short, in the position of the man who
+dined on larks. Had he seen the hundreds that were ready for him, all
+set out on one monster dish, they would have alarmed him; but getting
+them two at a time, he went on eating till all the larks were gone. His
+feeling of uncertainty as to whether these might not be his last two
+larks is your feeling that, perhaps, you will have to get up in a
+quarter of an hour. Deceive yourself in this way, and your holiday in
+bed will pass only too quickly.
+
+Sympathy is what all the world is craving for, and sympathy is what the
+ordinary holiday-maker never gets. How can we be expected to sympathise
+with you when we know you are off to Perthshire to fish? No; we say we
+wish we were you, and forget that your holiday is sure to be a hollow
+mockery; that your child will jam her finger in the railway carriage,
+and scream to the end of the journey; that you will lose your luggage;
+that the guard will notice your dog beneath the seat, and insist on its
+being paid for; that you will be caught in a Scotch mist on the top of a
+mountain, and be put on gruel for a fortnight; that your wife will fret
+herself into a fever about the way the servant, who has been left at
+home, is treating her cousins, the milkman, and the policeman; and that
+you will be had up for trespassing. Yet, when you tell us you are off
+to-morrow, we have never the sympathy to say, "Poor fellow, I hope
+you'll pull through somehow." If it is an exhibition you go to gaze at,
+we never picture you dragging your weary legs from one department to
+another, and wondering why your back aches. Should it be the seaside, we
+talk heartlessly to you about the "briny," though we must know, if we
+would stop to think, that if there is one holiday more miserable than
+all the others, it is that spent at the seaside, when you wander along
+the weary beach and fling pebbles at the sea, and wonder how long it
+will be till dinner-time. Were we to come down to see you, we should
+probably find you, not on the beach, but moving slowly through the
+village, looking in at the one milliner's window, or laboriously reading
+what the one grocer's labels say on the subject of pale ale, compressed
+beef, or vinegar. There was never an object that called aloud for
+sympathy more than you do, but you get not a jot of it. You should take
+the first train home and go to bed for three days.
+
+To enjoy your holiday in bed to the full, you should let it be vaguely
+understood that there is something amiss with you. Don't go into
+details, for they are not necessary; and, besides, you want to be dreamy
+more or less, and the dreamy state is not consistent with a definite
+ailment. The moment one takes to bed he gets sympathy. He may be
+suffering from a tearing headache or a tooth that makes him cry out; but
+if he goes about his business, or even flops in a chair, true sympathy
+is denied him. Let him take to bed with one of those illnesses of which
+he can say with accuracy that he is not quite certain what is the matter
+with him, and his wife, for instance, will want to bathe his brow. She
+must not be made too anxious. That would not only be cruel to her, but
+it would wake you from the dreamy state. She must simply see that you
+are "not yourself." Women have an idea that unless men are "not
+themselves" they will not take to bed, and as a consequence your wife is
+tenderly thoughtful of you. Every little while she will ask you if you
+are feeling any better now, and you can reply, with the old regard for
+truth, that you are "much about it." You may even (for your own
+pleasure) talk of getting up now, when she will earnestly urge you to
+stay in bed until you feel easier. You consent; indeed, you are ready to
+do anything to please her.
+
+[Illustration: And wonder how long it will be till dinner-time]
+
+The ideal holiday in bed does not require the presence of a ministering
+angel in the room all day. You frequently prefer to be alone, and point
+out to her that you cannot have her trifling with her health for your
+sake, and so she must go out for a walk. She is reluctant, but finally
+goes, protesting that you are the most unselfish of men, and only too
+good for her. This leaves a pleasant aroma behind it, for even when
+lying in bed, we like to feel that we are uncommonly fine fellows. After
+she has gone you get up cautiously, and, walking stealthily to the
+wardrobe, produce from the pocket of your greatcoat a good novel. A
+holiday in bed must be arranged for beforehand. With a gleam in your eye
+you slip back to bed, double your pillow to make it higher, and begin to
+read. You have only got to the fourth page, when you make a horrible
+discovery--namely, that the book is not cut. An experienced
+holiday-maker would have had it cut the night before, but this is your
+first real holiday, or perhaps you have been thoughtless. In any case
+you have now matter to think of. You are torn in two different ways.
+There is your coat on the floor with a knife in it, but you cannot reach
+the coat without getting up again. Ought you to get the knife or to give
+up reading? Perhaps it takes a quarter of an hour to decide this
+question, and you decide it by discovering a third course. Being a sort
+of an invalid, you have certain privileges which would be denied you if
+you were merely sitting in a chair in the agonies of neuralgia. One of
+the glorious privileges of a holiday in bed is that you are entitled to
+cut books with your fingers. So you cut the novel in this way, and read
+on.
+
+[Illustration: You are in the middle of a chapter--]
+
+Those who have never tried it may fancy that there is a lack of incident
+in a holiday in bed. There could not be a more monstrous mistake. You
+are in the middle of a chapter, when suddenly you hear a step upon the
+stairs. Your loving ears tell you that the ministering angel has
+returned, and is hastening to you. Now, what happens? The book
+disappears beneath the pillow, and when she enters the room softly you
+are lying there with your eyes shut. This is not merely incident; it is
+drama.
+
+What happens next depends on circumstances. She says, in a low voice:
+
+"Are you feeling any easier now, John?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Oh, I believe he is sleeping."
+
+Then she steals from the room, and you begin to read again.
+
+[Illustration: A Holiday in Bed
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Russell Flint, A.R.W.S._]
+
+[Illustration: --Suddenly you hear a step]
+
+During a holiday in bed one never thinks, of course, of analysing his
+actions. If you had done so in this instance, you would have seen that
+you pretended sleep because you had got to an exciting passage. You love
+your wife, but, wife or no wife, you must see how the passage ends.
+
+Possibly the little scene plays differently, as thus:
+
+"John, are you feeling any easier now?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Are you asleep?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"What a pity! I don't want to waken him, and yet the fowl will be
+spoilt."
+
+"Is that you back, Marion?"
+
+"Yes, dear; I thought you were asleep."
+
+"No, only thinking."
+
+"You think too much, dear. I have cooked a chicken for you."
+
+"I have no appetite."
+
+"I'm so sorry, but I can give it to the children."
+
+"Oh, as it's cooked, you may as well bring it up."
+
+[Illustration: You are lying there with your eyes shut]
+
+In that case the reason of your change of action is obvious. But why do
+you not let your wife know that you have been reading? This is another
+matter that you never reason about. Perhaps it is because of your
+craving for sympathy, and you fear that if you were seen enjoying a
+novel the sympathy would go. Or perhaps it is that a holiday in bed is
+never perfect without a secret. Monotony must be guarded against, and so
+long as you keep the book to yourself your holiday in bed is a healthy
+excitement. A stolen book (as we may call it) is like stolen fruit,
+sweeter than what you can devour openly. The boy enjoys his stolen apple
+because at any moment he may have to slip it down the leg of his
+trousers and pretend that he has merely climbed the tree to enjoy the
+scenery. You enjoy your book doubly because you feel that it is a
+forbidden pleasure. Or do you conceal your book from your wife lest she
+should think you are over-exerting yourself? She must not be made
+anxious on your account? Ah, that is it.
+
+People who pretend (for it must be pretence) that they enjoy their
+holiday in the country, explain that the hills or the sea give them such
+an appetite. I could never myself feel the delight of being able to
+manage an extra herring for breakfast, but it should be pointed out that
+neither mountains nor oceans give you such an appetite as a holiday in
+bed. What makes people eat more anywhere is that they have nothing else
+to do, and in bed you have lots of time for meals. As for the quality of
+the food supplied, there is no comparison. In the highlands it is ham
+and eggs all day till you sicken. At the seaside it is fish till the
+bones stick in your mouth. But in bed--oh, there you get something worth
+eating. You don't take three big meals a day, but twelve little ones,
+and each time it is something different from the last. There are
+delicacies for breakfast, for your four luncheons and your five dinners.
+You explain to your wife that you have lost your appetite, and she
+believes you, but at the same time she has the sense to hurry on your
+dinner. At the clatter of dishes (for which you have been lying
+listening) you raise your poor head, and say faintly:
+
+"Really, Marion, I can't touch food."
+
+"But this is nothing," she says, "only the wing of a partridge."
+
+You take a side glance at it, and see that there is also the other wing
+and the body and two legs. Your alarm thus dispelled, you say:
+
+"I really can't."
+
+"But, dear, it is so beautifully cooked."
+
+"Yes, but I have no appetite."
+
+"But try to take it, John, for my sake."
+
+Then for her sake you say she can leave it on the chair, and perhaps you
+will just taste it. As soon as she has gone you devour that partridge,
+and when she comes back she has the sense to say:
+
+"Why, you have scarcely eaten anything. What could you take for supper?"
+
+You say you can take nothing, but if she likes she can cook a large
+sole, only you won't be able to touch it.
+
+[Illustration: "But try to take it, John, for my sake"]
+
+"Poor dear," she says, "your appetite has completely gone," and then she
+rushes to the kitchen to cook the sole with her own hands. In half an
+hour she steals into your room with it, and then you (who have been
+wondering why she is so long) start up protesting:
+
+"I hope, Marion, this is nothing for me."
+
+"Only the least bit of a sole, dear."
+
+"But I told you I could eat nothing."
+
+"Well, this is nothing, it is so small."
+
+You look again, and see with relief that it is a large sole.
+
+"I would much rather that you took it away."
+
+"But, dear----"
+
+"I tell you I have no appetite."
+
+"Of course I know that; but how can you hope to preserve your strength
+if you eat so little? You have had nothing all day."
+
+You glance at her face to see if she is in earnest, for you can remember
+three breakfasts, four luncheons and two dinners; but evidently she is
+not jesting. Then you yield.
+
+"Oh, well, to keep my health up I may just put a fork into it."
+
+"Do, dear; it will do you good, though you have no caring for it."
+
+Take a holiday in bed, if only to discover what an angel your wife is.
+
+[Illustration: The chances are that he won't understand your case]
+
+There is one thing to guard against. Never call it a holiday. Continue
+not to feel sure what is wrong with you, and to talk vaguely of getting
+up presently. Your wife will suggest calling in the doctor, but
+pooh-pooh him. Be firm on that point. The chances are that he won't
+understand your case.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE SPY
+
+BY G. A. BIRMINGHAM
+
+_Drawings by_ H. R. MILLAR
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by G. A. Birmingham_
+
+
+OUR village used to be one of the quietest in England. We prided
+ourselves that nothing ever happened there to excite or worry us in any
+way. Colonel Challenger, of the Royal Engineers, retired, often
+congratulated the vicar, who is upwards of sixty-five years of age, on
+the unbroken peace which we enjoyed. The vicar used to remind me, once a
+fortnight or so, that we owed our happiness largely to the fact that we
+were eight miles from a railway station. When I met Hankly, a retired
+Indian judge, in the post office I invariably pointed out to him that
+our lot would be much less pleasant if we lived in a neighbourhood where
+tennis parties were rife or among people who expected us to turn out in
+the evenings after dinner to play cards. Lord Manby, who owns the
+village and all the country round it, used to pay a visit to his home
+every year and ask us each to lunch with him once. We all accepted these
+invitations, but we told each other that they were a horrible nuisance
+and a most disagreeable break in the monotony of our lives. I think we
+were all quite honest and really believed that we were perfectly happy.
+
+Then Mrs. Clegg C. Mimms rented the Manor House from Lord Manby, and all
+peace came to an end for us. She described herself on her visiting cards
+as "the Honourable Mrs. Mimms," and that disturbed us to begin with. We
+had to meet each other pretty frequently to discuss how she could be the
+Honourable Mrs. anything. She was plainly and unmistakably an American,
+and the vicar was of opinion that, since there are no titles in the
+American Republic, neither Mrs. Mimms nor her late husband could be the
+descendant of a lord. Hankly, who has seen a great deal of the world,
+told us that American ambassadors are styled the Right Honourable, and
+that Mrs. Mimms's husband might have been an ambassador. The Colonel
+maintained that ambassadors are like bishops and cannot share their
+official titles with their wives, particularly after they are dead. My
+own view was that if Mrs. Mimms wanted to be styled "the Honourable" it
+would be discourteous to deny her the title.
+
+We had hardly settled down again after deciding this point when Mrs.
+Mimms upset us still more seriously. She gave a Christmas Tree to the
+village children. At first we thought that this would not matter to any
+one except the vicar. We were mistaken about that. Mrs. Mimms made us
+all help. The Colonel and I spent a long afternoon on a step-ladder
+sticking candles on the branches. Hankly, who is a lean, yellow little
+man, was made to dress himself up as "Father Christmas." We got no
+dinner on the evening of the party, and very nearly had to dance with
+the children afterwards. The presents which Mrs. Mimms distributed to
+the children were of the most gorgeous and expensive kind. We all agreed
+that she must be enormously rich, and the Colonel said that she would
+demoralise the whole village.
+
+She certainly demoralised us. We found ourselves invited to dinner at
+the Manor House twice, sometimes three times, a week, and had a standing
+invitation to supper every Sunday night. It was no use refusing the
+invitations. I tried that twice; but Mrs. Mimms simply came round to my
+house in her motor and fetched me. The Colonel complained bitterly. He
+has been writing a book on Chhota Nagpur ever since I knew him, and he
+said that he hated being interrupted in the evenings. He only dined with
+Mrs. Mimms in order to avoid unpleasantness with his wife, who wanted to
+go. Hankly said plainly that Mrs. Mimms had a very good cook, and we all
+came in the end to accept that as our excuse for dining with her.
+
+It is, I know, scarcely credible, but last Easter she dragged us into
+private theatricals. By that time we had agreed that Mrs. Mimms, in
+spite of her annoying lack of repose, was a very kind-hearted woman, and
+we did not wish to snub her in any way. My own part in the play let me
+in for a love scene with Mrs. Challenger, the most grotesquely absurd
+thing imaginable, for the lady is sixty at least and enormously fat. I
+should never have agreed to do it, however good-hearted Mrs. Mimms might
+be, if Hankly had not been cast for the part of an heroic Christian
+curate, and I knew he would look even more foolish than I did when I
+kissed Mrs. Challenger's left ear. Hankly hated being an heroic
+Christian curate and did not do the part at all well. We got through the
+theatricals in June, and after that, except for a couple of picnics
+every week, we had a comparatively quiet time until the war broke out.
+Mrs. Mimms broke out at the same time. All festivities, even picnics,
+stopped at once, of course, and we all began to take life very
+strenuously. Mrs. Mimms outdid us easily in every form of activity.
+
+She began by erecting a flag-staff at the Manor House gates and hoisting
+an enormous American flag on it, the largest American flag I have ever
+seen. The Colonel, who had his motor decorated with a French and a
+Belgian flag as well as a Union Jack, said that Mrs. Mimms's Stars and
+Stripes were, under the circumstances, rather bad form. Hankly and I
+agreed with him, and we made the vicar speak to her about it. She
+explained to him that she had hoisted it entirely for our good. It was,
+so she told the vicar, and he told us, the only flag in the world which
+the Germans would respect, and that when the Uhlans entered our village
+we could all congregate in perfect safety under its folds. The Colonel
+was furious--we were all rather angry--at the idea that the Germans
+would ever set foot in England; but there was no denying that Mrs. Mimms
+meant to be kind when she hoisted the flag. Besides, she is a difficult
+woman to argue with, and we did not quite see how we could make her take
+the thing down.
+
+Hankly and I more or less forgave her, though, as it appeared, the
+Colonel did not, when she came forward at a meeting summoned by the
+vicar and offered to turn the Manor House into a hospital for wounded
+soldiers. The generosity of her proposal actually staggered us. She
+intended, so she said--and I quite believe it--to turn out all the
+existing furniture of the house, fit the place up with the latest
+sanitary devices, hire two surgeons and a competent staff of nurses who
+should be under her own personal supervision. We at once wired to the
+War Office and expected to be thanked gratefully. As a matter of fact we
+never got any official acknowledgment of the offer at all. What we did
+get--or rather what Mrs. Mimms got--was a letter from Lord Manby's
+solicitor pointing out that the agreement under which she had taken the
+Manor House did not allow of her getting rid of the furniture or using
+the place in any way except as an ordinary dwelling.
+
+I thought that Lord Manby was a little unsympathetic, and that the War
+Office might very well have replied to our telegram, but the Colonel
+took quite a different line. He said that Mrs. Mimms was an interfering
+old woman who deserved to be snubbed. We all hoped that after this
+set-back she would be a little subdued and allow us to manage our own
+war in our own way.
+
+[Illustration: Charlie the Cox
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Charles Napier Hemy, R.A._]
+
+For a time she kept tolerably quiet. She contented herself with making
+shirts and subscribing to various funds like any ordinary woman. She
+was, so my wife told me, an amazingly rapid worker, and could turn out
+three shirts while any other woman in the village was making two. Her
+subscriptions were very generous. Gradually the whole activities of our
+village centred in the Manor House. Mrs. Mimms put up another flag-staff
+and flew a large Red Cross from it. Working parties went on in her
+dining-room from morning to night, and hardly a day passed without a
+committee meeting. The vicar, Colonel Challenger, Hankly, and I were the
+committee, and we met whenever Mrs. Mimms summoned us. The vicar was
+supposed to preside, but it was Mrs. Mimms who suggested the things we
+did. The Colonel objected, in private, to every suggestion she made, but
+he never succeeded in carrying a point against her. Once or twice she
+got us into trouble. There was, for instance, a lot of ill feeling when
+we sealed up the village pump and set my chauffeur to keep guard over it
+with a gun, only allowing people to draw water for an hour in the
+morning and an hour in the evening. Mrs. Mimms had a theory that a
+German might come in an aeroplane and poison our water supply. That
+would have been a horrible thing: but the people in the village made a
+fuss about not being able to get at the pump. Tompkins, the innkeeper,
+who was particularly objectionable, said that he only used the water for
+washing and would rather have it poisoned than do without it.
+
+We all began to get rather tired of being rushed into doing things we
+didn't want to do; but we were none of us able to withstand Mrs. Mimms.
+The Colonel said that we ought to drive her out of the village
+altogether, but he never succeeded in suggesting any practical way of
+doing it.
+
+Fortunately she got tired of making shirts and holding committee
+meetings after about a month. Then she said she was going up to London
+to get a few families of Belgian refugees. We were all greatly pleased,
+for we felt that her energies might be turned into a channel which would
+save us from making fools of ourselves. I saw her off at the station,
+and we waited with the greatest curiosity to see what would happen. I
+suppose the Belgian Consul felt doubtful about Mrs. Mimms when he met
+her. At all events she came back without a single refugee. Most women
+would have been a little disappointed at a failure like that, but Mrs.
+Mimms was as full of energy as ever. She had, it appeared, called at
+several public offices in London and had been immensely impressed by the
+Boy Scouts whom she saw waiting about the doors.
+
+[Illustration: We sealed up the village pump and set my chauffeur to
+keep guard]
+
+"They're the cutest things I've seen in England," she said, "and their
+bare knees are just sweet. I could kiss them all day. I simply must
+have a couple to stand on guard while the working parties are going on."
+
+I talked to the vicar, Hankly, and the Colonel about this. I did not see
+how we could possibly provide Mrs. Mimms with Boy Scouts, for there were
+none in the parish. The vicar said he was sorry that he had not started
+the organisation long ago, but supposed it was too late to do so now. To
+my surprise the Colonel, who up to that time had been getting angrier
+and angrier with Mrs. Mimms, took her side and said that if she wanted
+Boy Scouts she ought to have them. He proposed that we should enrol four
+choir boys at once, and offered to buy uniforms for them himself. The
+vicar was a little doubtful, but Hankly and I backed up the Colonel. We
+were very tired of the constant committee meetings, and we hoped that if
+Mrs. Mimms got really interested in Boy Scouts she might let us alone.
+We acted promptly, and in a week had four boys ready to stand on guard
+at the doors of the Manor House.
+
+The Colonel gave them a talking to at their first parade. He impressed
+on them the fact that discipline and strict obedience to orders are the
+essence of a military manhood. He quoted Tennyson, and made the boys
+repeat the lines after him:
+
+    "Theirs not to make reply,
+     Theirs not to reason why."
+
+He succeeded in inspiring them with a tremendous sense of their own
+importance. My idea was that he was trying to prepare them for having
+their knees kissed by Mrs. Mimms.
+
+For a time everything went well. The boys got off going to school and
+were immensely pleased. Mrs. Mimms fed them with dainties at odd hours
+of the day, and always had a basket of apples in the porch from which
+they could help themselves. So far as I knew she never attempted to kiss
+either their knees or any other part of them. The Colonel kept on
+exhorting them. He paid them a visit every morning, and insisted on
+their reporting themselves at his house when they went off duty in the
+evening.
+
+About a fortnight after the boys first went on guard Mrs. Mimms
+complained to the vicar that she had found one of them concealed under
+the dining-room table while she was at luncheon. She said that she did
+not like the feeling that she might kick a boy every time she stretched
+her leg while she was at meals. The vicar, of course, promised to speak
+to the boy.
+
+The next day Mrs. Mimms made another complaint. One of the boys had
+climbed up by some creepers, and was found by her maid sitting on the
+window-sill of a bedroom early in the morning. It was not Mrs. Mimms's
+bedroom, but, as she explained, it might have been. She had no
+particular objection, so she told the vicar, to a Boy Scout in her
+bedroom at any reasonable hour, but she did not want the child to break
+his neck.
+
+Then the postmaster gave me a hint that Mrs. Mimms's letters, which were
+posted every day by one of the Scouts, showed signs of having been
+opened and closed again before they came into his hands. He said that if
+this was being done by the Colonel's orders it was all right, but he
+thought he ought to tell me about it. I met the vicar in the street
+immediately afterwards and said I thought the Scouts were getting out of
+hand and ought to be disbanded at once. He agreed with me.
+
+While we were discussing the matter Hankly came up to us and said he
+heard that Mrs. Mimms was to be arrested at once as a German spy.
+
+"Tompkins," he said, "is going about the village saying that she ought
+to be shot."
+
+Tompkins always blamed Mrs. Mimms for the sealing up of the village
+pump, and had never spoken a good word about her since. The vicar was
+greatly put out.
+
+"Tut--tut!" he said; "arrested! shot! Nonsense. Mrs. Mimms is a most
+estimable lady."
+
+"I'm not so sure about that," said Hankly. "Those boys have been
+watching her lately, and there are several things which look
+suspicious."
+
+I suppose the vicar and I showed our surprise. Hankly went on to
+explain.
+
+"She gives the boys peaches and grapes," he said, "and cakes and
+meringues. Now I put it to you--the apples of course I understand. I
+might give a boy an apple myself, but I put it to you, vicar, would
+anybody give boys like that hothouse grapes and peaches unless--well,
+unless there was something to conceal. It's not a natural thing to do."
+
+"Now I come to think of it," said the vicar, "I did meet one of them
+yesterday with a peach in his fist."
+
+"There you are," said Hankly triumphantly, "and, anyhow, the police
+inspector is coming over to-day to look into the matter."
+
+Mrs. Mimms was not actually arrested. The police inspector--acting on
+information received from the Boy Scouts, Tompkins, and indeed almost
+every one in the village--made a lot of inquiries about her. He did not
+succeed in finding out why she called herself "the Honourable," but the
+questions he asked her made her so angry that she packed up her trunks
+and left the village at once.
+
+I met the Colonel the day after she left, and told him I was afraid we
+should all miss her. The Colonel chuckled in a self-satisfied way.
+
+"I told you we ought to get rid of her," he said, "and we have."
+
+"You don't mean to say you think she was really a spy?" I said.
+
+"She was a good deal worse," said the Colonel; "she was a public
+nuisance."
+
+Later on the Colonel took a kindlier view of Mrs. Mimms.
+
+"Only for her," he said to me a week ago, "we shouldn't have had Boy
+Scouts here. We have quite a good company now. She did us that much
+good, anyhow."
+
+The Colonel did her no more than bare justice. Our Scouts, though they
+have caught no more spies, have improved the general tone of the
+village. The Colonel is their commanding officer, and, though I do not
+say so in public, they have done him a lot of good.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+CHARLIE THE COX
+
+_A LIFE POEM_
+
+BY HALL CAINE
+
+_Painting by_ CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A.
+
+_Drawings by_ ARCH. WEBB
+
+
+CHARLIE was the cox of our Peel lifeboat. A braver spirit never sailed
+the sea.
+
+Years ago, in a terrific gale, a ship from Norway, the _St. George_,
+came dead on for the wildest part of our coast, the fierce headland that
+lies back of the old Castle rock. The sound signal was fired, and
+Charlie and his brave comrades went out to her. She was reeling on the
+top of a tremendous sea, and there was no coming near to her side.
+
+It was an awful task to get the crew aboard the lifeboat, but Charlie
+saved every soul, and lost not a hand of his own. When the "traveller"
+was rigged and the "breeches" were ready, and the crew of the doomed
+ship were at the bulwarks waiting to leave her, Charlie sang out over
+the clamour of the sea:
+
+"How many are you?"
+
+"Twenty-four," came back as answer.
+
+Then Charlie cried, "I can see only twenty-three."
+
+"The other man is hurt. He's dying. No use saving him," the Norseman
+shouted.
+
+"You'll bring the dying man on deck before a soul of you leaves the
+ship," cried Charlie.
+
+There was a woman among them, and when the carpenter came scudding down
+the rope he had a canvas bag on his back.
+
+"No tools here," shouted Charlie.
+
+"It's the child," said the man.
+
+The captain came next. He had left everything else behind him--his
+money, his instruments, his clothes, his ship--but out of his pocket
+there peeped the head of a baby's doll.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a thrilling rescue, but to see it in all its splendour you must
+have a drop of our Manx blood in you. Our forefathers were from Norway,
+our first Norse king was named Gorry. He landed on this island, not far
+from this spot. And on that day of the wreck of the _St. George_ his
+children's children rescued from the sea the children's children of the
+kinsmen he had left at home.
+
+Most of our men had Norse names. One of them was a Gorry, lineal
+descendant beyond doubt of the old sea king. The Norwegian Government
+felt the touch of great things in this incident. It was not merely that
+the bravery of the rescue fired their gratitude. Something called to
+them from that deep place where blood answers to the cry of blood. They
+sent medals for Charlie and his crew, and the Governor of the island
+distributed them inside the roofless walls of the old castle of the
+"Black Dog." It was like grasping hands with the past across the space
+of a thousand years.
+
+The other day we had another great wind and another brave rescue. The
+sun had gone down overnight in a sullen red, very fierce and angry in
+his setting, and out of the black north-east the storm had come up while
+we slept. In the heavy grey of the dawn the sound-signal fired its
+double shot over our little town. A Welsh schooner, which had run in for
+shelter during the dark hours, was riding to an anchor in the bay and
+flying her ensign for help.
+
+The sea was terrific--a slaty grey, streaked with white foam, like
+quartz veins. It was coming over the breakwater in sheets that hid it.
+Sometimes it was flying in clouds to the top of the round tower of the
+castle. The white sea-fowl were like dark specks darting through it, but
+no human ear could hear the cry of their thousand throats in the
+thunderous quake of the breakers on the cavernous rocks.
+
+A crowd of men answered the call, and there was no shortness of hands to
+man the lifeboat. The big, slow-legged fellows who had been idling on
+the quay the day before when the sea was calm were struggling, chafing,
+and quarrelling to go out on it now that it was in storm, for the blood
+of the old Vikings is in our Manxmen still.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a splendid rescue. The crew of the Welshman were brought ashore.
+Then the abandoned schooner rode three hours longer in the gale, and a
+hundred men stood and watched her, talking of other winds and other
+wrecks, and of Peel boys who were out on the sea. At last the ship
+parted her cables and went rolling like a blinded porpoise dead on for
+the jagged coast.
+
+Seven men took an open fishing-boat and went after her, and we climbed
+the Head to look at them. The wind smote us there like an invisible
+wing, sometimes swirling us out of our course, often bringing us to our
+knees, and whipping our ears with our hair like rods. Sheets of spray
+were coming up to us from below and running along the cliffs like driven
+rain. The sun, which had broken in fierce brilliance from a green rent
+in the sky, made rainbows in the flying foam.
+
+From the heights we watched the seven men and the open boat. They rose
+and fell, appeared and disappeared, but they overtook the Welshman
+before she had drifted on to the coast, boarded her with difficulty, let
+go another anchor and made her tight. There was nothing else to do, for
+she was disabled, and her sails were torn to shreds. The new anchor held
+the ship an hour longer, and then there was no help left for her. She
+was within a hundred feet of the rocks, and she fell on them with the
+groan of a living creature.
+
+The instant her head was down the white lions of the sea leapt over her,
+the water swirled through her bulwarks and plunged down her hatch; her
+helm was unshipped, her sails were torn from their gaskets, and the
+floating home wherein men had sailed and sung and slept and laughed and
+jested was a broken wreck in the heavy wallowings of the waves.
+
+When it was over and we were coming back, drenched through and green
+with the drift of the sea foam caked thick on our faces, some of us
+began to think of Charlie. He had not been there that day. A year or
+more ago, in the prime of a splendid manhood, he was stricken by heart
+disease. He kept a good heart, nevertheless, and by indomitable will
+held on for some time. First a little work, then no work at all, only a
+sail now and then if the sea was calm, but of late hardly ever well
+enough to take the open air. The old hulk of his poor body had been
+anchored deep, but she was parting her cables at last.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Charlie lay dying while this second rescue was being made. He had not
+answered the signal for the lifeboat, but he had heard it in the fierce
+light of morning, and they could not keep him in bed. The soul of the
+old sea dog leapt to the call, but his ailing body held him down. He
+wanted to go out. Wasn't he cox? Had the boat ever gone out without him?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+His house is one of the little places like children's Noah's arks which
+dot the line of this hungry shore. He could hear everything and see a
+good deal. Often he could hardly keep himself from crying and shouting
+aloud. In spirit he was out on the boiling surf, dipping, rising,
+stooping, going over, righting again, clambering back, exulting,
+glorying, getting nearer the ship, standing off her, rigging the
+"traveller," and fetching men aboard in the "breeches." And then away
+from the rolling hulk, and sing ho, my lads, and haul through the white
+waves for home. But his poor dying body was down on the bed and his face
+was sickly scarlet.
+
+Charlie's volcanic soul did not go off to the deep of deeps on the big
+breakers and through the wild noises of the storm. He died later. After
+the great wind there came a great calm. The air was quiet and full of
+the odour of seaweed; banks of seaweed were on the shore, and the broken
+schooner was covered with brown wrack, like any rock of the coast; the
+sky was round as the inside of a shell, and pale pink like the shadow of
+flame; the water was smooth, and land and sea lay like a sleeping child.
+In this broad and steady weather our little town was startled by the
+double shot again. We went to the windows in surprise, and saw the red
+flag over the rocket house, which is the signal for the lifeboat.
+
+Charlie was dead. He had just breathed his last, and his rugged
+comrades, who know nothing of poetry, but are poets nevertheless to the
+deepest grain of them, had run up the flag mast-high (not half-mast) as
+signal to the Great Cox of all that here was a soul in the troubled
+waters of death waiting for the everlasting lifeboat to bear him to the
+eternal shore.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The sea takes some of our bravest and best. Charlie it did not take. Not
+so sure is it that he who lives by the sword will perish by the sword,
+as that he who baulks the sea the sea will surely have for its prey.
+Charlie had battled with the giant time and again, but he has gone to
+sleep on the land.
+
+We buried him to-day in the little cemetery looking on to the grey water
+that was more than half his element. The funeral was beautiful in its
+old simplicity. First a hymn at the door of the house in the little
+alley by the beach, "Safe in the arms of Jesus," with the coffin on the
+ground and all standing round; the sea quiet, hardly a breeze as soft as
+human breath moving its tranquil surface; the deadly rival in its
+everlasting coming and going making no triumphant clamour now the
+sea-warrior was down. Then the companions of his dangers, the crew of
+his boat, a group of stalwart fellows who have never known what it is to
+be afraid, carrying him up the hill, shoulder high, each in his red
+stocking cap and his life-belt, emblems of how they had fought the sea
+and beaten it.
+
+There were some of us whose eyes were wet, but if these brave boys wept
+at all, it was only for the helpless little ones left behind. For
+Charlie they did not weep. His spirit is not dead for them--it cannot
+die. When brave deeds have to be done, they will see its light, like a
+beacon that does not fail, over the mountains of the fiercest storm;
+they will hear its voice above the thunder of the loudest waves.
+
+A full moon is shining to-night on the place of Charlie's rest, and if
+the old Norse story is true, that while the body lies in sight of the
+sea the spirit lives in the winds above it, Charlie is not done with his
+old enemy yet. He will come back to this sea-bound land in warning
+whispers of the mighty and mysterious power that lures men to itself.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CANADA'S WORD
+
+BY RALPH CONNOR
+
+_Drawings by_ A. J. GOUGH
+
+
+    O CANADA! A voice calls through the mist and spume
+    Across the wide wet salty leagues of foam
+    For aid. Whose voice thus penetrates thy peace?
+    Whose? Thy Mother's, Canada, thy Mother's voice.
+
+    O Canada! A drum beats through the night and day,
+    Unresting, eager, strident, summoning
+    To arms. Whose drum thus throbs persistent?
+    Whose? Old England's, Canada, Old England's drum.
+
+    O Canada! A sword gleams, leaping swift to strike
+    At foes that press and leap to kill brave men
+    On guard. Whose sword thus gleams fierce death?
+    Whose? 'Tis Britain's, Canada, Great Britain's sword.
+
+    O Canada! A prayer beats hard at Heaven's gate,
+    Tearing the heart wide open to God's eye,
+    For righteousness. Whose prayer thus pierces Heaven?
+    Whose? 'Tis God's prayer, Canada, Thy Kingdom come!
+
+    O Canada! What answer make to calling voice and beating drum,
+    To sword flash and to pleading prayer of God
+    For right? What answer makes my soul?
+    "Mother, to thee! God, to Thy help! Quick! My sword!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BIMBASHI JOYCE
+
+BY A. CONAN DOYLE
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+IT was in the days when the tide of Mahdism, which had swept in such a
+flood from the Great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of Egypt, had at
+last come to its full, and even begun, as some hoped, to show signs of a
+turn. At its outset it had been terrible. It had engulfed Hicks's army,
+swept over Gordon and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forces as they
+retired down the river, and finally cast up a spray of raiding parties
+as far north as Assouan. Then it found other channels to east and west,
+to Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little on the side of
+Egypt. For ten years there ensued a lull, during which the frontier
+garrisons looked out upon those distant blue hills of Dongola. Behind
+the violet mists which draped them lay a land of blood and horror. From
+time to time some adventurer went south towards those haze-girt
+mountains, tempted by stories of gum and ivory, but none ever returned.
+Once a mutilated Egyptian and once a Greek woman, mad with thirst and
+fear, made their way to the lines. They were the only exports of that
+country of darkness. Sometimes the sunset would turn those distant mists
+into a bank of crimson, and the dark mountains would rise from that
+sinister reek like islands in a sea of blood. It seemed a grim symbol in
+the southern heaven when seen from the fort-capped hills by Wady Halfa.
+Ten years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silent work in Cairo, and
+then all was ready, and it was time for Civilisation to take a trip
+south once more, travelling as her wont is in an armoured train.
+Everything was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the last camel,
+and yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Government has its
+advantage. A great administrator had argued, and managed, and cajoled; a
+great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres do the work
+of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits met and clasped
+hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some business of his own. And
+just at that very time, Bimbashi Hilary Joyce, seconded from the Royal
+Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily attached to the Ninth Soudanese, made
+his first appearance in Cairo.
+
+Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great reputations
+are only to be made in the East. Here he was in the East with four tin
+cases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond's slug-throwing pistol, and
+a copy of "Green's Introduction to the Study of Arabic." With such a
+start, and the blood of youth running hot in his veins, everything
+seemed easy. He was a little frightened of the general; he had heard
+stories of his sternness to young officers, but with tact and suavity he
+hoped for the best. So, leaving his effects at "Shepherd's Hotel," he
+reported himself at headquarters. It was not the general, but the head
+of the Intelligence Department who received him, the chief being still
+absent upon that business which had called him. Hilary Joyce found
+himself in the presence of a short, thick-set officer, with a gentle
+voice and a placid expression which covered a remarkably acute and
+energetic spirit. With that quiet smile and guileless manner he had
+undercut and outwitted the most cunning of Orientals. He stood, a
+cigarette between his fingers, looking at the newcomer. "I heard that
+you had come. Sorry the chief isn't here to see you. Gone up to the
+frontier, you know."
+
+"My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should report
+myself there at once?"
+
+"No; I was to give you your orders." He led the way to a map upon the
+wall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. "You see this place.
+It's the Oasis of Kurkur--a little quiet, I am afraid, but excellent
+air. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You'll find a
+company of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will be in
+command."
+
+Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of two
+black lines without another dot upon the map for several inches around
+it. "A village, sir?"
+
+"No, a well. Not very good water, I'm afraid, but you soon get
+accustomed to natron. It's an important post, as being at the junction
+of two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but still
+you never know who _might_ come along them."
+
+"We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well, between you and me, there's really nothing to raid. You are there
+to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of course you have
+only just come out, but you probably understand already enough about the
+conditions of this country to know that there is a great deal of
+disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is likely to try and keep in
+touch with his adherents. Then, again, Senoussi lives up that way"--he
+waved his cigarette to the westward--"the Khalifa might send a messenger
+to him along that route. Anyhow, your duty is to arrest every one coming
+along, and get some account of him before you let him go. You don't talk
+Arabic, I suppose?"
+
+"I am learning, sir."
+
+"Well, well, you'll have time enough to study there. And you'll have a
+native officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English, and can
+interpret for you. Well, good-bye--I'll tell the chief that you reported
+yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two day on a
+camel in the Libyan desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and three
+baggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace. However,
+even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and at last, on the
+third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill which is called
+the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a distant clump of
+palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in the midst of the
+merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour effect that he had
+ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little camp, the guard
+had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate had greeted him in
+excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his own. It was not an
+exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There was one large,
+bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three pits of brown
+and brackish water. There, also, was the grove of palm trees beautiful
+to look upon, but exasperating in view of the fact that Nature has
+provided her least shady trees on the very spot where shade is needed
+most. A single wide-spread acacia did something to restore the balance.
+Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat, and in the cool he inspected
+his square-shouldered, spindle-shanked Soudanese, with their cheery
+black faces and their funny little pork-pie forage caps. Joyce was a
+martinet at drill, and the blacks loved being drilled, so the Bimbashi
+was soon popular among them. But one day was exactly like another. The
+weather, the view, the employment, the food--everything was the same.
+At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there for
+interminable years. And then at last there came something to break the
+monotony.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly down the
+old caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow track,
+winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for he remembered
+how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away into the unknown
+heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camels through many
+centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now, unused and deserted, it
+still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot broad, and perhaps two
+thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode how long it was
+since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south, and then he
+raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along the path. For an
+instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own men, but a second
+glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger was dressed
+in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the close-fitting khaki of a
+soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seem gigantic. He
+strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing of a man who
+knows no fear.
+
+Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown? The
+precursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen. And where could he
+have walked from? The nearest well was a long hundred miles down the
+track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford to
+receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse, galloped
+into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at his back,
+he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was still coming on in spite
+of these hostile preparations. For an instant he hesitated when first he
+saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the question, and he advanced
+with the air of a man who makes the best of a bad job. He made no
+resistance, and said nothing when the hands of two troopers clutched at
+his shoulders, but walked quietly between their horses into camp.
+Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again. There were no signs of any
+dervishes. The man was alone. A splendid trotting camel had been found
+lying dead a little way down the track. The mystery of the stranger's
+arrival was explained. But why, and whence, and whither?--these were
+questions for which a zealous officer must find an answer.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no dervishes. It would
+have been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he fought a
+little action on his own account. But even as it was, he had a rare
+chance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show his
+capacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim
+chief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack. The
+prisoner's dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. Mean men
+do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his head with cold
+water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposing official
+tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a court of
+inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would have liked his
+people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies in waiting,
+and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind a camp-table,
+and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. The man was a
+handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long black beard.
+
+"Why!" cried Joyce, "the rascal is making faces at me." A curious
+contraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly that it
+might have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of Oriental
+gravity. "Ask him who he is, and what he wants?" The native officer did
+so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the same sharp spasm
+passed once more over his face. "Well, I'm blessed!" cried Hilary Joyce.
+"Of all the impudent scoundrels! He keeps on winking at me. Who are you,
+you rascal? Give an account of yourself! D'ye hear?" But the tall Arab
+was as impervious to English as to Arabic. The Egyptian tried again and
+again. The prisoner looked at Joyce with his inscrutable eyes, and
+occasionally twitched his face at him, but never opened his mouth. The
+Bimbashi scratched his head in bewilderment.
+
+"Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this fellow.
+You say there are no papers on him?"
+
+"No, sir; we found no papers."
+
+"No clue of any kind?"
+
+"He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He has come
+from Dongola, at least."
+
+"Well, we must get him to talk."
+
+"It is possible that he is deaf and dumb."
+
+"Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life."
+
+"You might send him across to Assouan."
+
+"And give some one else the credit? No, thank you. This is my bird. But
+how are we going to get him to find his tongue?"
+
+The Egyptian's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the cook's
+fire. "Perhaps," said he, "if the Bimbashi thought fit----" He looked at
+the prisoner and then at the burning wood.
+
+"No, no; it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"A very little might do it."
+
+"No, no. It's all very well here, but it would sound just awful if ever
+it got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say," he whispered, "we might
+frighten him a bit. There's no harm in that."
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Tell them to undo the man's galabeeah. Order them to put a horseshoe in
+the fire and make it red-hot." The prisoner watched the proceedings with
+an air which had more of amusement than of uneasiness. He never winced
+as the black sergeant approached with the glowing shoe held upon two
+bayonets.
+
+"Will you speak now?" asked the Bimbashi, savagely. The prisoner smiled
+gently and stroked his beard.
+
+"Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!" cried Joyce, jumping up in a
+passion. "There's no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we won't
+do it. But I _can_ and I _will_ flog him, and you can tell him from me
+that if he hasn't found his tongue by to-morrow morning I'll take the
+skin off his back as sure as my name's Joyce. Have you said all that?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it
+give you!" He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as imperturbable as
+ever, was led away by the guard to his supper of rice and water. Hilary
+Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep was considerably
+disturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he must inflict next
+day. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash and the thongs
+might prevail over his prisoner's obstinacy. And then, again, he thought
+how shocking it would be if the man proved to be really dumb after all.
+The possibility shook him so that he had almost determined by daybreak
+that he would send the stranger on unhurt to Assouan. And yet what a
+tame conclusion it would be to the incident! He lay upon his angareeb
+still debating it when the question suddenly and effectively settled
+itself. Ali Mahomet rushed into his tent.
+
+"Sir," he cried, "the prisoner is gone!"
+
+"Gone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit cut
+in the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every track;
+scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the fugitive,
+but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared. With a
+heavy heart, Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter and
+forwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order from
+the chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst from
+the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself. And
+his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he
+reported himself one night at the general's quarters. Behind a table
+piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chief
+of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was a
+cold one.
+
+[Illustration: Bimbashi Joyce
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by R. Talbot Kelly, R.I._]
+
+"I understand, Captain Joyce," said the general, "that you have allowed
+a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers."
+
+"I am sorry, sir."
+
+"No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anything
+about him before you lost him?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"I could get nothing out of him, sir."
+
+"Did you try?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did what I could."
+
+"What did you do?"
+
+"Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He said nothing."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think."
+
+"Any way by which we could identify him?"
+
+"A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitching his
+face."
+
+"Well, Captain Joyce," said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice,
+"I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army.
+You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man.
+I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary,
+therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. It
+would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal or
+intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling
+your regimental duties again." Hilary Joyce's heart was too heavy for
+words. He was silent. "I will let you know my final decision to-morrow
+morning." Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.
+
+"You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it
+give you!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used before?
+Who was it who had used them? The general was standing erect. Both he
+and the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing. Joyce stared at the
+tall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes.
+
+"Good Lord!" he gasped.
+
+"Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!" said the general, holding out
+his hand. "You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hot
+horseshoe of yours. I've done as much for you. I don't think we can
+spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile."
+
+"But, sir; but----!"
+
+"The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must seem
+rather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish. It
+must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in my return. I
+kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with you alone."
+
+"Yes, yes. I begin to understand."
+
+"I couldn't give it away before all those blacks, or where should I have
+been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You put me in a
+very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone with your Egyptian
+officer, who managed my escape all right."
+
+"He! Mahomet Ali!"
+
+"I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you. But we
+dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I think I can do
+you a little better than you did me at Kurkur."
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ANT-LION
+
+BY J. H. FABRE
+
+("The Insects' Homer")
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ E. J. DETMOLD
+
+_Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. Copyright U.S.A., 1914, by
+Hughes Massie & Co._
+
+
+MY big and little readers, look at the picture illustrating this story
+and tell me what you see. First of all, a hideous little monster. It has
+six short legs and an enormous body--the sign of an insatiable
+appetite--and carries on its head two sharp-pointed, curved, movable
+horns, which open and shut like a savage pair of pincers. Suppose we
+were to hear that, in a desert island, a monster like that, but the size
+of a wolf, was just emerging from the thick jungle and making for a
+traveller, for some modern Robinson Crusoe, and that, in another moment,
+it would be sticking its tusks into him, how thrilling we should find
+it! We should hope that the man whose life was in danger was armed with
+the most effective weapons, which would help him to come victorious out
+of the contest: a twelve-chambered revolver at least, to say nothing of
+a breech-loading rifle and explosive bullets!
+
+But we must not take an unfair advantage of the animal's ugly appearance
+in order to provoke unnatural excitement, for what I am about to tell is
+history and not a fairy-tale: proper, genuine history. I will lose no
+time in saying that the creature is quite harmless to any of us, even
+the smallest. By this I do not mean to suggest that it has not a very
+fierce and brutal temper; only, the victims of its bloodthirsty
+instincts move in a world so tiny that we tread it under foot unnoticed.
+It is an ogre, ever hungering after fresh meat, like the famous ogre of
+your fairy-tales: you know, the one who welcomed Hop-o'-my-Thumb and his
+brothers to his house one evening, meaning to put them all in a pie like
+so many pigeons; in short, just the sort of ogre who makes your blood
+run cold.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Our little monster, then, wants its dinner, a thing not always easy to
+find in this world, especially for an ogre. Hunger is gnawing at its
+inside; it must eat or die. Its usual prey is the Ant, a good runner,
+whose nimble legs promptly take to flight and baffle the clumsy,
+corpulent hunter's attempts to attack her. You might as well tell the
+Tortoise to run and catch the Gazelle. Our ogre possesses no greater
+agility in comparison with the Ant; and moreover there is another reason
+that makes it quite impossible for him to run after anything: like the
+Crab, he can only really walk backwards, which is not exactly the way to
+overtake your quarry when it's in front of you.
+
+To be fat and heavy, to walk backwards and to be obliged to have live
+Ant for one's dinner is a difficult, a very difficult problem. What
+would you do in such a case? Come, try to find something! Rack your
+brains! You can think of nothing? Well, never mind: plenty of others,
+including myself, could not think of anything either.
+
+Everyday common-sense, expressed in proverbs, tells us over and over
+again that necessity is the mother of invention. This great truth, which
+we have learnt by personal experience, we shall learn once more from the
+Ant-hunter. But first let us give him a name, to simplify our story.
+Naturalists call him the Ant-lion, a very happy term, which reminds us
+that, like the Lion, he lives by carnage, slaughtering live prey, in
+this case Ants. Now that we have christened him we can go on.
+
+When he wants his dinner, the Ant-lion says to himself:
+
+"You're a fat little beggar, you know, short-legged and slow-moving;
+you'll never catch Ants by running after them. On the other hand, you
+can walk backwards, that's capital; you have a head flattened like a
+navvy's shovel, that's first-rate; your pincers are long and grip like a
+knife, that's perfect, absolutely perfect. We'll use that talent for
+walking backwards; we'll use those tools, the shovel and tongs; we'll
+make craft take the place of the agility which we lack; and the dinner
+will come along."
+
+No sooner said than done. In a nice dry spot, warmed by the sun and
+sheltered from the rain by an overhanging rock, the wily animal selects
+a place where Ants are incessantly moving to and fro on household
+matters. Gravely, with the mathematical accuracy of an engineer tracing
+the foundation of a well-planned building, the Ant-lion walks backwards,
+with his body dug into the sand; he turns and turns and in this way
+hollows out a groove shaped like a perfect circle. Then, still moving
+backwards and still digging deeper and deeper into the sand, he repeats
+the circuit many times over, but gradually coming nearer the centre,
+where he arrives in the end. If any obstacle, such as a large bit of
+gravel, which would spoil the work, makes its appearance, the Ant-lion
+takes it on his flat head and, with a vigorous jerk of his neck, flings
+it to a distance over the edge of the hole. We should use a shovel in
+exactly the same way to throw out the rubbish when digging.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The result of this labour is a sort of funnel, two inches wide and a
+little less in depth. For that matter, each Ant-lion scoops himself out
+one proportioned to his size: the larger ones, the giants of the family,
+produce one almost big enough to hold an orange; the younger and smaller
+ones are content with a hollow which a walnut would fill. But, whether
+great funnels or modest dents, all these cavities are constructed on one
+and the same principle: the slope is very steep and formed of extremely
+loose sand; nothing, however light, can set foot upon it without
+producing a landslip, followed by a headlong fall.
+
+When the work is finished, the scoundrel buries himself in the sand,
+right at the bottom of the funnel; his pincers alone appear outside,
+ever ready to snap, but nevertheless hidden as far as possible. And now
+the Ant-lion remains completely motionless and waits; he waits for
+hours, for days, for weeks, if necessary, for his patience is
+unequalled; he waits for his dinner to come to him, as he cannot go
+after his dinner himself.
+
+Let us do as he does and wait, very attentively. What will happen? See,
+an Ant comes trotting along, suspecting no harm, bringing a little honey
+in her crop for her mates, who are working at a distance, just as the
+goodwife, on the stroke of noon, brings the reaper his midday meal in
+the fields. In her hurry, or perhaps in her heedlessness, she has not
+seen the precipice. She steps upon it, but only just on the edge. It
+makes no difference: as soon as her foot is on the perfidious slope, the
+sand gives way and the poor thing is dragged down. If our eyes were
+sharp enough, we should see signs of fierce delight betrayed by the
+formidable jaws at the bottom.
+
+Thank goodness! A microscopic bit of straw has interfered with the
+landslide. The fall ends in the middle of the slope; and the Ant,
+recovering her balance, tries to scramble back to the top. The sand
+trickles under her feet; no matter: she goes to work with so much
+prudence, she so skilfully makes use of the smallest solid support, she
+is so careful to move sideways instead of going straight up the slope
+that it looks as though the climb ought to be achieved without fresh
+impediment. Her knees, her delicate feelers seem atremble with
+excitement. One more effort, only a little effort, and the thing is
+done. The edge is there, close by; the Ant must reach it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Alas, she does not reach it! Suddenly from the sky there falls upon the
+poor wretch, thick as hailstones, a rain of grains of sand, which, for
+the tiny Ant, is as bad as a regular rain of pebbles. Who is the brute
+that takes delight in thus stoning the distressed Ant, who clings in her
+despair now to this side, now to that, as best she may, so as not to
+roll to the bottom of the precipice? The brute is the Ant-lion, the
+ruffian, lying in ambush down in his funnel. See what he is doing. He
+takes on his flat head a load, a shovelful of sand, and flings it in the
+air towards the Ant, with a sudden, quick jerk of the neck, like the
+movement of a spring. The shovelfuls follow rapidly, one after the
+other. Whoosh! And whoosh! Do you want another? There's one! You don't
+want another? There's one all the same!
+
+What can the Ant do, I ask you, on the slope of that terrible trap,
+where the ground falls from under her in a rushing torrent, while a hail
+of pebbles dashes down from above? In vain she struggles, with all the
+pluck of despair: for each step forward she takes three back, coming
+nearer and nearer to the dreadful jaws that are waiting for her at the
+bottom of the funnel. Bruised and dazed with the stoning, she rolls over
+and over, right into the jaws. The jaws seize her and everything
+disappears under the sand; not a trace remains of the recent tragedy.
+
+Peacefully buried in the sand of his lair, the Ant-lion devours his
+astutely-captured prey. When the meal is over, there remains a dry
+carcass, which must be thrown away, for, if left in the funnel, it might
+frighten any game in future and betray the hunter in his ambush. A jerk
+of the shovel, that is to say, a toss of the flat head, flings it
+outside the hole.
+
+Then the Ant-lion repairs the damage done to his trap, removes the
+coarser grains of sand, touches up the slopes to make them ready for a
+new slide. He buries himself as I have described and awaits the coming
+of the next Ant.
+
+That is how the Ant-lion secures his dinner. And yet there are people
+who say that animals have no sense!
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+AN ANGEL OF GOD
+
+_A TRUE STORY_
+
+BY ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER
+
+_Drawings by_ STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.
+
+
+"YOU may talk about the Germans as much as you like," remarked Mrs.
+Batterby with her customary decision; "but, for my part, I have no doubt
+that we shall beat them in the end: no doubt whatsoever!"
+
+"Still, the German hosts are very numerous, and their artillery is
+magnificent," said Mrs. Veale, who, much as she longed for the defeat of
+Germany, longed for the defeat of Mrs. Batterby still more.
+
+Little Miss Skipworth hastened, as usual, to thrust in the olive-branch.
+"Dear Mrs. Batterby is thinking of the superior courage of our brave
+English soldiers," she explained gently.
+
+But Mrs. Batterby could not stand being Bowdlerised, or even translated.
+"No, I wasn't, Matilda; at least not at that particular minute, though
+nobody admires the courage of the British Army more than I do, and
+always have done, and especially with Lord Kitchener at their head and
+in action against the enemy. I've got a very high opinion of the British
+soldier myself; none higher: much too high, in fact, to allow him to
+wear a collar to his bed-jacket like the one you are making, Matilda,
+without speaking a word in his defence."
+
+Matilda collapsed at once: she was composed of the most collapsible
+material ever provided for the manufacture of souls. "What is wrong with
+my collar, Mrs. Batterby? I thought I was exactly copying the pattern
+sent to us by the Red Cross. Anyway, I was trying to do so."
+
+"Trying and succeeding are two different things, which I should have
+thought you'd have found out by this time, Matilda, and you
+five-and-forty, if you are a day! Give me the collar, and I'll fix it
+for you, or else the wounded soldier that wears it will wish he had died
+in the trenches before he had the chance of putting it on."
+
+It was the afternoon of the Red Cross weekly working-party, held in the
+village of Summerglade, in the early stages of the Great War. The party
+was a small one, consisting of Mrs. Batterby, a farmer's wife, in whose
+parlour the meeting was held; Mrs. Veale, the wife of the village
+doctor; Mrs. Windybank, a gloomy widow; and Miss Skipworth, an ingenuous
+and tender-hearted spinster. Between Mrs. Batterby and Mrs. Veale there
+existed a bitter and abiding warfare.
+
+"May I ask what you were thinking of--if not of the bravery of our own
+dear soldiers--when you expressed your assurance of the ultimate success
+of the Allied Forces?" asked Mrs. Veale, with her needle in her fingers
+and the light of battle in her eye.
+
+"By all means," replied Mrs. Batterby; "and, a civil question demanding
+a civil answer, I don't mind telling you that I feel sure we shall win,
+because we know that God is on our side and is fighting for us."
+
+"But their numbers are so great and their guns so magnificent," repeated
+Mrs. Windybank with a lugubrious sigh. "I sometimes fear that they will
+win in the end, and we shall all be blown up by Zeppelins and trampled
+underfoot. I'm sure I pray every morning that our armies may win, but I
+tremble when I think of the forces against us."
+
+"So did the Prophet's servant till his eyes were opened and he saw the
+mountain full of horses and chariots," replied Mrs. Batterby. "But some
+folk's eyes seem made not to open, like the stained-glass windows in
+Summerglade Church."
+
+"It is right to pray, but we must beware of presumptuousness in our
+prayers," said Mrs. Veale sententiously.
+
+"We'd much better beware of want of faith," retorted the hostess.
+
+"But it is difficult to have faith when things seem going against us,"
+said Matilda Skipworth.
+
+"Stuff and nonsense, Matilda! It's when things seem going against us
+that our faith is really any compliment to the Almighty. I can't see
+anything very complimentary to Him when every morning I pray with faith,
+'Give us this day our daily bread,' knowing all the time that it's in
+the larder with a damp cloth over it. But it's when people pray that
+particular prayer, with no bread in the house and no money to pay for
+any, that their faith is any compliment to God or worthy of His
+acceptance."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I know my faith is very feeble and my prayers are unworthy," sighed
+Miss Skipworth, "but I do try to believe. Still, I cannot help envying
+the Prophet's servant who _saw_ the horses and the chariots fighting on
+his side. I wish we could _see_ the angel hosts fighting for us. I do so
+wish that we had appearances of that kind nowadays: it would make faith
+so much easier and life altogether so much more beautiful."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"But it would not be in accordance with God's teaching in these later
+times. Such assistance to faith as the appearance of saints and angels
+would not be at all in accordance with our modern religious thought, and
+I am sure that the Almighty would not permit it," said Mrs. Veale.
+
+"I am not so sure of that," retorted Mrs. Batterby. "I think that
+visions of angels are granted to-day to those that have eyes to see
+them, just as they were in Old Testament times."
+
+"Oh! Mrs. Batterby," exclaimed Matilda in excitement, "do you really
+believe that?"
+
+"I do. But I don't believe that the angels appear as you would expect
+them, Matilda--all got up in harps and crowns and flaming swords. I
+believe that when they come nowadays they look so commonplace and what
+you might call ordinary-looking, that only those folks that have the eye
+of faith can perceive them at all. They can _see_ them all right, mind
+you! But they can't recognise them as the angels of God."
+
+"How I should like to see somebody who had actually seen an angel!"
+sighed Miss Skipworth.
+
+"Did you ever come across any one who had enjoyed such an experience,
+Mrs. Batterby?" asked Mrs. Veale in a sceptical tone.
+
+"Yes, I did, Mrs. Veale--that is, if you can say that you ever came
+across yourself."
+
+"Oh, how interesting!--how very interesting!" cried Miss Skipworth. "But
+you don't look at all the sort of person that would see angels and
+spirits."
+
+Mrs. Batterby took the last remark as a compliment; as indeed it was
+intended. "That's just my point, Matilda. The real angels don't look
+like the Scripture-picture sort of angels; and they don't appear to the
+high-flown, star-gazing sort of people who are always looking for them."
+
+"Do tell us what you saw, Mrs. Batterby," besought the emotional
+Matilda.
+
+"And also what calamity it foretold," added Mrs. Windybank. "I always
+believe that supernatural appearances precede some terrible misfortune."
+
+"Well, my experience, or whatever you call it, happened five-and-thirty
+years ago, and no calamity has happened to me since. On the contrary, it
+taught me that no calamity _could_ happen to me as long as I lay safe in
+my Heavenly Father's Hand. That's just the lesson that I learnt from
+it."
+
+"Do tell us the story," urged Miss Skipworth.
+
+"I will, Matilda, if you'll get on with your bed-jacket, and not leave
+off your sewing whenever anybody speaks, as if your hearing lay in your
+fingers, and you couldn't sew and listen at the same time.
+
+"Well, when I was a young woman I lived with an aunt in Merchester who
+kept a stationer's shop; and every Sunday I used to walk over to see my
+mother who lived at a village about three miles off, she being a widow
+and keeping the post-office there and my two little sisters as well.
+
+"It was one Sunday in September--one of those deceitful sort of days
+that look like summer, and then take you all of a heap by getting dark
+before you can say _Jack Robinson_--and I had been spending the day with
+my mother as usual; I stayed for the evening service, it being the
+Sunday-school Anniversary and a special preacher for the occasion; quite
+a young man, but one of the finest preachers I ever heard. Though it was
+five-and-thirty years ago, I remember that sermon as if I'd heard it
+last Sunday."
+
+"What was it about?" asked Mrs. Windybank. "For my part, I always enjoy
+funeral-sermons the most; but I've heard some very sweet ones in times
+of war, and on the last Sundays in the Old Year."
+
+"It was on the very subject that Matilda was speaking about--in fact, it
+was her conversation that recalled the whole incident to my mind. The
+text was, 'Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him'; and
+the preacher said--what I've just being saying to you--that the angels
+of God meet us far oftener than we think; only we are so busy looking
+out for them to come in our own particular way that we don't recognise
+them. Unless they are in their flowing robes with their harps and halos
+and fiery swords, we don't know that they are angels at all: which is
+just as stupid of us as if we didn't believe we'd seen the Queen, unless
+we'd seen her with her crown on. I remember that this impressed us very
+much: Queen Victoria had just been to Merchester to lay the
+foundation-stone of some public building or other (I forget what), and
+we had all cried at seeing her in a widow's bonnet; it seemed to make
+her so much more real and human than if she'd had her crown on. I'm sure
+that black bonnet brought her nearer to our hearts than all the Crown
+Jewels out of the Tower of London could have done; and taught us to love
+and reverence her as a woman as well as obey and serve her as a Queen.
+And so, as the young minister said, it ought to be with the angels;
+because when the Lord came among us, He came as One of ourselves, and
+led us by the paths that we were used to.
+
+"Well, the sermon was so grand, and the hymn after the sermon so
+beautiful--I remember it was a six-lines-eight, sung to the tune called
+_Stella_, and mother and I swayed to it till we kept bumping against
+each other--that by the time we got out of chapel it was quite dark--so
+dark that mother didn't like the idea of my walking to Merchester alone,
+as it was three miles at the least, and along a very lonely road. But
+there was nobody to go with me, and I was bound to get back to aunt's
+that night, for some special reason that I forget now; so--like it or
+not like it--I had to go, though I was very timid."
+
+"Oh, how dreadful! I should have been terrified," groaned Miss
+Skipworth. "I don't wonder that you were frightened."
+
+"I shouldn't have minded if I'd been your age, Matilda: surely a woman
+of five-and-forty is old enough to go anywhere by herself! But I was
+only eighteen, and that makes all the difference."
+
+Matilda returned a soft answer--or, to be more accurate, a soft
+question.
+
+"Then did you venture, Mrs. Batterby?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Of course I did: there was nothing else to do; and I didn't want mother
+to know I was frightened for fear of worrying her. But I didn't like it,
+I can tell you; and I started with my heart in my mouth, ready to jump
+at my own shadow. And then it came into my mind (I remember it as if it
+had happened last night) that I was a poor sort of Christian to enjoy a
+sermon and then make no sort of effort to put it into practice; in fact,
+that I was only a hearer of the Word, and not a doer, letting God's
+message go in at one ear and out at the other, leaving nothing behind
+it. So I set to to pray that as I went on my way the angels of God might
+meet me, as they met Jacob, and save me from all harm. And what with the
+excitement of the sermon, and my own fears, and the darkness of the
+road, I got worked up to such a pitch that I shouldn't have been
+surprised if a white-robed angel with shining wings had flown over the
+hedge and perched beside me."
+
+"Which, of course, no angel did," interrupted Mrs. Veale.
+
+"That is as may be," retorted Mrs. Batterby darkly. "In the middle of my
+prayer I heard a rustle in the hedge on the side of the road, which, of
+course, I thought was a thief lying in wait to waylay me and murder me,
+and I prayed harder and harder. But then, in the fading light, I
+perceived that it was no thief, but a huge yellow collie dog, such as
+they have for minding sheep."
+
+"Oh dear!" said Miss Skipworth; "I should have been as much afraid of a
+strange dog as of a strange man, if I'd been you."
+
+"Fortunately, however, you weren't me, nor ever likely to be, which
+seems fortunate for all parties concerned," replied her hostess dryly.
+"And as for being afraid of a dog--why! I'd been accustomed to dogs from
+a child, though I'm not the one to deny that collies are uncertain in
+temper and apt to snap at strangers unawares. So I spoke kindly to this
+one, in case it should take me for a thief come after its master's
+sheep; though where the sheep were I hadn't a notion, there being
+nothing but cornfields ready for cutting on both sides of the road, the
+harvest being very late that year."
+
+"It was rather foolish, to my thinking, to speak to it at all," remarked
+Mrs. Windybank. "I had a friend once who spoke to a strange collie; and
+it bit her thimble finger so badly that she was never able to sew
+properly again."
+
+"Then she must have said the wrong thing to it," replied Mrs. Batterby;
+"and it served her right. I know when folks say the wrong thing to me,
+I'd give anything to be able to bite their thimble finger, and dogs feel
+the same as we do. But to get on with my story. The dog came up to me
+quite friendly-like, and didn't attempt to snap or anything; but though
+it came close to me, it wouldn't let me touch or pet it. It shied away
+the moment I put out my hand to fondle it. So--being accustomed to dogs
+and their ways--I treated it as it evidently wished to be treated, and
+just talked to it pleasantly as it trotted along by my side."
+
+[Illustration: "For my part, I believe it was one of the angels of
+God"]
+
+"Then it followed you?" asked Miss Skipworth.
+
+"Yes; all the way to Merchester, just as if it had been my own dog. When
+there was nobody in sight, it ran backwards and forwards and scampered
+about by itself; but whenever we met anybody--and we met some
+nasty-looking tramps, I can tell you, that I should have been terrified
+to meet alone--it came close to me, looking that big and fierce that the
+tramps kept well to the other side of the road, as far away from us as
+they could; and it stalked by me till they were out of sight, as is the
+way of collies when they scent danger ahead. I can't tell you how
+delighted I was to have found such a splendid pet; and I made up my mind
+to take it home with me and keep it, unless some one claimed it; as aunt
+and I had long wanted a house-dog to take care of the shop at nights.
+And, besides, I thought it would be such a nice companion for me on all
+the long country-walks which I was so fond of taking out of shop-hours."
+
+"And did any one ever come and claim it?" asked Miss Skipworth with
+breathless interest.
+
+"No; never. It followed me all the way to Merchester, wagging its tail
+whenever I spoke to it, and looking up at me with its soft brown eyes as
+friendly as never was; but it never let me touch it, though I tried to
+pat it once or twice."
+
+"And you took it home with you, the dear creature?"
+
+Mrs. Batterby shook her head. "It followed me right into Merchester; but
+when I was safe in the town among all the gas-lamps and the people and
+the traffic, it turned round and scampered back along the road by which
+we had come. I whistled to it to come back, but it took no notice; and
+the last I saw of it was its yellow coat disappearing into the
+darkness."
+
+Miss Skipworth gave a deep sigh. "And you never saw it again?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"And you never found out who it belonged to?"
+
+A look came into Mrs. Batterby's eyes that was new to Miss Skipworth. "I
+wouldn't say that. As a matter of fact, I believe I did find out Who it
+belonged to."
+
+"I suppose it was the sheep-dog of one of the neighbouring farmers,"
+suggested Mrs. Veale.
+
+"Some might suppose so; but I don't," replied Mrs. Batterby, still with
+that wonderful smile in her sharp grey eyes. "For my part, I believe it
+was one of the angels of God."
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A MODEL SOLDIER[1]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BY CHARLES GARVICE
+
+_Author of "Nance," etc._
+
+_Drawings by_ J. H. HARTLEY
+
+
+KITTY came into the studio and, dropping on to a stool, said, as she
+drew the pins from her hat:
+
+"Dad, I've had an adventure."
+
+She made the assertion with seeming gravity, but her father glanced at
+her dancing eyes with a mixture of interest and a suspicion of being
+spoofed; for past experiences of his light-hearted, mischief-loving
+daughter had taught him to be wary; so he said nothing, but continued to
+chalk in the rough sketch on the easel.
+
+"Behold in me a heroine of romance!" said Kitty, striking an attitude
+and regarding the toes of her dainty boots with her head on one side;
+and her father, as he glanced at her again, noted vaguely her pose and
+expression for future use; for Kitty served frequently as a model, and
+her pretty face and svelte figure had appeared in numerous magazines as
+the heroine of all sorts of stories.
+
+"Father, I have saved a fellow creature's life," she went on. "Told in
+the language of popular fiction it would run thus: 'A young girl of
+pleasing appearance was seen going down one of our leading
+thoroughfares. She was of meek and modest demeanour----'"
+
+"I thought you said the adventure happened to you, Kitty," said Mr.
+Thorold.
+
+"'The road was crowded with the carriages and motor-cars of the wealthy
+and noble,'" continued Kitty, disregarding the mild sarcasm; "'the young
+girl, lost "in maiden meditation, fancy-free," was startled suddenly by
+a cry of anguished terror. Raising her downcast eyes, she saw a pretty
+young thing running across the road right in front of an approaching
+motor-car, from the occupant of which, a lady of mature age and buxom
+form, the cry had arisen. Without a thought of her own fair young life,
+the maiden rushed forward, seized the young thing in her arms and
+carried it in safety to the pavement. The magnificent 2,000-h.p.
+motor-car pulled up beside her, and the richly dressed lady, with a gasp
+of relief and admiration, expressed her appreciation of the young girl's
+heroism, demanded her name and address, and, handing her a card, desired
+the rescuer to call. The heroine, murmuring something inaudible, blushed
+sweetly and, making her way through the small but loudly cheering crowd
+which had collected, modestly disappeared.'"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"All very well," grumbled Mr. Thorold; "but you'll be brought home on a
+stretcher some day, Kit. You're too venturesome by far. What became of
+the child?"
+
+"Oh, it wasn't a child; it was a collie pup."
+
+"I thought you said 'fellow-creature,'" remarked her father plaintively.
+
+"All dogs are my fellow-creatures," declared Kitty simply.
+
+"I am a credulous as well as a sinfully indulgent parent," said Mr.
+Thorold, stepping back to view his sketch; "but I don't believe a word
+of your story."
+
+"'Documentary evidence was instantly forthcoming,'" retorted Kitty,
+extending a tiny paw with a card inserted delicately between her
+fingers.
+
+Her father took it, read aloud: "Lady Hawborough, 209, Belgrave Square,"
+and then emitted a low whistle.
+
+"My word, Kitty, you've gone and done it!" he said. "If this is _the_
+Lady Hawborough--and Nature, with all her audacity, cannot have made two
+of them--you've run up against a celebrity of the deepest dye."
+
+"Oh?" said Kitty. "Never heard of her. What's she celebrated for?"
+
+"For good works--which means, in most cases, a disposition and a
+capacity for interfering in the affairs of other people. And her
+ladyship is one of the biggest and most incorrigible interferers in this
+crank of a world of ours. She is immensely rich; she is also 'powerful,'
+as the novelists say; she is a tyrant to her relations, a terror to her
+friends, and a well-meaning, charitable bugbear to the world in
+general."
+
+"Oh!" said Kitty, somewhat dismayed. "But how is it you are so
+intimately acquainted with the history and characteristics of this lady
+of lofty rank and goodly oof?"
+
+"My dear Kitty, 'oof' is not nearly such a good word as 'wealth.'"
+
+[Illustration: The Ant Lion
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by E. J. Detmold_]
+
+"Maybe, but it's easier to pronounce," retorted Kitty.
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Mr. Thorold, as if he were weary of the
+subject. "Heard some one at the Club talking about her; seen her name in
+the papers. Take my advice and don't call. She'll enlist you in one of
+her gangs of workers, hustle you into a hospital as a nurse, make you
+into a district visitor, or turn you a lecturer on vegetarianism or some
+other fad."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Oh no, she won't," said Kitty, with sublime confidence; "not that I
+should object to being a nurse--that is, if I hadn't already to look
+after an aged and infirm parent. Yes; much as I value your advice, Dad,
+I think I'll call. I'll go to-morrow; and if I come back, say, in a
+Salvation Army kit, and banging a tambourine--and, mind you! I might do
+worse: I've a whole-hearted admiration for the S.A. and the uniform is
+distinctly fetching--you can indulge in the exquisite pleasure of
+exclaiming, 'I told you so!' What are you on this morning, Dad?" she
+asked, going to him, putting her arm round his neck, and giving him a
+little hug.
+
+"Sketch for an illustration for the _Long Acre Magazine_," he said, with
+a kind of resignation; for your most gifted artist has to do pot-boilers
+nowadays: and generally he does them well.
+
+"The girl's all right, anyhow," said Kitty. "Where's the man?"
+
+"Oh, I'm going to stick him in directly," said Mr. Thorold. "He's to be
+a soldier, and I've got a young fellow coming as a model presently. Ran
+against him in a rather extraordinary way. He called on me yesterday
+with an introduction from Bloxham: said he had never sat as model
+before; but that he was hard up, and would do his best. Fine young
+fellow, and a nice taking sort of chap altogether."
+
+"Burglar in disguise, coming to inspect the premises, no doubt,"
+surmised Kitty cheerfully.
+
+"Well, he's welcome to anything he takes a fancy to," remarked Mr.
+Thorold.
+
+"Oh, well!" she said. "I'm off to consult Selinar-Ann as to whether it's
+to be bread-and-butter pudding or a baked roly-poly; expect me back, or
+what remains of me, in an hour."
+
+Carefully rumpling her father's already disordered hair, she screwed up
+his patient face between her hands, kissed him and ran out, singing as
+she went.
+
+In less than an hour she re-entered the studio, still singing; but the
+song snapped off suddenly, and she stood just within the doorway,
+staring with wide-open eyes at a young soldier in khaki who stood on the
+model's dais, one arm in a sling, the other extended with a sword in the
+hand, in the kind of attitude beloved by the populace, and forming the
+picture which bears inevitably the legend, "Charge!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The young man turned his eyes--he dared not move anything else--and, at
+sight of the stricken maiden, his tanned face grew the colour of a
+healthy beetroot.
+
+"Getting on famously, Kit," remarked Mr. Thorold in a preoccupied
+manner. "Arm a little higher, if you please, Captain----Pardon, didn't
+catch your name."
+
+"Barnard," said the model, in a small voice quite inconsistent with his
+fine and manly proportions.
+
+"Ah, thank you! Could you--er--put on something of a scowl? You're
+wounded, you know, and you're leading a forlorn hope, or something of
+the sort."
+
+The young man's good-looking face assumed as much of a scowl as it was
+capable of doing, and Mr. Thorold dashed it on the paper.
+
+"Capital! Now you can rest a minute. I've got to go and get some more
+ochre. Perhaps you'd like a drink?"
+
+"Thank you; I should," confessed the young man, with a slight huskiness.
+
+"All right; I'll bring it," said Mr. Thorold; and, as he was leaving the
+room, he said over his shoulder, "My daughter; Captain Barnard."
+
+Kitty closed the door carefully; then, seating herself on the divan, she
+rested her chin in her hand and, regarding the young man severely, she
+demanded sternly:
+
+"Perhaps you'll be kind enough to inform me of the--the meaning of
+this?"
+
+He had seated himself on the edge of the dais and was wiping his face,
+as if he were just going through a dangerous action, with the enemy
+pressing on all sides.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" he faltered, with meekness in his voice, mien, and
+eye.
+
+"I asked you why you are masquerading here?" she said, uncompromisingly.
+
+"Well, come to that, I'm not masquerading. This is my own kit; I'm a
+soldier, as you know. This is a genuine wound, not a fake; and I'm
+really hard up: had a run of bad luck lately. No harm in earning an
+honest shilling."
+
+"But why come to my father, this particular studio, to earn it?"
+demanded Kitty, cutting short his feeble attempts at plausible
+explanation.
+
+"Oh, well," he replied desperately: "you see, when I met you at the
+Thomsons' the other night, and asked you if I might have the honour of
+calling on you, you said that your father was a very busy man and that
+you yourself had no time for receiving visitors."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well?" demanded Kitty, as icily as before.
+
+"Well," he resumed, looking down and then up at her, as if he could not
+keep his eyes from her face, stern and almost ferocious as it was,
+"well, I asked the Thomsons who your father was, and when they told me,
+I thought--I thought----Well, don't you know, it seemed to me that he
+might want a model. War pictures are all the go now, aren't they? And
+so----" He broke down, made a little gesture with his unwounded arm, and
+blurted out, "Of course you know why I've come. I wanted to see you
+again. I told you so the other night; like my cheek, of course, but--I
+don't know how it is--I feel as if I'd _got_ to see you, to know you.
+Look here, Miss Kitty--I beg your pardon, all the Thomsons call you
+that--I hope you won't mind my saying that I've fallen in love with
+you?"
+
+"Excuse me; I mind it very much," Kitty informed him with distressing
+promptitude; but her eyes wavered and the colour came into her face and
+made it, in the unfortunate young man's opinion, more maddeningly
+fascinating than ever.
+
+"Oh, well, I'm sorry," he said, but without much penitence in his tone;
+"but the truth should always be told, shouldn't it? And it is the
+truth."
+
+"Is it?" queried Kitty. "You've seen me only once before, and then only
+for an hour or two."
+
+"Two hours and three-quarters," he said, as if he were a stickler for
+accuracy; "and I fell in love with you after the first quarter of an
+hour. That being the case--as it certainly is--what was I to do? I shall
+have to go back to the regiment as soon as this old arm of mine is
+right; and it's getting right quickly; and I felt that I couldn't go
+without at any rate telling you what--what was the matter with me."
+
+"You speak as if--as if love were a disease," said Kitty, with an
+attempt at mockery which was an abject failure.
+
+"So it is," he declared, "and I've got it bad--very bad indeed. I'll ask
+you to believe me, Miss Kitty--I mean Miss Thorold--that I haven't had
+you out of my mind for one moment since we parted."
+
+"It's a pity you haven't something better to think of," said Kitty.
+
+"There I disagree with you," observed the young man stoutly. "I couldn't
+have anything better to think of, and I don't want to. I shall think of
+you for the rest of my natural life. One moment, Miss Kitty, before you
+refuse me. I ought to tell you that I'm a poor young captain, in a
+marching regiment, with no prospects."
+
+"The allurement is irresistible----" began Kitty, with admirable
+gravity.
+
+"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "So you accept me?"
+
+"The politeness of a soldier should have compelled you to hear me out. I
+was going to add, that it would be irresistible if I were in love with
+you; but----"
+
+"Don't go on, I beg of you!" he implored. "I'm not such a fat-headed
+idiot as to suppose that you _are_ in love with me. What I wanted to ask
+you was to give me a show. You see, I've arranged with Mr. Thorold to
+stand, not only for this picture, but for an oil-painting, which I
+suppose--don't know much about art--will take some time."
+
+"You have? Well, of all the----!"
+
+"Quite so," he said meekly. "You see, it will give me a chance of trying
+to explain to you that, if you refuse me, it will be--oh, worse than a
+conical bullet in a particularly vital spot. All I ask is that you will
+look in now and again, and--and give me an opportunity of--of----"
+
+"Bothering me to death," finished Kitty for him.
+
+"No; bothering you into an engagement--which is sometimes a serious
+affair, but not always fatal," he said frankly. "Come, Miss Kitty, don't
+be hard on me! It's not much to ask----"
+
+"Oh, isn't it?" interjected Kitty with fine irony. "Thank you. Captain
+Barnard."
+
+"If you were in love with me--absurd idea, of course! but I'm just
+putting the case--I'd come and sit with you and give you any amount of
+chances."
+
+Kitty heard her father's returning footsteps, and she stood up and
+looked from side to side, and then at this meekly audacious young man,
+with a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment--and something else I
+cannot define--in her really wonderful eyes.
+
+"Well, of all the cool----" she said again. But he cut her short.
+
+"That's all right," he said breathlessly; "thank you ever so much. Your
+father's coming. I'm to be here at eleven o'clock every morning."
+
+"And you think," said Kitty, as hurriedly, "that, by simply sitting here
+and regarding you in that absurd attitude, I shall fall in----?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Oh, no; not at all. Fortune will have pity on me and give me an
+opportunity for seeing you for a minute or two alone. Besides,
+perhaps--I only say perhaps, mind!--you might be induced to lunch at an
+A.B.C. shop," he jerked out in a rapid whisper, as the innocent parent
+returned with his yellow ochre.
+
+Kitty went up to her room, flung herself into a chair in her favourite
+attitude, with her chin in her hands, and stared at nothing--no, not
+nothing, but at the handsome face and manly form of a wounded soldier.
+
+Of course, she would not go near the studio while he was there.
+Consequently, the next morning, at half-past eleven, she entered with
+refreshment on a tray; and, with downcast eyes and a blush, informed her
+father that she had left his soda-and-milk in the dining-room because a
+change of scene and air would be good for him.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She was still rosy with shame when the model sprang from the dais,
+caught her hand, and declared fervently that she was an angel.
+
+"No, I am a sly and deceitful, not to say forward, girl," said Kitty.
+"But I've only made an opportunity to tell you that I'm not coming into
+the studio again while you're here."
+
+"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about this
+time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get some
+lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner--I should like
+you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary to
+refuse me. I think that's only fair to you."
+
+"And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the
+concentrated cheek--I am sorry there is no stronger word--of the whole
+British Army; and I decline your invitation."
+
+She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of an hour.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square, and
+was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and
+spacious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair,
+knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly
+disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian
+tracts, and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received
+Kitty with more than graciousness; for her ladyship, notwithstanding her
+crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are
+led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes--a "good
+heart."
+
+Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired genuinely
+the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the rescue of
+the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent member of the
+S.P.C.A.
+
+She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and proceeded to
+put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and, before tea was
+over, had obtained sufficient information respecting Kitty's life to
+convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her ladyship's
+benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty caught a glimpse
+of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladyship displayed in her
+favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who came in contact
+with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to recognise the
+presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the old lady with
+the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of tyranny.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her return
+home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that; but she
+can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation--I was going to say 'Thank
+goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to see some of
+your pictures some day."
+
+"Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true artist, had a
+loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art patron.
+
+The drawing for the _Long Acre Magazine_ being duly finished, Mr.
+Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.
+
+"I think I'm going to make a hit with this, Kitty," he said to his
+daughter one morning, as he was preparing for the arrival of his
+admirably punctual and singularly patient model. "You see, I've got a
+splendid young chap to stand for it. He's the real thing, instead of a
+coster dressed up in an officer's uniform. And he's a pleasant chap,
+too," he continued meditatively. "A modest, well-mannered young fellow:
+no swank or swagger; in fact, a gentleman. By the way, Kitty, you might
+remember that little fact, and not be quite so short and sharp with him
+when he speaks to you."
+
+"Oh, it won't hurt him," retorted Kitty, turning her back quickly. "From
+what I have seen of him, I should say that Captain Barnard would not be
+easily snubbed."
+
+"And you try pretty hard," remarked her father. "For instance, yesterday
+there was no occasion for you to tell him to shut up when he observed
+that it was a fine day."
+
+"All I said was that a model was much more effective when he kept his
+mouth closed," said Kitty.
+
+"That strikes me as being pretty much the same thing," said her father.
+"He looked quite crushed."
+
+"Do him good," murmured Kitty. "Besides, he can talk the hind leg off an
+army mule when he likes."
+
+"How do you know?" asked her parent, with mild surprise.
+
+"Oh, I'm only drawing inferences from--from his general appearance,"
+said Kitty, looking a trifle confused.
+
+"Going out to lunch again to-day?" demanded her father, repiningly, as,
+clad in outdoor things, she passed him in the passage a couple of hours
+later.
+
+"Sorry, dear; got a pressing engagement. Besides, you never eat
+anything. There! did it miss its nurse? Never mind! I'll be in all the
+evening." She scrunched up his face, gave him what she called her
+"screw" kiss, and departed to the A.B.C. shop.
+
+By this time, it must be confessed, the fortress besieged by Captain
+Barnard with such ingenuous strategy, but manly courage, had
+surrendered; and to-day the wounded soldier had brought a pretty but
+inexpensive ring with him.
+
+"It's all I can afford, dearest," he said, as he slipped it on the
+finger.
+
+"It's a perfect duck," she returned, touching the ring with her lips--a
+wicked and maddening thing to do; for you can't kiss a girl in an A.B.C.
+shop, however much in love with her you may be.
+
+"And to-morrow I'll tell your father. What--what do you think he'll say,
+darling?"
+
+"I know what he'll say, but I couldn't repeat it, because I've been
+properly brought up," replied Kitty.
+
+"But he won't refuse his consent, won't chuck me out?" cried her lover,
+aghast.
+
+"No; because, strange as it may seem, he's really fond of me. Oh, I
+don't deserve it; for he's the dearest dad that ever had a hussy and a
+minx for a daughter. No, he won't throw you out, at any rate until the
+picture's finished. And perhaps you'll be tired of me--I mean, I shall
+be tired of you--we shall be tired of each other, before that time."
+
+"I'll risk that," he said confidently, pressing her hand under the
+table.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That afternoon Kitty, in a state of perfect bliss, paid one of her
+frequent visits to Lady Hawborough, with whom she had now become great
+friends; in fact, the old lady had grown quite fond of the girl; and the
+extent of this affection was proved that afternoon to Kitty by an
+extraordinary mischance. The footman had shown her into a small
+ante-room, which Lady Hawborough called her "study"; the adjoining
+apartment was divided from that in which Kitty was waiting by a pair of
+folding doors, and, one of these being partly open, Kitty heard the
+rustling of dresses, followed by Lady Hawborough's clear and very
+distinct voice saying:
+
+"Must you go, dear? I'm so sorry, because I wanted you to see her. She's
+quite a nice girl--in fact, a really sweet little soul. Oh, yes, of
+course, I've plans for her," she continued, as if in response to a
+remark by the other lady. "I'm afraid she has not many opportunities;
+the father is a struggling artist and they don't move in society, of
+course. I'm thinking of--in fact, I've made up my mind to marry her to
+Archibald."
+
+"Lucky Archibald!" observed the other lady.
+
+"Yes; I think he will be," assented Lady Hawborough, with a complacency
+she always exhibited when disposing of the fate of those belonging to
+her. "He is a good boy, a little wild, perhaps, but really no harm in
+him; and it's time he was married. I'm a little anxious about him,
+because he's so--so impetuous, like all the Hawboroughs." Her ladyship's
+"dearest friend" could not have accused her of impetuosity; and Kitty
+could almost see the other lady smile. "He is the sort of boy who might
+fall in love with a barmaid or a ballet girl and marry her."
+
+"Then this young lady doesn't come within the category of undesirables?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no," said Lady Hawborough. "She's quite a lady and will suit
+Archibald very nicely. I am very pleased with him; he has been doing so
+well lately: quite distinguished himself; you've heard, of course? It
+was in the papers. I am going to look after him."
+
+Kitty had been listening with burning face and twitching lips. She had
+been so astonished as to be incapable of carrying out her desire to
+spring to the door and declare her presence, and escape from the
+position of an eavesdropper; but she recovered sufficiently to rise and
+confront Lady Hawborough as, on having said farewell to her visitor, she
+entered the room.
+
+"Why, my dear!" said her ladyship, almost embarrassed, "I didn't know
+that you were here: have you been waiting long?"
+
+"Long enough to hear what you said," replied Kitty bluntly, her face
+pale now, her eyes flashing. "I couldn't help listening. I'm sorry. Yet
+it's just as well, because, Lady Hawborough, I don't think you have any
+right to--to dispose of me in the way you intended doing.--I don't know
+who 'Archibald' is."
+
+"Archibald is my nephew," said Lady Hawborough stiffly; and when Lady
+Hawborough was stiff, the common or kitchen poker compared with her was
+a soft and flexible article. "My nephew and heir. He is a very good and
+brave young man."
+
+"He may be a saint for all I care," said Kitty; "but I don't want to
+marry him, and I won't. In fact, I'm----" She was going to say
+"engaged," but she was really too angry to confide in Lady Hawborough
+"--I'm resolved not to do so. I am afraid you will think me very
+ungrateful, and that--well, that this is the end of our friendship."
+
+"I think you are stating the situation very accurately," said Lady
+Hawborough, whose face was exceeding red.
+
+"I'm sorry," said Kitty, rather wistfully and sadly, her resentment
+waning; for the old lady had been very kind to her, and Kitty saw that
+even this absurd intention of hers sprang from a benevolent desire to
+benefit her protégée. "I want to thank you for all your goodness to me,
+and----Good-bye, Lady Hawborough."
+
+She held out her hand, but Lady Hawborough appeared not to see it, and
+Kitty got outside the "stately and desirable mansion" and hastened home
+to enjoy a good cry.
+
+When she made her appearance in the studio next morning, she found her
+father seated on his stool in an attitude of profound dismay, his long
+figure bowed, his rumpled hair clutched in his hands, his painting-brush
+between his teeth.
+
+On the dais stood the wounded soldier, his face flushed, an expression
+of keen discomfort all over him.
+
+"Here, look here, Kitty!" wailed her distracted parent. "Just listen to
+what this young man's been telling me? He says that you and he have got
+engaged! Heavens!"
+
+"Quite true, father," said Kitty calmly, but with a blush.
+
+"Oh, my goodness! And he tells me that he's poor, and has nothing to
+live on excepting his pay and a small allowance."
+
+"That's true also, I believe, father," said Kitty. "I'm sorry; but it
+can't be helped. You'll have to paint me as 'The Mendicant's Bride.'"
+
+"Don't joke about it, you foolish, abandoned girl!" groaned Mr. Thorold.
+
+"But you don't want me to cry about it, Dad dear," said Kitty, going to
+him, taking the brush from between his teeth, and putting her arm round
+his neck. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" she asked,
+addressing the discomfited young man.
+
+"Not a word," he returned. "Said all I've got to say. And look at the
+effect of it!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Yes," she retorted. "You've broken the heart of an affectionate and
+devoted parent. You're a wicked young man.--Oh, dad dear, do get up and
+go on with your work! You know as well as I do that you're not going to
+make us unhappy? Say, 'Bless you, my children!' like a good father, and
+let's all go up and mingle our tears over a lunch at the Floriani."
+
+"Ripping idea!" cried the infatuated lover, who would have said the same
+if Kitty had proposed they should lunch in the moon.
+
+"Oh, well," said Mr. Thorold, a trifle more cheerfully, and with a shrug
+of resignation. "But I shall not go unavenged. Young man, you do not
+know what lies before you. She will make a slave of you, as she has made
+a slave of me; this girl is a tyrant of the most outrageous kind. You
+will not possess a soul of your own; you will----"
+
+"Bravo, Dad!" interrupted Kitty. "But it will be quite time enough to
+give me away when we get to the church. There's your hat, on the bust
+there."
+
+"And now we'll go on the bust ourselves," said the young man joyously.
+"I say, how jolly it all is! Would you mind my kissing her, sir?"
+
+He was in the middle of the somewhat lengthy act, when the door opened,
+and Selinar-Ann announced in awe-stricken tones:
+
+"Lidy 'Awborough!" And her ladyship swept in.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+With his arm still round Kitty, her lover stared at the portly dame as
+if she were a gorgon. Kitty, with a stifled exclamation of astonishment,
+freed herself with difficulty from the young man's grasp, and, with
+blushing face, hastened to greet the august visitor, whom Mr. Thorold
+was regarding with an air of patient resignation.
+
+But Lady Hawborough put out one hand to keep Kitty back, and, fixing her
+lover with a stony stare, exclaimed sepulchrally:
+
+"Archibald!"
+
+There was a profound silence for a moment; then Kitty, staring in her
+turn at her lover, echoed the objectionable word; for it was a name she
+detested.
+
+"Archibald! His name's Harry!"
+
+"His name is _Archibald_," said Lady Hawborough sternly. "I ought to
+know; for he is my nephew."
+
+"Your nephew!" gasped Kitty.
+
+The young man, having recovered from a fright which no shrapnel built by
+Krupp could have caused him, now came forward with hand extended.
+
+"How are you, Aunt?--yes, it's my aunt, right enough. Didn't I tell you?
+Must have forgotten to mention it: ought to be ashamed of myself, for
+Aunt Philippa's been awfully good to me. Aunt, this young lady is----"
+
+"I know quite well enough who she is, Archibald," broke in Lady
+Hawborough severely. "What I want to know is--What does this mean?"
+
+"Oh, I see!" he stammered. "Oh, well, it means--of course, you saw when
+you came in? It means that Kitty here--Miss Thorold, allow me to
+introduce you to my aunt. Mr. Thorold, my aunt, Lady Hawborough. Aunt
+Philippa, Mr. Thorold: he is the father of this young lady, Kitty here,
+who has done me the very great honour of promising to marry me. Sounds
+impossible; but it's true!"
+
+Lady Hawborough stalked to the nearest chair and, with stately dignity
+seated herself on it, very much as a judge might take his place on the
+dreadful bench.
+
+"Girl," she said, in her deepest tones, "why have you tricked, deceived
+me?"
+
+Then, suddenly, as if influenced by a peculiar expression in Kitty's
+eyes, an expression which conveyed a kind of warning, her ladyship
+faltered, opened her lips once or twice, then said, in quite a different
+tone, indeed, almost meekly:
+
+"This--this is quite a surprise. You will forgive me if I am a little
+upset. I think I ought to have been prepared. However, as you young
+people have taken the matter into your own hands----"
+
+"Just what we have done, haven't we, Kitty?" exclaimed her lover, as if
+he were proclaiming the supernal wisdom of his relative.
+
+"--there is no more to be said," concluded Lady Hawborough rather
+lamely. "At least, I should like to have a word or two with Miss--Miss
+Thorold--I mean, Kitty----"
+
+"Outside, Eliza!" cried Harry, otherwise Archibald, joyously, as,
+catching the bewildered Mr. Thorold by the arm, he walked, almost
+danced, him out.
+
+Kitty did not wait for any question.
+
+"You see," she said, explaining the significance of her warning look,
+"it was just as well not to tell these foolish men everything. It might
+happen that if Harry--I mean Archibald--knew that you had meant to
+insist upon his marrying me--well, men get huffy so quickly, don't
+they?--he might refuse to do so now."
+
+"Well, he might, but I don't think it's very likely, my dear," said Lady
+Hawborough; and she patted the little hand that lay on her knee. "But I
+think you are right. We will not say anything about--yesterday. You're a
+clever little thing," she added, kissing her.
+
+"Can we come in?" demanded Harry, a few minutes later. "Aunt, we're all
+going up to the Floriani to get some lunch. Come with us, like a good
+soul!"
+
+"The--Flo--Floriani! _What_ is it?" asked her ladyship fearsomely.
+
+"It's a restaurant in Soho, where you get a thorough blow-out--I mean a
+Continental lunch--for one-and-nine," her nephew informed her. "Come on,
+Aunt Philippa!"
+
+Lady Hawborough shuddered. "I should be delighted, Archibald dear,
+but--but I think you'd better all go round to Belgrave Square with me.
+It--it would be safer."
+
+It was after lunch, when the two young and silly lovers were in the very
+ante-room where Kitty had overheard Lady Hawborough's fell designs, that
+Kitty, holding his head back from her for a moment, asked:
+
+"But why does she call you Archibald?"
+
+"Because it's my name, or one of 'em," he replied. "Harry Archibald
+Stephen Fitzwilliam----"
+
+"Oh, stop, stop! I shall feel as if I were marrying half a dozen men.
+But you haven't told me _why_ she calls you Archibald; and has thus
+caused all this confusion!"
+
+"Oh, because a lawyer chap who bolted with a lot of her money was called
+Henry; and, moreover, a bishop we've got in the family, and a chap my
+aunt's very proud of, is called Archibald."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"She'll have to drop that name, Harry," said Kitty firmly. "I can't bear
+it. Do you think she will?"
+
+"I'm perfectly certain she will, if you've made up your mind she shall,"
+he returned, with an air of profound conviction; "for it's plain to me
+you've captured the aunt as well as the nephew. Yes, it's a fair cop."
+"She's a dear," murmured Kitty, very close to his ear.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[1] Copyright in Great Britain, the Colonies, and the United States of
+America by Charles Garvice, 1914. Dramatic and other rights reserved.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND
+
+BY LADY SYBIL GRANT
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.
+
+
+I.--LET'SPRETEND
+
+    THIS country is not on the map,
+    But sometimes, curled on Mother's lap,
+    Or sitting in my bedtime bath,
+    I wish that I could find the path.
+
+    THERE no one's ever called a dunce,
+    And you eat jam and cake at once,
+    Or chocolate and lemon squash,
+    While nobody need ever wash.
+
+    MOTHERS have nothing else to do
+    Except to kiss and cuddle you;
+    And fathers need not "earn their bread,"
+    But stay and romp with you instead.
+
+    THERE are no girls: just men and boys
+    And mothers; _all_ the shops sell toys;
+    Just _every one_ plays Hide and Seek,
+    And Christmas happens twice a week.
+
+    WHILE everybody has a car,
+    Also a yacht, like Grandpapa,
+    And lives in wigwams, tents, or huts,
+    And owns a knife that really cuts.
+
+    BUT some things you can never find,
+    However tired you make your mind;
+    Like other things you never know
+    For sure--if you try ever so.
+
+    JUST as: how God turns on the rain,
+    So nobody can quite explain
+    Exactly where the rainbows end.
+    And so it is with Let'spretend.
+
+    MY Father says that all his life
+    With my Mamma (who is his wife)
+    They've looked; and they are _very_ old.
+    My father's thirty, I've been told!
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "And they are _very_ old.
+    My father's thirty, I've been told!"]
+
+
+II.--SUPPOSING
+
+    SUPPOSING one had been
+      Shut up in Noah's Ark
+    (During the flood, I mean)--
+      It would have been a lark!
+
+    THE animals, you know,
+      Were not as they are now;
+    _Quite_ different long ago--
+      Just see this purple cow!
+
+    THE lion, it seems, was pink,
+      The bears and tigers too,
+    While zebras had, I _think_,
+      Most lovely stripes of blue.
+
+    BUT really, I forget,
+      For now the stripes are faint,
+    In my own Noah's Ark set
+      I once licked off the paint.
+
+    AT least, so I am told
+      (A stupid thing to do!
+    But I was not so old
+      Then--only half-past two).
+
+    NOAH'S sons--just look at Ham,
+      Japhet, of course, and Shem!
+    I think I really am
+      Glad I don't look like them!
+
+[Illustration: JAPHET
+
+    JUST LOOK
+    _at Ham_
+
+    OF COURSE
+
+    AND
+    _Shem_!]
+
+    THEY all stand on green rings
+      Of grass. Perhaps at night
+    The cows and sheep and things
+      Prowled round to steal a bite.
+
+    HORRID for Shem to feel
+      Tickling around his toes,
+    Hoping to snatch a meal,
+      Two hungry buffaloes!
+
+    BUT think what lovely pets
+      Noah had all for his own;
+    Each one in double sets,
+      And mostly quite unknown.
+
+    EVEN a tame baboon!--
+      See, he is painted red--
+    Would get to know you soon
+      And sleep upon your bed.
+
+    THE kangaroo that jumps,
+      Camels that learn to kneel
+    And let you ride their bumps,
+      Or follow you to heel.
+
+    THE pets that I keep now
+      Are guinea-pigs and such;
+    My parents won't allow
+      The ones I want so much.
+
+    A baby crocodile
+      Or _really_ tame giraffe,
+    I wonder why you smile;
+      They, too, say "no" and laugh.
+
+    [Illustration: NOAH]
+
+    I WOULD have loved it so
+      To travel in the Ark,
+    With all the Zoo, you know--
+      Except when it was dark
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "So nobody can quite explain
+    Exactly where the rainbows end."
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Arthur Rackham. R.W.S._]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "The animals, you know,
+    Were not as they are now"]
+
+
+III.--WHEN JIM IS QUITE GROWN UP
+
+    WHEN Jim is quite grown up,
+    And has a bulldog pup,
+    And sits up very late
+    _Always_ till half-past eight,
+    Then, when he is a man,
+    He means to marry Ann.
+
+    HER age is twenty-two,
+    But he _thinks_ she will do;
+    He has not told her yet,
+    Or she might be upset
+    At having got to wait
+    Until this distant date.
+
+    THE life that he will lead
+    Sounds very fine indeed:
+    Adventures, wounds, and fights,
+    And hunting raids of nights;
+    Murders and blug and fun
+    With sword and axe and gun.
+
+    AIRSHIPS and hydroplanes,
+    Mustangs and prairie flames!
+    Deserts and jungles vast,
+    And, when quite tired at last
+    With being on the roam,
+    Of course, he would come home.
+
+    AND, after miles of tramp,
+    Reel, wounded, into camp,
+    Bound with a handkerchief,
+    And munching bully-beef;
+    While Ann at the camp fire
+    Would listen and admire.
+
+    WHAT fun he will have, too!
+    Nothing he will not do.
+    He often says to me
+    (Excepting the V.C.)
+    Medals he would decline--
+    They are not in his line.
+
+    BUT he would soar to fame
+    And win a glorious name.
+    And Ann? How odd you are!
+    Why, just like his Mamma,
+    Would sit at home and sew,
+    Like women do, you know.
+
+[Illustration: NOT IN HIS LINE
+
+
+
+
+
+MAGEPA THE BUCK
+
+BY H. RIDER HAGGARD
+
+_Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by H. Rider Haggard_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+IN a preface to the story of the early life of the late Allan
+Quatermain, known in Africa as Macumazahn, which has recently been
+published under the name of "Marie," Mr. Curtis, the brother of Sir
+Henry Curtis, tells of how he found a number of manuscripts that were
+left by Mr. Quatermain in his house in Yorkshire. Of these "Marie" was
+one, but in addition to it and sundry other completed stories, I, the
+Editor to whom it was directed that these manuscripts should be handed
+for publication, have found a quantity of unclassified notes and papers.
+
+One of these notes--it is contained in a book, much soiled and worn,
+that evidently its owner had carried about with him for years--reminds
+me of a conversation I had with Mr. Quatermain long ago when I was his
+guest in Yorkshire. The note itself is short; I think that he must have
+jotted it down within an hour or two of the event to which it refers. It
+runs thus:
+
+"I wonder whether in the 'Land Beyond' any recognition is granted for
+acts of great courage and unselfish devotion--a kind of spiritual
+Victoria Cross. If so I think it ought to be accorded to that poor old
+savage, Magepa, at least it would be if I had any voice in the matter.
+Upon my word he has made me feel proud of humanity. And yet he was
+nothing but a 'nigger,' as so many call the Kaffirs."
+
+For a while I, the Editor, wondered to what this entry could allude.
+Then of a sudden it all came back to me. I saw myself, as a young man,
+seated in the hall of Quatermain's house one evening after dinner. With
+me were Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. We were smoking, and the
+conversation had turned upon deeds of heroism. Each of us detailed such
+acts as he could remember which had made the most impression on him.
+When we had finished, old Allan said:
+
+"With your leave I'll tell you a story of what I think was one of the
+bravest things I ever saw. It happened at the beginning of the Zulu war,
+when the troops were marching into Zululand. Now at that time, as you
+know, I was turning an honest penny transport-riding for Government, or
+rather for the military authorities. I hired them three wagons with the
+necessary voorloopers and drivers, sixteen good salted oxen to each
+wagon, and myself in charge of the lot. They paid me--well, never mind
+how much--I am rather ashamed to mention the amount. I asked a good
+price for my wagons, or rather for the hire of them, of a very well
+satisfied young gentleman in uniform who had been exactly three weeks in
+the country, and, to my surprise, got it. But when I went to those in
+command and warned them what would happen if they persisted in their way
+of advance, then in their pride they would not listen to the old hunter
+and transport-rider, but politely bowed me out. If they had, there would
+have been no Isandhlwana disaster."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He brooded awhile, for, as I knew, this was a sore subject with him, one
+of which he would rarely talk. Although he escaped himself, Quatermain
+had lost friends on that fatal field. He went on:
+
+To return to old Magepa. I had known him for many years. The first time
+we met was in the battle of the Tugela. I was fighting for the king's
+son, Umbelazi the Handsome, in the ranks of the Amawombe regiment--I
+mean to write all that story, for it should not be lost.[2] Well, as I
+have told you before, the Amawombe were wiped out; of the three thousand
+or so of them I think only about fifty remained alive after they had
+annihilated the three of Cetewayo's regiments that set upon them. But
+Magepa was one who survived.
+
+I met him afterwards at old King Panda's kraal and recognised him as
+having fought by my side. Whilst I was talking with him the Prince
+Cetewayo came by; to me he was civil enough, for he knew how I chanced
+to be in the battle, but he glared at Magepa, and said:
+
+"Why, Macumazahn, is not this man one of the dogs with which you tried
+to bite me by the Tugela not long ago? He must be a cunning dog also,
+one who can run fast, for how comes it that he lives to snarl when so
+many will never bark again? _Ow!_ if I had my way I would find a strip
+of hide to fit his neck."
+
+"Not so," I answered; "he has the king's peace and he is a brave
+man--braver than I am, anyway, Prince, seeing that I ran from the ranks
+of the Amawombe, while he stood where he was."
+
+"You mean that your horse ran, Macumazahn. Well, since you like this
+dog, I will not hurt him"; and with a shrug he went his way.
+
+"Yet soon or late he will hurt me," said Magepa, when the Prince had
+gone. "U'Cetewayo has a memory long as the shadow thrown by a tree at
+sunset. Moreover, as he knows well, it is true that I ran, Macumazahn,
+though not till all was finished and I could do no more by standing
+still. You remember how, after we had eaten up the first of Cetewayo's
+regiments, the second charged us and we ate that up also. Well, in that
+fight I got a tap on the head from a kerry. It struck me on my man's
+ring which I had just put on, for I think I was the youngest soldier in
+that regiment of veterans. The ring saved me; still, for a while I lost
+my mind and lay like one dead. When I found it again the fight was over
+and Cetewayo's people were searching for our wounded that they might
+kill them. Presently they found me and saw that there was no hurt on me.
+
+"'Here is one who shams dead like a stink-cat,' said a big fellow,
+lifting his spear.
+
+"Then it was that I sprang up and ran, I who was but just married and
+desired to live. He struck at me, but I jumped over the spear, and the
+others that they threw missed me. Then they began to hunt me, but,
+Macumazahn, I, who am named 'The Buck' because I am swifter of foot than
+any man in Zululand, outpaced them all and got away safe."
+
+"Well done, Magepa," I said. "Still, remember the saying of your people,
+'At last the strong swimmer goes with the stream and the swift runner is
+run down.'"
+
+"I know it, Macumazahn," he answered, with a nod, "and perhaps in a day
+to come I shall know it better."
+
+I took little heed of his words at the time, but more than thirty years
+afterwards I remembered them.
+
+Such was my first acquaintance with Magepa. Now, friends, I will tell
+you how it was renewed at the time of the Zulu war.
+
+As you know, I was attached to the centre column that advanced into
+Zululand by Rorke's Drift on the Buffalo River. Before war was declared,
+or at any rate before the advance began, while it might have been and
+many thought it would be averted, I was employed transport-riding goods
+to the little Rorke's Drift station, that which became so famous
+afterwards, and incidentally in collecting what information I could of
+Cetewayo's intentions. Hearing that there was a kraal a mile or so the
+other side of the river, of which the people were said to be very
+friendly to the English, I determined to visit it. You may think this
+was rash, but I was so well known in Zululand, where for many years, by
+special leave of the king, I was allowed to go whither I would quite
+unmolested, that I felt no fear for myself so long as I went alone.
+
+Accordingly one evening I crossed the drift and headed for a kloof in
+which I was told the kraal stood. Ten minutes' ride brought me in sight
+of it. It was not a large kraal; there may have been six or eight huts
+and a cattle enclosure surrounded by the usual fence. The situation,
+however, was very pretty, a knoll of rising ground backed by the wooded
+slopes of the kloof. As I approached I saw women and children running to
+the kraal to hide, and when I reached the gateway for some time no one
+would come out to meet me. At length a small boy appeared who informed
+me that the kraal was "empty as a gourd."
+
+"Quite so," I answered; "still, go and tell the headman that Macumazahn
+wishes to speak with him."
+
+The boy departed, and presently I saw a face that seemed familiar to me
+peeping round the gateway. After a careful inspection its owner emerged.
+
+He was a tall, thin man of indefinite age, perhaps between sixty and
+seventy, with a finely-cut face, a little grey beard, kind eyes and very
+well shaped hands and feet, the fingers, which twitched incessantly,
+being remarkably long.
+
+"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said. "I see you do not remember me. Well,
+think of the battle of the Tugela, and of the last stand of the
+Amawombe, and of a certain talk at the kraal of our Father-who-is-dead"
+(that is, King Panda), "and of how he who sits in his place" (he meant
+Cetewayo) "told you that if he had his way he would find a hide rope to
+fit the neck of a certain one."
+
+"Ah!" I said, "I know you now; you are Magepa the Buck. So the Runner
+has not yet been run down."
+
+"No, Macumazahn, not yet; but there is still time. I think that many
+swift feet will be at work ere long."
+
+"How have you prospered?" I asked him.
+
+"Well enough, Macumazahn, in all ways except one. I have three wives,
+but my children have been few and are dead, except one daughter, who is
+married and lives with me, for her husband, too, is dead. He was killed
+by a buffalo, and she has not yet married again. But enter and see."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+So I went in and saw Magepa's wives, old women all of them. Also, at his
+bidding, his daughter, whose name was Gita, brought me some _maas_, or
+curdled milk, to drink. She was a well-formed woman, very like her
+father, but sad-faced, perhaps with a prescience of evil to come.
+Clinging to her finger was a beautiful boy of something under two years
+of age, who, when he saw Magepa, ran to him and threw his little arms
+about his legs. The old man lifted the child and kissed him tenderly,
+saying:
+
+"It is well that this toddler and I should love one another, Macumazahn,
+seeing that he is the last of my race. All the other children here are
+those of the people who have come to live in my shadow."
+
+"Where are their fathers?" I asked, patting the little boy (who, his
+mother told me, was named Sinala) upon the cheek, an attention that he
+resented.
+
+"They have been called away on duty," answered Magepa shortly; and I
+changed the subject.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then we began to talk about old times, and I asked him if he had any
+oxen to sell, saying that this was my reason for visiting his kraal.
+
+"Nay, Macumazahn," he answered, in a meaning voice. "This year all the
+cattle are the king's."
+
+I nodded and replied that, as it was so, I had better be going; whereon,
+as I half expected, Magepa announced that he would see me safe to the
+drift. So I bade farewell to the wives and the widowed daughter, and we
+started.
+
+As soon as we were clear of the kraal Magepa began to open his heart to
+me.
+
+"Macumazahn," he said, looking up at me earnestly, for I was mounted and
+he walked beside my horse, "there is to be war. Cetewayo will not
+consent to the demands of the great White Chief from the Cape"--he meant
+Sir Bartle Frere. "He will fight with the English; only he will let them
+begin the fighting. He will draw them on into Zululand and then
+overwhelm them with his _impis_ and stamp them flat, and eat them up;
+and I, who love the English, am very sorry. Yes, it makes my heart
+bleed. If it were the Boers now, I should be glad, for we Zulus hate the
+Boers; but the English we do not hate; even Cetewayo likes them; still
+he will eat them up if they attack him."
+
+"Indeed," I answered; and then, as in duty bound, I proceeded to get
+what I could out of him, and that was not a little. Of course, however,
+I did not swallow it all, since I suspected that Magepa was feeding me
+with news that he had been ordered to disseminate.
+
+Presently we came to the mouth of the kloof in which the kraal stood,
+and here, for greater convenience of conversation, we halted, for I
+thought it as well that we should not be seen in close talk on the open
+plain beyond. The path here, I should add, ran past a clump of green
+bushes; I remember they bore a white flower that smelt sweet, and were
+backed by some tall grass, elephant-grass I think it was, among which
+grew mimosa trees.
+
+"Magepa," I said, "if in truth there is to be fighting, why don't you
+move over the river one night with your people and cattle, and get into
+Natal?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I would if I could, Macumazahn, who have no stomach for this war
+against the English. But there I should not be safe, since presently the
+king will come into Natal too, or send thirty thousand assegais as his
+messengers. Then what will happen to those who have left him?"
+
+"Oh, if you think that," I answered, "you had better stay where you
+are."
+
+"Also, Macumazahn, the husbands of those women at my kraal have been
+called up to their regiments, and if their wives fled to the English
+they would be killed. Again, the king has sent for nearly all our
+cattle, 'to keep it safe.' He fears lest we Border Zulus might join our
+people in Natal, and that is why he is keeping our cattle 'safe.'"
+
+"Life is more than cattle, Magepa. At least you might come."
+
+"What! And leave my people to be killed? Macumazahn, you did not use to
+talk so. Still, hearken. Macumazahn, will you do me a service? I will
+pay you well for it. I would get my daughter Gita and my little grandson
+Sinala into safety. If I and my wives are wiped out it does not matter,
+for we are old. But her I would save, and the boy I would save, so that
+one may live who will remember my name. Now, if I were to send them
+across the drift, say at the dawn, not to-morrow, and not the next day,
+but the day after, would you receive them into your wagon and deliver
+them safe to some place in Natal? I have money hidden, fifty pieces of
+gold, and you may take half of these and also half of the cattle if ever
+I live to get them back out of the keeping of the king."
+
+"Never mind about the money, and we will speak of the cattle
+afterwards," I said. "I understand that you wish to send your daughter
+and your little grandson out of danger, and I think you wise, very wise.
+When once the advance begins, if there is an advance, who knows what may
+happen? War is a rough game, Magepa. It is not the custom of you black
+people to spare women and children, and there will be Zulus fighting on
+our side as well as on yours; do you understand?"
+
+"_Ow!_ I understand, Macumazahn. I have known the face of war and seen
+many a little one like my grandson Sinala assegaied upon his mother's
+back."
+
+"Very good. But if I do this for you, you must do something for me. Say,
+Magepa, does Cetewayo _really_ mean to fight, and if so, how? Oh yes, I
+know all you have been telling me, but I want not words, but truth from
+the heart."
+
+"You ask secrets," said the old fellow, peering about him into the
+gathering gloom. "Still, 'a spear for a spear and a shield for a
+shield,' as our saying runs. I have spoken no lie. The king _does_ mean
+to fight, not because he wants to, but because the regiments swear that
+they will wash their assegais, they who have never seen blood since that
+battle of the Tugela in which we two played a part; and if he will not
+suffer it, well, there are more of his race! Also he means to fight
+thus," and he gave me some very useful information; that is, information
+which would have been useful if those in authority had deigned to pay
+any attention to it when I passed it on.
+
+Just as he finished speaking I thought that I heard a sound in the dense
+green bush behind us. It reminded me of the noise a man makes when he
+tries to stifle a cough, and frightened me. For if we had been overheard
+by a spy, Magepa was as good as dead, and the sooner I was across the
+river the better.
+
+"What's that?" I asked.
+
+"A bush buck, Macumazahn. There are lots of them about here."
+
+Not being satisfied, though it is true that buck do cough like this, I
+turned my horse to the bush, seeking an opening. Thereon something
+crashed away and vanished into the long grass. In those shadows, of
+course, I could not see what it was, but such light as remained glinted
+on what might have been the polished tip of the horn of an antelope
+or--an assegai.
+
+"I told you it was a buck, Macumazahn," said Magepa. "Still, if you
+smell danger, let us come away from the bush, though the orders are that
+no white man is to be touched as yet."
+
+Then, while we walked on towards the ford, he set out with great detail,
+as Kaffirs do, the exact arrangements that he proposed to make for the
+handing over of his daughter and her child into my care. I remember that
+I asked him why he would not send her on the following morning, instead
+of two mornings later. He answered because he expected an outpost of
+scouts from one of the regiments at his kraal that night, who would
+probably remain there over the morrow and perhaps longer. While they
+were in the place it would be difficult for him to send away Gita and
+her son without exciting suspicion.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Near the drift we parted, and I returned to our provisional camp and
+wrote a beautiful report of all that I had learned, of which report, I
+may add, no one took the slightest notice.
+
+I think it was the morning before that whereon I had arranged to meet
+Gita and the little boy at the drift that just about dawn I went down to
+the river for a wash. Having taken my dip I climbed on to a flat rock to
+dress myself, and looked at the billows of beautiful, pearly mist which
+hid the face of the water, and considered--I almost said listened
+to--the great silence, for as yet no live thing was stirring.
+
+Ah! if I had known of the hideous sights and sounds that were destined
+to be heard ere long in this same haunt of perfect peace! Indeed, at
+that moment there came a kind of hint or premonition of them, since
+suddenly through the utter quiet broke the blood-curdling wail of a
+woman. It was followed by other wails and shouts, distant and yet
+distinct. Then the silence fell again.
+
+Now, thought I to myself, that noise might very well have come from old
+Magepa's kraal; luckily, however, sounds are deceptive in mist.
+
+Well, the end of it was that I waited there till the sun rose. The first
+thing on which its bright beams struck was a mighty column of smoke
+rising to heaven from where Magepa's kraal had stood!
+
+I went back to my wagons very sad, so sad that I could scarcely eat my
+breakfast. While I walked I wondered hard whether the light had glinted
+upon the tip of a buck's horn in that patch of green bush with the
+sweet-smelling white flowers a night or two ago. Or had it perchance
+fallen upon the point of the assegai of some spy who was watching my
+movements! In that event yonder column of smoke and the horrible cries
+which preceded it were easy to explain. For had not Magepa and I talked
+secrets together, and in Zulu.
+
+On the following morning at the dawn I attended at the drift in the
+faint hope that Gita and her boy might arrive there as arranged. But
+nobody came, which was not wonderful, seeing that Gita lay dead, stabbed
+through and through, as I saw afterwards (she made a good fight for the
+child), and that her spirit had gone to wherever go the souls of the
+brave-hearted, be they white or black. Only on the farther bank of the
+river I saw some Zulu scouts who seemed to know my errand, for they
+called to me, asking mockingly where was the pretty woman I had come to
+meet?
+
+After that I tried to put the matter out of my head, which indeed was
+full enough of other things, since now definite orders had arrived as to
+the advance, and with these many troops and officers.
+
+[Illustration: "Then he lifted himself upon one arm, and with the other
+saluted"]
+
+It was just then that the Zulus began to fire across the river at such
+of our people as they saw upon the bank. At these they took aim, and, as
+a result, hit nobody. A raw Kaffir with a rifle, in my experience, is
+only dangerous when he aims at nothing, for then the bullet looks after
+itself, and may catch you. To put a stop to this nuisance a regiment of
+the friendly natives--there may have been several hundred of them--was
+directed to cross the river and clear the kloofs and rocks of the Zulu
+skirmishers who were hidden among them. I watched them go off in fine
+style.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Towards evening some one told me that our _impi_, as he grandiloquently
+called it, was returning victorious. Having at the moment nothing else
+to do, I walked down to the river at a point where the water was deep
+and the banks were high. Here I climbed to the top of a pile of
+boulders, whence with my field-glasses I could sweep a great extent of
+plain which stretched away on the Zululand side till at length it merged
+into hills and bush.
+
+Presently I saw some of our natives marching homewards in a scattered
+and disorganised fashion, but evidently very proud of themselves, for
+they were waving their assegais and singing scraps of war-songs. A few
+minutes later, a mile or more away, I caught sight of a man running.
+
+Watching him through the glasses I noted three things: first, that he
+was tall; secondly, that he ran with extraordinary swiftness; and,
+thirdly, that he had something tied upon his back. It was evident,
+further, that he had good reason to run, since he was being hunted by a
+number of our Kaffirs, of whom more and more continually joined in the
+chase. From every side they poured down upon him, trying to cut him off
+and kill him, for as they got nearer I could see the assegais which they
+threw at him flash in the sunlight.
+
+Very soon I understood that the man was running with a definite object
+and to a definite point; he was trying to reach the river. I thought the
+sight very pitiful, this one poor creature being hunted to death by so
+many. Also I wondered why he did not free himself from the bundle on his
+back, and came to the conclusion that he must be a witch-doctor, and
+that the bundle contained his precious charms or medicines.
+
+This was while he was yet a long way off, but when he came nearer,
+within three or four hundred yards, of a sudden I caught the outline of
+his face against a good background, and knew it for that of Magepa.
+
+"My God!" I said to myself, "it is old Magepa the Buck, and the bundle
+in the mat will be his grandson, Sinala!"
+
+Yes, even then I felt certain that he was carrying the child upon his
+back.
+
+What was I to do? It was impossible for me to cross the river at that
+place, and long before I could get round by the ford all would be
+finished. I stood up on my rock and shouted to those brutes of Kaffirs
+to let the man alone. They were so excited that they did not hear my
+words; at least, they swore afterwards that they thought I was
+encouraging them to hunt him down.
+
+But Magepa heard me. At that moment he seemed to be failing, but the
+sight of me appeared to give him fresh strength. He gathered himself
+together and leapt forward at a really surprising speed. Now the river
+was not more than three hundred yards away from him, and for the first
+two hundred of these he quite outdistanced his pursuers, although they
+were most of them young men and comparatively fresh. Then once more his
+strength began to fail.
+
+Watching through the glasses I could see that his mouth was wide open,
+and that there was red foam upon his lips. The burden on his back was
+dragging him down. Once he lifted his hands as though to loose it; then
+with a wild gesture let them fall again.
+
+Two of the pursuers who had outpaced the others crept up to him--lank,
+lean men of not more than thirty years of age. They had stabbing spears
+in their hands, such as are used at close quarters, and these of course
+they did not throw. One of them gained a little on the other.
+
+Now Magepa was not more than fifty yards from the bank, with the first
+hunter about ten paces behind him and coming up rapidly. Magepa glanced
+over his shoulder and saw, then put out his last strength. For forty
+yards he went like an arrow, running straight away from his pursuers,
+until he was within a few feet of the bank, when he stumbled and fell.
+
+"He's done," I said, and, upon my word, if I had a rifle in my hand I
+think I would have stopped one or both of those bloodhounds and taken
+the consequences.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But, no! Just as the first man lifted his broad spear to stab him
+through the back on which the bundle lay, Magepa leapt up and wheeled
+round to take the thrust in his chest. Evidently he did not wish to be
+speared in the back--for a certain reason. He took it sure enough, for
+the assegai was wrenched out of the hand of the striker. Still, as he
+was reeling backwards, it did not go through Magepa, or perhaps it hit a
+bone. He drew out the spear and threw it at the man, wounding him. Then
+he staggered on, back and back, to the edge of the little cliff.
+
+It was reached at last. With a cry of "Help me, Macumazahn!" Magepa
+turned, and before the other man could spear him, leapt straight into
+deep water. He rose. Yes, the brave old fellow rose and struck out for
+the other bank, leaving a little line of red behind him.
+
+I rushed, or rather sprang and rolled down to the edge of the stream, to
+where a point of shingle ran out into the water. Along this I clambered,
+and beyond it up to my middle. Now Magepa was being swept past me. I
+caught his outstretched hand and pulled him ashore.
+
+"The boy!" he gasped; "the boy! Is he dead?"
+
+I severed the lashings of the mat that had cut right into the old
+fellow's shoulders. Inside of it was little Sinala, spluttering out
+water, but very evidently alive and unhurt, for presently he set up a
+yell.
+
+"No," I said, "he lives, and will live."
+
+"Then all is well, Macumazahn." (_A pause._) "It _was_ a spy in the
+bush, not a buck. He overheard our talk. The king's slayers came. Gita
+held the door of the hut while I took the child, cut a hole through the
+straw with my assegai, and crept out at the back. She was full of spears
+before she died, but I got away with the boy. Till your Kaffirs found me
+I lay hid in the bush, hoping to escape to Natal. Then I ran for the
+river, and saw you on the further bank. _I_ might have got away, but
+that child is heavy." (_A pause._) "Give him food, Macumazahn, he must
+be hungry," (_A pause._) "Farewell. That was a good saying of yours--the
+swift runner is outrun at last. Ah! yet I did not run in vain."
+(_Another pause, the last._) Then he lifted himself upon one arm and
+with the other saluted, first the boy Sinala and next me, muttering,
+"Remember your promise, Macumazahn."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"That is how Magepa the Buck died. I never saw any one carrying weight
+who could run quite so well as he," and Quatermain turned his head away
+as though the memory of this incident affected him somewhat.
+
+"What became of the child Sinala?" I asked presently.
+
+"Oh, I sent him to an institution in Natal, and afterwards was able to
+get some of his property back for him. I believe that he is being
+trained as an interpreter."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[2] For this story see the book named "Child of Storm," by H. Rider
+Haggard.
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TRUE SPARTAN HEARTS
+
+BY
+
+BEATRICE HARRADEN
+
+_Painting and Decorations by_ EDMUND DULAC
+
+
+IN times of war the Spartan women used to say to their husbands and
+sons, "Return with your shield, or on it," meaning that they must either
+conquer or die. There was no affection or indulgence shown towards the
+warriors who survived a defeat; for loyalty to the State was thought of
+more account than personal loss, and he who had not died striking his
+last blow for Sparta, was deemed unworthy of remembrance, and could
+expect no mercy from those who had loved him and sent him to the
+battlefield "to conquer or die."
+
+So this was how the Spartans felt about their warriors; and you can
+imagine their indignation as well as their dismay when, in the year 371
+B.C., news reached Sparta that their army had been defeated at the
+battle of Leuctra by the Boeotians, a rival Grecian State, and that
+three hundred men had saved their lives in flight. The news was brought
+at the moment when some great festival was being celebrated in the city.
+The _Ephors_ commanded the names of the slain to be made known to their
+relatives, and the women were forbidden to mourn. But the mother of
+Eucrates could not at first hide her grief, and her neighbours said
+among themselves:
+
+"Why should she be sorrowful? Her son has died bravely. If he had
+disgraced himself by flight, then only would she have the right to
+mourn."
+
+The old man Phidon came in to see her, and found her spinning, busily
+engaged at her work, it is true, but with tears in her saddened eyes. He
+was a very stern old man, a Spartan every inch of him, and he spoke
+harshly to poor Ione.
+
+"Ione," he said, "not one single tear should course down your cheeks,
+not one single pang of grief should assail your heart. I it is who
+should weep. I it is who should mourn. For Callias, my grandson, is not
+amongst the slain. Unlike your brave son Eucrates, my Callias has not
+died at his post of duty. He lives, and by living he has brought
+dishonour and shame on his family. How can I meet him? What can I say to
+him? Nay, I will not look upon his face. I will not vouchsafe one word
+of greeting to him. His father was the glory of my life, but he is the
+soul of its shame. The gods have been cruel to me in my old age; but
+they have been merciful to you, Ione. For your son, death with honour.
+For my Callias, life with dishonour. His father won the crown of wild
+olive in the Olympic games, and earned the right of fighting by the
+king's side, and died there; and I was proud of him. But woe is me that
+I cannot be proud of Callias."
+
+And, Spartan mother as she truly was, Ione knew well that here was a
+grief far greater than her own loss of her beloved son. She brushed her
+last tear aside, and tried to comfort old Phidon, whom she had known all
+her life. Her son Eucrates and this very Callias had been friends
+together ever since they were children; and in the days gone by, Phidon
+and Ione's father had fought side by side for Sparta.
+
+"May be, Phidon," she said, "the gods have spared Callias and his
+comrades, so that they may yet serve Sparta, and help her to triumph
+over her enemies."
+
+But he shook his head, and would hear no word of comfort, though, as the
+days went by, it seemed to ease his stern spirit to sit beside her, and
+watch her at her work. And then she would speak to him of Callias, and
+urge him not to be over hard on the lad when he returned.
+
+"You must pardon him, Phidon," she said. "Perchance he will live to do
+great things for Sparta."
+
+But the old man said proudly: "Nay, Ione, never a word will I speak to
+Callias again."
+
+And it was in vain that Ione pleaded for the friend of Eucrates, always
+imploring the old man to believe that the gods in their wisdom had
+preserved Callias for some splendid act of service and sacrifice yet to
+come.
+
+Full of these thoughts, and haunted by Phidon's unyielding severity, she
+had a strange dream one night. She dreamed that King Agesilaus was
+willing to pardon all those three hundred soldiers who had fled from the
+field of Leuctra; but that Phidon interposed, and standing in the Public
+Assembly, gave his vote against the pardon.
+
+"My own grandson is one of the survivors," he cried. "Sparta may pardon
+him, but _I_ never will."
+
+[Illustration: True Spartan Hearts
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Edmund Dulac_]
+
+The next day she told her dream to Phidon, and described to him how with
+her mind's eye she had seen Callias standing lonely and forsaken, the
+only one of the three hundred survivors who had been spurned and
+unforgiven. His loneliness stabbed her to her heart, more even than the
+loss of her son; and because there was no one else, she had been
+impelled to stand by his side, to greet him, to encourage him, to
+reassure him. And just as he lifted his head, bowed in grief and shame,
+she awoke. When Phidon had heard her dream-story, his stern heart was
+softened.
+
+"I will not turn from Callias," he said. "It may be that you are right,
+Ione. It may be that the gods will yet give him some great and glorious
+chance. I will steel my heart to receive him."
+
+So Ione triumphed at last. And truly her dream would seem to have been
+some kind of divination, for, two or three days afterwards, a decree was
+proposed by the king, and passed in the Assembly, to the effect that all
+those who had fled from the field of Leuctra were to be pardoned and
+received home without dishonour.
+
+Ordinarily all survivors of a defeat were subject to penalties of civil
+offence, and so this was quite an unusual proceeding; but no doubt it
+was thought dangerous to take stern measures against such a large number
+of Spartan citizens. Well, whatever the reason was, there were many glad
+hearts in Sparta that day, and old Phidon himself owned in secret to
+Ione that he longed to see Callias once more.
+
+"For I must needs forgive him wholeheartedly," he said, "since Sparta
+has forgiven him; but with my last breath I would tell you and all the
+world that I would far, far rather he had fallen by the side of the
+brave Eucrates. That would have been my glory."
+
+As soon as news had come of the defeat of the Spartan army, the whole
+remaining military force of Sparta was sent to the rescue, and after
+some time returned to Sparta, bringing back the survivors from the
+disastrous field of Leuctra.
+
+Then Spartan hearts were softened, and mothers, wives, and sisters stood
+waiting to greet those whom the gods had spared for further service. But
+Ione sat at home spinning. There were no tears in her eyes now, and her
+countenance was lit up by a calm pride. She had learnt to be glad that
+she had no one to meet that day.
+
+Suddenly the door opened, and Phidon came in. His manner was strangely
+excited.
+
+"Callias is not amongst us," he cried. "I have asked for him, and no one
+knows. Could there have been some mistake, I wonder? Is it possible
+that----"
+
+At that moment there came a loud knock at the door, and Ione opened it
+to Timotheus, a neighbour's son.
+
+"Greetings to the mother of Eucrates," he said, as he stood before Ione.
+"I am from Leuctra. I saw Eucrates fighting in the thickest of the fray.
+I saw him fall; and there fell another by his side, fighting as
+gallantly as he--his comrade in death as well as in life."
+
+"And who was it that died with my brave son?" asked Ione, whose hands
+were pressed together deep into her breast, and whose face was ashen,
+though tearless.
+
+"It was Callias," answered the young man. "Farewell, honoured mother of
+Eucrates. I must go and seek Phidon to tell him."
+
+But Phidon rose to his full height, and there was a smile of triumph on
+his face and a new life in his bearing.
+
+"Phidon has heard the news," he said, "and he thanks the gods for this
+crowning mercy. For though in his inmost heart he would fain have seen
+the face of his grandson once more, there was something dearer to him
+than the face of Callias--it was the honour of Callias."
+
+Then, turning to Ione, he said: "Now we can think of them together, and
+share our pride in them, Ione."
+
+For one fleeting moment Ione saw a vision of her young, fair son falling
+before the foe, but her voice never faltered as she said: "Yes, we can
+share our pride in them."
+
+That was the true Spartan tribute to the heroes of Leuctra.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You see, the Spartans would not admit of despair in their lives; they
+believed that while there was yet strength in the body, there must needs
+be hope in the heart that the victory would be won. And so it was the
+duty of a true Spartan to fight and conquer and live, or to die,
+striving to conquer to the very last, with no thought of any possibility
+of failure.
+
+What do you think about this grand old Spartan code of honour? Do you
+not think that we ourselves, each in our own way, young and old, man and
+woman, boy and girl, may find something helpful in it to bring to the
+service of our country?
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BIG STEAMERS
+
+BY RUDYARD KIPLING
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.
+
+
+    "OH, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers,
+      With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?"
+    "We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter,
+      Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese."
+
+    "And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers,
+      And where shall I write you when you are away?"
+    "We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver,
+      Address us at Hobart, Hong-kong, and Bombay."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    "But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers,
+      And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?"
+    "Why, you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast,
+      And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea."
+
+    "Then I'll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers,
+      For little blue billows and breezes so soft."
+    "Oh, billows and breezes don't bother Big Steamers,
+      For we're iron below and steel-rigging aloft."
+
+    "Then I'll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers,
+      With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through."
+    "Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ball-room already,
+      And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe."
+
+    "Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers,
+      Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?"
+    "Send out your big warships to watch your big waters,
+      That no one may stop us from bringing you food.
+
+    "_For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble,
+      The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve,
+    They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers,
+      And if any one hinders our coming you'll starve!_"
+
+    Copyright in the U.S.A. by Rudyard Kipling.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Big Steamers
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Norman Wilkinson, R.I._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A TRUE STORY FROM CAMP
+
+BY THE BISHOP OF LONDON
+
+_Drawings by_ JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.
+
+
+YOU boys and girls must picture a huge common, and four groups of
+khaki-clad soldiers standing at attention in different parts of it. They
+are about to be reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Home Forces.
+
+The men had given up a great deal to come and join the Territorial
+Forces, but it had not yet thoroughly dawned on them any more than on
+the rest of England, how great was the crisis, and none of the
+battalions had come out in sufficient strength to be sent out on foreign
+service.
+
+The inspection by the great General took a long time, and when the order
+came for rank after rank to lie down, they did so with obvious relief.
+At last the inspection was over, and all the battalions were asked to
+converge on one point. At this point a waggon was placed, and all the
+five thousand men lay down round it, the Generals and their staffs lying
+behind it. It was a fine sight from the waggon to see those five
+thousand fine fellows lying there in the light of the setting sun, but
+was it possible to rouse them to see the country's urgent need?
+
+I began by painting the beauty and the glory of England, the loveliest
+place in the world, for you may go all over the world, children, and you
+will never find anything so glorious or welcome on your return as the
+white cliffs of Dover, and the railway run through the hop gardens of
+Kent.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But what touched them most was the thought of what England stood for in
+the life of the world. It always has been, and always will be, the _Home
+of Freedom_. Let a slave once reach a British man-of-war--he is free.
+Britannia's daughters are rallying to her now because she has given
+them _Freedom_, for they see that she is the champion in this war of
+the Freedom of the World against a universal Tyranny.
+
+Then I turned to what they themselves owed to England, their homes,
+their faith, their security to work, their happy friendships, and their
+love of wife, mother, and children. What they had not realised up to now
+was that _all this was in deadly peril for the first time for a hundred
+years_!
+
+One mistake of our Fleets, one crushing defeat in France, and the foe
+would be upon us; the fate of Belgium would be the fate of England!
+
+What more glorious than to follow the example of those who had fought
+and died for England?
+
+    "Nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence
+     Who goes to join the men of Agincourt."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+In spite of the presence of the Generals a great cheer broke from the
+five thousand men when I said, "I would rather die than see England a
+German province"; but finding that they were allowed to cheer, as deep a
+cheer followed the statement that, if it came to the last Waterloo, it
+was far better to slip across the silver streak and fight it on the
+other side than let an invaders foot _for the first time for a thousand
+years_ stain our native land.
+
+In the evening all the four battalions present volunteered for foreign
+service, and as four more at the neighbouring Camp had volunteered the
+day before in answer to a similar appeal, eight battalions were added to
+the fighting strength abroad of the British Army.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE EBONY BOX
+
+BY A. E. W. MASON
+
+_Painting and Drawings_ by W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by A. E. W. Mason_
+
+
+"NO, no," said Colonel von Altrock abruptly. "It is not always true."
+
+The conversation died away at once, and every one about that dinner
+table in the Rue St. Florentin looked at him expectantly. He played
+nervously with the stem of his wineglass for a few moments, as though
+the complete silence distressed him. Then he resumed with a more
+diffident air:
+
+"War no doubt inspires noble actions and brings out great qualities in
+men from whom you expected nothing. But there is another side to it
+which becomes apparent, not at once, but after a few months of
+campaigning. Your nerves get overstrained, fatigue and danger tell their
+tale. You lose your manners, sometimes you degenerate into a brute. I
+happen to know. Thirty years have passed since the siege of Paris, yet
+even to-day there is no part of my life which I regret so much as the
+hours between eleven and twelve o'clock of Christmas night in the year
+'seventy. I will tell you about it if you like, although the story may
+make us late for the opera."
+
+"It will not matter if we are a little late," said his hostess, the
+Baroness Hammerstein, and her guests agreed with her.
+
+"It is permitted to smoke?" asked the Colonel. For a moment the flame of
+a match lit up and exaggerated the hollows and the lines upon his lean,
+rugged face. Then, drawing in his chair to the table, he told his story.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I was a lieutenant of the fifth company of the second battalion of the
+103rd Regiment, which belonged to the 23rd Infantry Division. It is as
+well to be exact. That division was part of the 12th Army Corps under
+the Crown Prince of Saxony, and in the month of December formed the
+south-eastern segment of our circle about Paris. On Christmas night I
+happened to be on duty at a forepost in advance of Noisy-le-Grand. The
+Centigrade thermometer was down to twelve degrees below zero, and our
+little wooden hut with the sloping roof, which served us at once as
+kitchen, mess-room, and dormitory, seemed to us all a comfortable
+shelter. Outside its door the country glimmered away into darkness, a
+great white silent plain of snow. Inside, the camp-bedsteads were neatly
+ranged along the wall where the roof was lowest. A long table covered
+with a white cloth--for we were luxurious on Christmas night--occupied
+the middle of the floor; in a corner stood a fine big barrel of Bavarian
+beer which had arrived that morning as a Christmas present from my
+mother at Leipzig. We were none of us anxious to turn out into the
+bitter cold, I can tell you. But we were not colonels in those days, and
+while the Hauptmann was proposing my mother's health the door was thrust
+open and an orderly muffled up to the eyes stood on the threshold at the
+salute.
+
+"The Herr Oberst wishes to see the Herr Lieutenant von Altrock," said
+he, and before I had time even to grumble he turned on his heels and
+marched away.
+
+I took down my great-coat, drew the cape over my head, and went out of
+the hut. There was no wind, nor was the snow falling, but the cold was
+terrible, and to me who had come straight from the noise of my
+companions the night seemed unnaturally still. I plodded away through
+the darkness. Behind me in the hut the Hauptmann struck up a song, and
+the words came to me quite clearly and very plaintively across the snow:
+
+    Ich hatte einen Kamaraden
+    Einen besseren findest du nicht.
+
+I wondered whether in the morning, like that comrade, I should be a man
+to be mentioned in the past tense. For more than once a sentinel had
+been found frozen dead at his post, and I foresaw a long night's work
+before me. My Colonel had acquired a habit of choosing me for special
+services, and indeed to his kindness in this respect I owed my
+commission.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I found him sitting at a little table drawn close to the fire in a bare,
+dimly-lighted room. A lamp stood on the table, and he was peering at a
+crumpled scrap of paper and smoothing out its creases. So engrossed was
+he, indeed, in his scrutiny that it was some minutes before he raised
+his head and saw me waiting for his commands.
+
+"Lieutenant von Altrock," he said, "you must ride to Raincy."
+
+Raincy was only five miles distant, as the crow flies. Yes, but the
+French had made a sortie on the 21st, they had pushed back our lines,
+and they now held Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche between Raincy and
+Noisy-le-Grand. I should have to make a circuit; my five miles became
+ten. I did not like the prospect at all. I liked it still less when the
+Colonel added:
+
+"You must be careful. More than one German soldier has of late been
+killed upon that road. There are _francs-tireurs_ about. And you _must_
+reach Raincy."
+
+It was a verbal message which he gave me, and I was to deliver it in
+person to the commandant of the battery at Raincy.
+
+"There is a horse ready for you at the stables," said the Colonel, and
+with a nod he turned again to his scrap of paper. I saluted and walked
+to the door. As my hand was on the knob he called me back.
+
+"What do you make of it?" he asked, holding the paper out to me. "It was
+picked out of the Marne in a sealed wine-bottle."
+
+I took the paper, and saw that a single sentence was written upon it in
+a round and laborious hand with the words misspelt. The meaning of the
+sentence seemed simple enough. It was apparently a message from a M.
+Bonnet to his son in the Mobiles at Paris, and it stated that the big
+black cat had had five kittens.
+
+"What do you make of it?" repeated the Colonel.
+
+"Why, that M. Bonnet's black cat has kittens," said I.
+
+I handed the paper back. The Colonel looked at it again, shrugged his
+shoulders, and laughed.
+
+"Well, after all, perhaps it does mean no more than that," said he.
+
+But for the Colonel's suspicions I should not have given another thought
+to that misspelt scrawl. M. Bonnet was probably some little peasant
+engrossed in domestic affairs, who thought that no message could be more
+consoling to his son locked up in Paris than this great news about the
+black cat.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The wildest rumours were flying about our camp at that time, as I think
+will always happen when you have a large body of men living under a
+great strain of cold and privation and peril. They perplexed the
+seasoned officers and they were readily swallowed by the youngsters, of
+whom I was one. Now, this scrap of paper happened to fit in with the
+rumour which most of all exercised our imaginations.
+
+It was known that in spite of all our precautions news was continually
+leaking into Paris which we did not think it good for the Parisians to
+have. On that very Christmas Day they already knew that General
+Faidherbe, at Pont Noyelles, had repulsed a portion of our first army
+under General Manteuffel. How did they know? We were not satisfied that
+pigeons and balloons completely explained the mystery. No, we believed
+that the news passed somewhere through our lines on the south-east of
+Paris--news in cipher which was passed on and on to a house close to our
+lines, whence, as occasion served, it was carried into Paris.
+
+That was the rumour. There may have been truth in it, or it may have
+been entirely false. But, at all events, it had just the necessary
+element of fancy to appeal to the imagination of a very young man, and
+as I walked to the stables and mounted the horse which the Colonel had
+lent me, I kept wondering whether this message, so simple in appearance,
+had travelled so, and was covering its last stage between the
+undiscovered château and Paris in the sealed wine-bottle. I tried to
+make out what the black cat stood for in the cipher, and whose identity
+was concealed under the pseudonym of M. Bonnet. So I rode down the slope
+of Noisy-le-Grand.
+
+But at the bottom of the slope these speculations passed entirely from
+my mind. In front, hidden away in the darkness, lay the dangers of Ville
+Evrart and Maison Blanche. German soldiers had ridden along this path
+and had not returned; the _francs-tireurs_ were abroad. Yet I must reach
+Raincy. Moreover, in my own mind, I was equally convinced that I must
+return. I saw the little beds against the wall of the hut under the
+sloping roof. I rode warily, determined to sleep in one of them that
+night, determined to keep my life if it could be kept.
+
+I crossed the Marne and turned off the road into a forest path. Ville
+Evrart with its French garrison lay now upon my left behind the screen
+of trees. Fortunately there was no moon that night and a mist hung in
+the air. The snow, too, deadened the sound of my horse's hoofs. But I
+rode, nevertheless, very gently and with every sense alert. Each moment
+I expected the challenge of a sentinel in French.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I came to the end of the wood and rode on to Chesnay. Here the country
+was more open, and I had passed Ville Evrart. But I did not feel any
+greater security. I was possessed with a sort of rage to get my business
+done and live--yes, at all costs _live_. A mile beyond Chesnay I came to
+cross-roads, and within the angle which the two roads made a little
+cabin stood upon a plot of grass. I was in doubt which road to take. The
+cabin was all dark, and riding up to the door I hammered upon it with
+the butt of my pistol. It was not immediately opened. There must indeed
+have been some delay, since the inmates were evidently in bed. But I was
+not in any mood to show consideration. I wanted to get on--to get on and
+live. A little window was within my reach. I dashed the butt of the
+pistol violently through the glass.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Will that waken you, eh?" I cried, and almost before I had finished I
+heard a shuffling footstep in the passage and the door was opened. A
+poor old peasant-woman, crippled with rheumatism, stood in the doorway
+shading a lighted candle with a gnarled, trembling hand. In her haste to
+obey she had merely thrown a petticoat over the shoulders of her
+nightdress, and there she stood with bare feet, shivering in the cold,
+an old bent woman of eighty, and apologised.
+
+"I am sorry, monsieur," she said meekly. "But I cannot move as quickly
+as I could when I was young. How can I serve monsieur?"
+
+Not a word of reproach about her broken window. You would think that the
+hardest man must have felt some remorse. I merely broke in upon her
+apologies with a rough demand for information.
+
+"The road upon your right leads to Chelles, monsieur," she answered.
+"That upon your left to Raincy."
+
+I rode off without another word. It is not a pretty description which I
+am giving to you, but it is a true one. That is my regret, it is a true
+one. I forgot that old peasant-woman the moment I had passed the cabin.
+I thought only of the long avenues of trees which stretched across that
+flat country, and which could hide whole companies of _francs-tireurs_.
+I strained my eyes forwards. I listened for the sound of voices. But the
+first voice which I heard spoke in my own tongue.
+
+It was the voice of a sentry on the outposts of Raincy, and I could have
+climbed down from my saddle and hugged him to my heart. Instead, I sat
+impassively in my saddle and gave him the countersign. I was conducted
+to the quarters of the commandant of artillery and I delivered my
+message.
+
+"You have come quickly," he said. "What road did you take?"
+
+"That of Chesnay and Gagny."
+
+The commandant looked queerly at me.
+
+"Did you?" said he. "You are lucky. You will return by Montfermeil and
+Chelles, Lieutenant von Altrock, and I will send an escort with you.
+Apparently we are better informed at Raincy than you at
+Noisy-le-Grand."
+
+"I knew there was danger, sir," I replied.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A regiment of dragoons was quartered at Raincy, and from it two privates
+and a corporal were given me for escort. In the company of these men I
+started back by the longer road in the rear of our lines. And it was a
+quarter to ten when I started. For I noticed the time of a clock in the
+commandant's quarters. I should think that it must have taken
+three-quarters of an hour to reach Montfermeil, for the snow was deep
+here and the mist very thick. Beyond Montfermeil, however, we came to
+higher ground; there were fewer drifts of snow, and the night began to
+clear, so that we made better going. We were now, of course, behind our
+lines, and the only risk we ran was that a few peasants armed with
+rifles from a battlefield or a small band of _francs-tireurs_ might be
+lurking on the chance of picking off a straggler. But that risk was not
+very great now that there were four of us. I rode therefore with an
+easier mind, and the first thing which entered my thoughts was--what do
+you think? The old peasant-woman's cabin with the broken window? Not a
+bit of it. No, it was M. Bonnet's black cat. Had M. Bonnet's cat five
+kittens? Or was that intended to inform the people in Paris how many
+companies of recruits had joined one of the French armies still in the
+field--say, General Faidherbe's, at Bapaume, and so to keep up their
+spirits and prolong the siege? I was still puzzling over this problem
+when in a most solitary place I came suddenly upon a château with
+lighted windows. This was the Château Villetaneuse. I reined in my horse
+and stopped. My escort halted behind me. It was, after all, an
+astonishing sight. There were many châteaux about Paris then, as there
+are now, but not one that I had ever come across was inhabited by more
+than a caretaker. The owners had long since fled. Breached walls,
+trampled gardens, gaping roofs, and silence and desertion--that is what
+we meant when we spoke of a château near Paris in those days. But here
+was one with lighted windows on the first and second stories staring out
+calmly on the snow as though never a Prussian soldier had crossed the
+Rhine. A thick clump of trees sheltered it behind, and it faced the
+eastern side of the long ridge of Mont Guichet, along the foot of which
+I rode--the side farthest from Paris. From the spot where I and my
+escort had halted an open park stretched level to the door. The house
+had, no doubt, a very homelike look on that cold night. It should have
+spoken to me, no doubt, of the well-ordered family life and the gentle
+occupations of women. But I was thinking of M. Bonnet's black cat. Was
+this solitary château the undiscovered last station on the underground
+road through which the news passed into Paris? If not, why was it still
+inhabited? Why did the lights blaze out upon the snow so late?
+
+[Illustration: She stood and swung the lantern slowly from side to side.
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by W. B. Wollen, R.I._]
+
+I commanded my escort to be silent. We rode across the park, and
+half-way to the door we came upon a wire fence and a gate. There we
+dismounted, and walked our horses. We tethered them to a tree about
+twenty yards from the house. I ordered one of my dragoons to go round
+the house, and watch any door which he might find at the back. I told
+the other two to stay where they were, and I advanced alone to the
+steps, but before I had reached them the front door was thrown open, and
+a girl with a lantern in her hand came out.
+
+She held the lantern high above her head and peered forward, so that the
+light fell full upon her hair, her face, and dress. She was a tall girl
+and slight of figure, with big, dark eyes, and a face pretty and made
+for laughter. It was very pale now, however, and the brows were drawn
+together in a frown. She wore a white evening frock, which glistened in
+the lantern light, and over her bare shoulders she had flung a heavy
+black military cloak. So she stood and swung the lantern slowly from
+side to side as she stared into the darkness, while the lights and
+shadows chased each other swiftly across her white frock, her anxious
+face, and the waves of her fair hair.
+
+"Whom do you expect at this hour, mademoiselle?" I asked.
+
+I was quite close to her, but she had not seen me, for I stood at the
+bottom of the steps, and she was looking out over my head. Yet she did
+not start or utter any cry. Only the lantern rattled in her hand. Then
+she stood quite still for a moment or two, and afterwards lowered her
+arm until the light shone upon me.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"You are Prussian?" she said.
+
+"A lieutenant of foot," I answered. "You have nothing to fear."
+
+"I am not afraid," she replied quietly.
+
+"Whom do you expect?"
+
+"No one," she replied. "I thought that I heard the rattle of iron as
+though a horse moved and a stirrup rang. It is lonely here since our
+neighbours have fled. I came out to see."
+
+"The lantern then, was not a signal, mademoiselle?" I asked.
+
+She looked at me in perplexity, and certainly the little piece of
+acting, I thought, was very well done.
+
+"A signal?" she repeated. "To whom?"
+
+"To some man hiding in the woods of Mont Guichet, a signal to him that
+he may come and fetch the news for Paris which has lately--very
+lately--been brought to the house."
+
+She bent forward and peered down at me, drawing the cloak closer about
+her neck.
+
+"You are under some strange mistake, monsieur," she said. "No news for
+Paris has been brought to this house by any one."
+
+"Indeed?" I answered. "And is that so?" Then I stretched out my hand and
+said triumphantly: "You will tell me perhaps that the cloak upon your
+shoulders is a woman's cloak?"
+
+And she laughed! It was humiliating; it is always humiliating to a young
+man not to be taken seriously, isn't it? There was I thinking that I had
+fairly cross-examined her into a trap, and she laughed indulgently. And
+she explained indulgently, too.
+
+"The cloak I am wearing belongs to a wounded French officer who was
+taken prisoner and released upon parole. He is now in our house."
+
+"Then I think I will make his acquaintance," I said, and over my
+shoulder I called to the corporal. As he advanced to my side, a look of
+alarm came into the girl's face.
+
+"You are not alone," she said, and suddenly her face became wistful and
+her voice began to plead. "You have not come for him? He has done no
+harm. He could not, even if he would. And he would not, for he has given
+his parole. Oh, you are not going to take him away?"
+
+"That we shall see, mademoiselle."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I left one dragoon at the door. I ordered the corporal to wait in the
+hall, and I followed the girl up the stairs to the first floor. All her
+pride had gone; she led the way with a submission of manner which seemed
+to me only a fresh effort to quiet my suspicions. But they were not
+quieted. I distrusted her; I believed that I had under my fingers the
+proof of that rumour which flew about our camp. She stopped at a door,
+and as she turned the handle she said:
+
+"This is my own room, monsieur. We all use it now, for it is warmer than
+the others, and all our servants but one have fled."
+
+It was a pretty room, and cheery enough to one who came into it from the
+darkness and the snow. A piano stood open in a corner with a rug thrown
+upon it to protect the strings from the cold; books lay upon the tables,
+heavy curtains were drawn close over the windows, there were cushioned
+sofas and deep arm-chairs, and a good fire of logs blazed upon the
+hearth. These details I took in at once. Then I looked at the occupants.
+A young man lay stretched upon a sofa close to the fire with a wrap
+covering his legs. The wrap was raised by a cradle to keep off its
+weight. His face must have been, I think, unusually handsome when he had
+his health; at the moment it was so worn and pale, and the eyes were so
+sunk, that all its beauty had gone. The pallor was accentuated by a
+small black moustache he wore and his black hair. He lay with his head
+supported upon a pillow, and was playing a game of chess with an old
+lady who sat at a little table by his side. I advanced to the fire and
+warmed my hands at it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"You, sir, are the wounded officer on parole?" I said in French. The
+officer bowed.
+
+"And you, madame?" I asked of the old lady. The sight of my uniform
+seemed to have paralysed her with terror. "Come, come, madame," I
+exclaimed impatiently; "it is a simple question."
+
+"Monsieur, you frighten her," said the young lady. "It is my aunt, the
+Baroness Granville."
+
+"You tell me nothing of yourself," I said to her, and she looked at me
+in surprise.
+
+"Since you have come with an escort to this house I imagined you must
+know to whom it belonged. I am Sophie de Villetaneuse."
+
+"Exactly," I replied, as though I had known all along, and had merely
+asked the question to see whether she would speak the truth. "Now,
+mademoiselle, will you please explain to me how it is that while your
+neighbours have fled you remain at your château?"
+
+"It is quite simple," she answered. "My mother is bed-ridden. She could
+not be moved. She could not be left alone."
+
+"You will pardon me," said I, "if I test that statement."
+
+The wounded officer raised himself upon his elbow as though to protest,
+but Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse put out a hand and checked him. She
+showed me a face flushed with anger, but she spoke quite quietly.
+
+"I will myself take you to my mother's room."
+
+I laughed. I said: "That is just what I expected. You will take me to
+your mother's room and leave your friends here to make any little
+preparations in the way of burning awkward papers which they may think
+desirable. Thank you, no! I am not so easily caught."
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie was becoming irritated.
+
+"There are no awkward papers!" she exclaimed.
+
+"That statement, too, I shall put to the test."
+
+I went to the door, and standing so that I could still keep an eye upon
+the room, I called the corporal.
+
+"You will search the house thoroughly," I said, "and quickly. Bring me
+word how many people you find in it. You, mademoiselle, will remain in
+the room with us."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She shrugged her shoulders as I closed the door and came back into the
+room.
+
+"You were wounded, monsieur," I said to the Frenchman. "Where?"
+
+"In the sortie on Le Bourget."
+
+"And you came here the moment you were released on your parole?"
+
+The wounded officer turned with a smile to Mademoiselle Sophie.
+
+"Yes, for here live my best friends."
+
+He took her hand, and with a Frenchman's grace he raised it to his lips
+and kissed it. And I was suddenly made acquainted with the relationship
+in which these two, youth and maid, stood to one another. Mademoiselle
+Sophie had cried out on the steps against the possibility that I might
+have come to claim my prisoner. But though she spoke no word, she was
+still more explicit now. With the officer that caress was plainly no
+more than a pretty way of saying thanks; it had the look of a habit, it
+was so neatly given, and he gave it without carelessness, it is true,
+but without warmth. But she received it very differently. He did not
+see, because his head was bent above her hand, but I did.
+
+I saw the look of pain in her face, the slight contraction of her
+shoulders and arms, as if to meet a blow. The kiss hurt her--no, not the
+kiss, but the finished grace with which it was given, the proof, in a
+word, that it was a way of saying "Thanks"--and nothing more. Here was a
+woman who loved and a man who did not love, and the woman knew.
+
+I resumed my questions:
+
+"Your doctor, monsieur, is in the house?"
+
+"At this hour? No."
+
+"Ah. That is a pity."
+
+The young man lifted his head from his pillow and looked me over from
+head to foot with a stare of disdain.
+
+"I do not quite understand. You doubt my word, monsieur!"
+
+"Why not?" I asked sharply.
+
+[Illustration: A Spell for a Fairy
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Claude A. Shepperson, A.R.W.S._]
+
+It was quite possible that the cradle, this rug across his legs, the
+pillow, were all pretences. This young officer might very well have
+brought in a cipher message to the Château Villetaneuse. Mademoiselle
+Sophie might very well have waved her lantern at the door to summon a
+fresh messenger.
+
+"No; why should I not doubt your word?" I repeated.
+
+He turned his face to the old lady. "It is your move, Baronne," he said,
+and she placed the piece she held upon a square of the board.
+Mademoiselle Sophie took her stand by the table between the players, and
+the game went on just as though there were no intruder in the room. It
+was uncomfortable for me. I shifted my feet. I tried to appear at my
+ease; finally I sat down in a chair. They took no notice of me whatever.
+I was very glad when at last the corporal opened the door. He had
+searched the house--he had found no one but Madame de Villetaneuse and
+an old servant who was watching by her bed.
+
+"Very well," said I, and the corporal returned to the hall.
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie moved away from the chess-table. She came and stood
+opposite to me, and though her face was still, her eyes were hard with
+anger.
+
+"And now perhaps you will tell me to what I owe your visit?" she said.
+
+"Certainly," I returned. I fixed my eyes on her, and I said slowly, "I
+have come to ask for more news of M. Bonnet's black cat."
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie stared as if she was not sure whether I was mad or
+drunk, but was very sure I was one or the other. The young Frenchman
+started upon his couch, with the veins swelling upon his forehead and a
+flushed face.
+
+"This is an insult," he cried savagely, and no less savagely I answered
+him.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" I cried. "You forget too often that though you are
+on parole you are still a prisoner."
+
+He fell back upon the sofa with a groan of pain, and the girl hurried to
+his side.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Meanwhile I had been looking about the room for a box or a case where
+the cipher messages might be hid. I saw nothing of the kind. Of course
+they might be hidden between the pages of a book. I went from table to
+table, taking them by the boards and shaking the leaves. Not a scrap of
+paper tumbled out. There was another door in the room besides that which
+led on to the landing.
+
+"Mademoiselle, what room is that?" I asked.
+
+"My bedroom," she answered simply, and with a gesture full of dignity
+she threw open the door.
+
+I carried the mud and snow and the grime of a camp without a scruple of
+remorse into that neat and pretty chamber. Mademoiselle Sophie followed
+me as I searched wardrobe and drawer and box. At last I came to one
+drawer in her dressing-table which was locked. I looked suddenly at the
+young lady. She was watching me out of the corners of her eyes with a
+peculiar intentness.
+
+"Open that drawer, mademoiselle," I said.
+
+"It contains only some private things."
+
+"Open that drawer or I burst it open."
+
+"No," she cried, as I jerked the handle. "I will open it."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She fetched the key out of another drawer which was unlocked, and fitted
+it into the lock of the dressing-table. And all the while I saw that she
+was watching me. She meant to play me some trick, I was certain. So I
+watched, too, and I did well to watch. She turned the key, opened the
+drawer, and then snatched out something with extraordinary rapidity and
+ran as hard as she could to the door--not the door through which we had
+entered, but a second door which gave on to the passage. She ran very
+fast and she ran very lightly, and she did not stumble over a chair as I
+did in pursuit of her. But she had to unlatch the door and pull it open.
+I caught her up and closed my arms about her. It was a little carved
+ebony box which she held, the very thing for which I searched.
+
+"I thought so," I cried, with a laugh. "Drop the box, mademoiselle. Drop
+it on the floor!"
+
+The noise of our struggle had been heard in the next room. The Baroness
+rushed through the doorway.
+
+"What has happened?" she cried. "Mon Dieu! you are killing her!"
+
+"Drop that box, mademoiselle!"
+
+And as I spoke she threw it away. She threw it through the doorway; she
+tried to throw it over the banisters of the stairs, but my arms were
+about hers, and it fell in the passage just beyond the door. I darted
+from her and picked it up. When I returned with it she was taking a gold
+chain from her neck. At the end of the chain hung a little gold key.
+This she held out to me.
+
+"Open it here," she said in a low, eager voice.
+
+The sudden change only increased my suspicions, or rather my conviction,
+that I had now the proof which I needed.
+
+"Why, if you are so eager to show me the contents, did you try to throw
+it away?" I asked.
+
+"I tried to throw it down into the hall," she answered.
+
+"My corporal would have picked it up."
+
+"Oh, what would that matter?" she exclaimed impatiently. "You would have
+opened it in the hall. That was what I wanted. Open it here! At all
+events open it here!"
+
+The very urgency of her pleading made me determined to refuse the plea.
+
+"No, you have some other ruse, mademoiselle," said I. "Perhaps you wish
+to gain time for your friend in the next room. No, we will return there
+and open it comfortably by the fire."
+
+I kept a tight hold upon the box. I shook it. To my delight I felt that
+there were papers within it. I carried it back to the fireside and sat
+down on a chair. Mademoiselle Sophie followed me close, and as I fixed
+the little gold key into the lock she laid her hand very gently upon my
+arm.
+
+"I beg you not to unlock that box," she said; "if you do you will bring
+upon me a great humiliation and upon yourself much remorse. There is
+nothing there which concerns you. There are just my little secrets. A
+girl may have secrets, monsieur, which are sacred to her."
+
+She was standing quite close to me, and her back was towards the French
+officer and her aunt. They could not see her face, and they could hardly
+have heard more than a word here and there of what she said. I answered
+her only by turning the key in the lock. She took her hand from my arm
+and laid it on the lid to hinder me from opening it.
+
+"I wore the key on a chain about my neck, monsieur," she whispered.
+"Does that teach you nothing? Even though you are young, does it teach
+you nothing? I said that if you unlocked that box you would cause me
+great humiliation, thinking that would be enough to stop you. But I see
+I must tell you more. Read the letters, monsieur, question me about
+them, and you will make my life a very lonely one. I think so. I think
+you will destroy my chance of happiness. You would not wish that,
+monsieur. It is true that we are enemies, but some day this war will
+end, and you would not wish to prolong its sufferings beyond the end.
+Yet you will be doing that, monsieur, if you open that box."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It seems now almost impossible to me that I could have doubted her
+sincerity: she spoke with so much simplicity, and so desperate an appeal
+looked out from her dark eyes. Ever since that Christmas night I can see
+her quite clearly at will, standing as she then stood--all the sincerity
+of her which I would not acknowledge, all the appeal which I would not
+hear; and I see her many times when for my peace I would rather not.
+She was pleading for her pride, and to do that the better she laid her
+pride aside; yet she never lost her dignity. She was pleading for her
+chance of happiness, foreseeing that it was likely to be destroyed,
+without any reason or any profit to a living being, by a stranger who
+would the next moment pass out of her life. Yet there was no outcry, and
+there were no tears. Had it been a trick--I ask the ladies--would there
+not have been tears?
+
+But I thought it a trick and a cheap one. She was trying to make me
+believe that there were love-letters in the box--compromising
+love-letters. Now, I _knew_ that there were no love-letters in the box.
+I had seen the Frenchman's pretty way of saying thanks. I had noticed
+how the caress hurt her just through what it lacked. He was the friend,
+you see, and nothing more; she was the lover and the only lover of the
+pair.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I opened the box accordingly. Mademoiselle Sophie turned away abruptly,
+and sitting down in a chair shaded her eyes with her hand. I emptied the
+letters out on to a table, turning the box upside down, and thus the
+first which I took up and read was the one which lay at the very bottom.
+As I read it it seemed that every suspicion I had formed was
+established. She had hinted at love-letters, she had spoken of secrets
+sacred to a girl; and the letter was not even addressed to her. It was
+addressed to Madame de Villetaneuse; it was a letter which, if it meant
+no more than what was implied upon the surface, would have long since
+found destruction in the waste-paper basket. For it purported to be
+merely the acceptance of an invitation to dinner at the town house of
+Madame de Villetaneuse in the Faubourg St. Germain. It was signed only
+by a Christian name, "Armand," and the few sentences which composed the
+letter explained that M. Armand was a distant kinsman of Madame de
+Villetaneuse who had just come to Paris to pursue his studies, and who,
+up till now, had no acquaintance with the family.
+
+I looked at Mademoiselle Sophie sternly. "So all this pother was about a
+mere invitation to dinner! Once let it be known that M. Armand will dine
+with Madame de Villetaneuse in the Faubourg St. Germain, and you are
+humiliated, you lose your chance of happiness, and I, too, shall find
+myself in good time suffering the pangs of remorse," and I read the
+letter slowly aloud to her, word by word.
+
+She returned no answer. She sat with her hand shading her face, and she
+rocked her head backwards and forwards continually and rather quickly,
+like a child with a racking headache. Of course, to my mind all that was
+part of the game. The letter was dated two years back, but the month was
+December, and, of course, to antedate would be the first precaution.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Come, mademoiselle," I said, changing my tone, "I invite you very
+seriously to make a clean breast of it. I wish to take no harsh measures
+with you if I can avoid them. Tell me frankly what news this letter,
+plainly translated, gives to General Trochu in Paris."
+
+"None," she answered.
+
+"Very well," said I, and I took up the next letter. Ah, M. Armand writes
+again a week later. It was evidently a good dinner, and M. Armand is
+properly grateful.
+
+The gratitude, indeed, was rather excessive, rather provincial. It was
+just the effusion which a young man who had not yet learned
+self-possession might have written on his first introduction to the
+highest social life of Paris. Certainly the correspondence was very
+artfully designed. But what did it hide? I puzzled over the question; I
+took the words and the dates, and it seemed to me that I began to see
+light. So much stress was laid upon the dinner, that the word must
+signify some event of importance. The first letter spoke of a dinner in
+the future. I imagined that it had not been possible to pass this
+warning into Paris. The second letter mentioned with gratitude that the
+dinner had been successful. Well, suppose "dinner" stood for
+"engagement"! The letter would refer to the sortie from Paris which
+pushed back our lines and captured Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche. That
+seemed likely. Madame de Villetaneuse gave the dinner; General Trochu
+made the sortie. Then "Madame de Villetaneuse" stood for "General
+Trochu." Who would be Armand? Why, the French people outside Paris--the
+provincials! I had the explanation of that provincial expression of
+gratitude. Ah, no doubt it all seems far-fetched now that we sit quietly
+about this table. But put yourself in the thick of the war and take
+twenty years off your lives! Suppose yourselves young and green, eager
+for advancement, and just off your balance from want of sleep, want of
+food, want of rest, want of everything. There are very few things which
+would seem far-fetched. It seemed to me that I was deciphering these
+letters with absolute accuracy. I saw myself promoted to captain,
+seconded to the staff.
+
+I went on with the letters, hoping to find an explanation there. The
+third letter was addressed to Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse, who had
+evidently written to M. Armand on behalf of her mother, inviting him to
+her box at the opera. M. Armand regretted that he had not been fortunate
+enough to call at a time when mademoiselle was at home, and would look
+forward to the pleasure of seeing her at the Opera.
+
+"Mademoiselle," I cried, "what does the Opera stand for?"
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie laughed disdainfully.
+
+"For music, monsieur, for art, for refinement, for many things you do
+not understand."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I sprang up in excitement. What did it matter what she said? M. Armand
+stood for the Army of the Loire. It was that army which had been
+expected at Ville Evrart. Here was a pledge that it would come to the
+help of Paris at the next sortie. That was valuable news--it could not
+but bring recognition to the man who brought evidence of it into the
+Prussian lines. I hurriedly read through the other letters, quoting a
+passage here and there, trying to startle Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse
+into a confession. But she never changed her attitude, she did not
+answer a word.
+
+Her conduct was the more aggravating, for I began to get lost among
+these letters. They were all in the same handwriting; they were all
+signed "Armand," and they seemed to give a picture of the life of a
+young man in Paris during the two years which preceded the war. They
+recorded dinner-parties, visits to the theatres, examinations passed,
+prizes won and lost, receptions, rides in the Bois, and Sunday
+excursions into the country. All these phrases, these appointments,
+these meetings, might have particular meanings. But if so, how
+stupendous a cipher! Besides, how was it that none of these messages had
+been passed into Paris? Very reluctantly I began to doubt my own
+conjecture. I read some more letters, and then I suddenly turned back to
+the earlier ones. I compared them with the later notes. I began to be
+afraid the correspondence, after all, was genuine, for the tone of the
+letters changed and changed so gradually, and yet so clearly, that the
+greatest literary art could hardly have deliberately composed them. I
+seemed to witness the actual progress of M. Armand, a hobbledehoy from
+the provinces, losing his awkwardness, acquiring ease and polish in his
+contact with the refinement of Paris. The last letters had the postmark
+of Paris, the first that of Auvergne.
+
+They were genuine, then. And they were not love-letters. I looked at
+Mademoiselle Sophie with an increased perplexity. Why did she now sit
+rocking her head like a child in pain? Why had she so struggled to
+hinder me from opening them? They recorded a beginning of
+acquaintanceship and the growth of that into friendship between a young
+man and a young girl--nothing more. The friendship might eventually end
+in marriage, no doubt, if left to itself, but there was not a word of
+that in the letters. I was still wondering, when the French officer
+raised himself from his sofa and dragged himself across the room to
+Mademoiselle Sophie's chair. His left trouser leg had been slit down the
+side from the knee to the foot and laced lightly so as to make room for
+a bandage. He supported himself from chair to chair with evident pain,
+and I could not doubt that his wound was as genuine as the letters.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He bent down and gently took her hand away from her face.
+
+"Sophie," he said, "I did not dare to think that you kept this place for
+me in your thoughts. A little more courage and I should long since have
+said to you what I say now. I beg your permission to ask Madame de
+Villetaneuse to-morrow for your hand in marriage."
+
+My house of cards tumbled down in a second. The French officer was M.
+Armand. With the habit women have of treasuring tokens of the things
+which have happened, Mademoiselle Sophie had kept all these trifling
+notes and messages, and had even gathered to them the letters written to
+her mother, so that the story might be complete. But without M. Armand's
+knowledge; he was not to know; her pride must guard her secret from him.
+For she was the lover and he only the friend, and she knew it. Even in
+the little speech which he had just made, there was just too much
+formality, just too little sincerity of voice. I understood why she had
+tried to throw the ebony box down into the hall so that I might open it
+there--I understood that I had caused her great humiliation. But that
+was not all there was for me to understand.
+
+In answer to Armand she raised her eyes quietly, and shook her head.
+
+"You wish to spare me shame," she said, "and I thank you very much. But
+it is because of these letters that you spoke. I must think that. I must
+always think it."
+
+"No!" he exclaimed.
+
+"But yes," she replied firmly. "If monsieur had not unlocked that box--I
+don't know--but some day perhaps--oh, not yet, no, not yet--but some day
+perhaps you might have come of your own accord and said what you have
+just said. And I should have been very happy. But now you never must.
+For you see I shall always think that the letters are prompting you."
+
+And M. Armand bowed.
+
+I had taken from her her chance of happiness. The friendship between
+them might have ended in marriage if left to itself. But I had not left
+it to itself.
+
+"Mademoiselle," I said, "I am very sorry."
+
+She turned her dark eyes on me.
+
+"Monsieur, I warned you. It is too late to be sorry." And as I stood
+shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other, in great remorse as she
+had foretold, she added, gently, "Will you not go, monsieur?"
+
+I went out of the room, called together my escort, mounted and rode off.
+It was past midnight now, and the night was clear. But I thought neither
+of the little beds under the slope of the roof nor of any danger on the
+road. There might have been a _franc-tireur_ behind every tree. I would
+never have noticed it until one of them had brought me down. Remorse was
+heavy upon me. I had behaved without consideration, without chivalry,
+without any manners at all. I had not been able to distinguish truth
+when it stared me in the face, or to recognise honesty when it looked
+out from a young girl's dark eyes. I had behaved, in a word, like the
+brute six months of war had made of me. I wondered with a vague hope
+whether after all time might not set matters right between M. Armand and
+Mademoiselle Sophie. And I wonder now whether it has. But even if I knew
+that it had, I should always remember that Christmas night of 1870 with
+acute regret. The only incident, indeed, which I can mention with the
+slightest satisfaction is this: On the way back to Noisy-le-Grand I came
+to a point where the road from Chelles crossed the road from
+Montfermeil. I halted at a little cabin which stood upon a grass-plot
+within the angle of the roads, and tying up all the money I had on me in
+a pocket-handkerchief I dropped the handkerchief through a broken
+window-pane.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Colonel let the end of his cigar fall upon his plate, and pushed
+back his chair from the table. "But I see we shall be late for the
+opera," he said, as he glanced at the clock.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A SPELL FOR A FAIRY
+
+BY ALFRED NOYES
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A. R. W. S.
+
+
+    GATHER, first, in your left hand
+      (This must be at fall of day)
+    Forty grains of yellow sand
+      Where you think a mermaid lay.
+    I have heard a wizard hint
+      It is best to gather it sweet
+    Out of the warm and fluttered dint
+      Where you see her heart has beat.
+
+    _Out of the dint in that sweet sand
+      Gather forty grains, I say;
+    Yet--if it fail you--understand
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+    Out of that sand you melt your glass
+      While the veils of night are drawn,
+    Whispering, till the shadows pass,
+      _Nixie--pixie--leprechaun_--
+
+    Then you blow your magic vial,
+      Shape it like a crescent moon,
+    Set it up and make your trial,
+      Singing, "_Fairies, ah, come soon!_"
+
+    _Round the cloudy crescent go,
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+      "Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
+    Nixie--pixie--leprechaun._"
+
+    Bring the blood of a white hen,
+      Killed about the break of day,
+    While the cock in the echoing glen
+      Thrusts his gold neck every way,
+    Over the brambles, peering, calling,
+      Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
+    Far and wide, while the dews are falling,
+      Clamouring, calling, everywhere.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    _Round the crimson vial go
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+    "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      And, if once will not suffice,
+      Do it thrice.
+    If this fail, at break of day,
+    I can show you a better way._
+
+    Bring the buds of the hazel-copse
+      Where two lovers kissed at noon:
+    Bring the crushed red wild thyme tops
+      Where they walked beneath the moon;
+
+    Bring the four-leaved clover also,
+      One of the white, and one of the red,
+    Mixed with the flakes of the may that fall so
+      Lightly over the sky-lark's bed.
+
+    _Round the fragrant vial go,
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+      "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+    If this fail, at break of day,
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+    Bring an old and wizened child
+      --_Ah, tread softly and speak low_--
+    Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild.
+      From that under-world below;
+    Bring a withered child of seven
+      Reeking from the City slime,
+    Out of hell into your heaven,
+      Set her knee-deep in the thyme.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    _Bring her from the smoky City,
+      Set her on a fairy-throne.
+    Clothe her, feed her, of your pity.
+      Leave her for an hour alone._
+
+    You shall need no spells or charms
+      On that hill-top, in that dawn.
+    When she lifts her wasted arms
+      You shall see a veil withdrawn.
+    There shall be no veil between them,
+      Though her head be old and wise.
+    You shall know that she has seen them,
+      By the glory in her eyes.
+
+    _Round her irons, on the hill,
+      Earth shall toss a fairy fire.
+    Watch and listen and be still,
+      Lest you baulk your own desire._
+
+    When she sees four azure wings
+      Light upon her claw-like hand;
+    When she lifts her head and sings,
+      You shall hear and understand.
+    You shall hear a bugle calling,
+      Wildly over the dew-dashed down,
+    And a sound as of the falling
+      Ramparts of a conquered town.
+
+    _You shall hear a sound like thunder,
+      And a veil shall be withdrawn,
+    When her eyes grow wide with wonder,
+      On that hill-top, in that dawn._
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH
+
+_A TALE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL_
+
+BY BARONESS ORCZY
+
+_Painting by_ A. C. MICHAEL _and_ _Drawings by_ H. M. BROCK, R.I.
+
+_Copyright, 1914, by the Baroness Orczy in the U.S.A._
+
+
+WE were such a happy family before this terrible revolution broke out:
+we lived rather simply but very comfortably in our dear old home just on
+the borders of the forest of Compiègne. Jean and André were the twins;
+just fifteen years old they were when King Louis was deposed from the
+throne of France, which God had given him, and sent to prison like a
+common criminal, with our beautiful Queen Marie Antoinette and the Royal
+children and Madame Elizabeth, who was so beloved by the poor!
+
+Ah! that seems very, very long ago now. No doubt you know better than I
+do all that happened in our beautiful land of France and in lovely Paris
+about that time: goods and property confiscated, innocent men, women,
+and children condemned to death for acts of treason which they had never
+committed.
+
+It was in August last year that they came to "Mon Repos" and arrested
+papa, maman, and us four young ones and dragged us to Paris, where we
+were imprisoned in a narrow and horrible, dank vault in the Abbaye,
+where all day and night through the humid stone walls we heard cries and
+sobs and moans from poor people who no doubt were suffering the same
+sorrows and the same indignities as we were.
+
+I had just passed my nineteenth birthday and Marguerite was only
+thirteen. Maman was a perfect angel during that terrible time: she kept
+up our courage and our faith in God in a way that no one else could have
+done. Every night and morning we knelt round her knee, and papa sat
+close beside her, and we prayed to God for deliverance from our own
+afflictions, and for the poor people who were crying and moaning all the
+day.
+
+But of what went on outside our prison walls we had not an idea, though
+sometimes poor papa would brave the warder's brutalities and ask him
+questions of what was happening in Paris every day.
+
+"They are hanging all the aristos to the street-lamps of the city," the
+man would reply, with a cruel laugh, "and it will be your turn next."
+
+We had been in prison for about a fortnight, then one day--oh! shall I
+ever forget it?--we heard in the distance a noise like the rumbling of
+thunder; nearer and nearer it came, and soon the sound became less
+confused. Cries and shrieks could be heard above that rumbling din, but
+so weird and menacing did those cries seem, that instinctively--though
+none of us knew what they meant--we all felt a nameless terror grip our
+hearts.
+
+Oh! I am not going to attempt the awful task of describing to you all
+the horrors of that never-to-be-forgotten day. People who to-day cannot
+speak without a shudder of the September massacres have not the remotest
+conception of what really happened on that truly awful second day of
+that month.
+
+We are all at peace and happy now, but whenever my thoughts fly back to
+that morning, whenever the ears of memory recall those hideous yells of
+fury and of hate, coupled with the equally horrible cries for pity which
+pierced through the walls behind which the six of us were crouching,
+trembling, and praying, whenever I think of it all my heart still beats
+violently with that same nameless dread which held it in its deathly
+grip then.
+
+Hundreds of men, women, and children were massacred in the prisons of
+Paris on that day--it was a St. Bartholomew even more hideous than the
+last.
+
+Maman was trying in vain to keep our thoughts fixed upon God--papa sat
+on the stone bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head buried in
+his hands, but maman was kneeling on the floor with her dear arms
+encircling us all, and her trembling lips moving in continuous prayer.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+We felt that we were facing death--and what a death!--O, my God!
+
+Suddenly the small grated window--high up in the dank wall--became
+obscured. I was the first to look up, but the cry of terror which rose
+from my heart was choked ere it reached my throat.
+
+Jean and André looked up too, and they shrieked, and so did Marguerite,
+and papa jumped up and ran to us and stood suddenly between us and the
+window like a tiger defending its young.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But we were all of us quite silent now. The children did not even cry,
+they stared wide-eyed--paralysed with fear.
+
+Only maman continued to pray, and we could hear papa's rapid and
+stertorous breathing as he watched what was going on in that window
+above.
+
+Heavy blows were falling against the masonry round the grating, and we
+could hear the nerve-racking sound of a file working on the iron bars,
+and farther away below the window those awful yells of human beings
+transformed by hate and fury into savage beasts.
+
+How long this horrible suspense lasted I cannot now tell you: the next
+thing I remember clearly is a number of men in horrible ragged clothing
+pouring into our vault-like prison from the window above; the next
+moment they rushed at us simultaneously--or so it seemed to me, for I
+was just then recommending my soul to God, so certain was I that in that
+same second I would cease to live.
+
+It was all like a dream, for instead of the horrible shriek of satisfied
+hate which we were all expecting to hear, a whispering voice, commanding
+and low, struck our ear and dragged us, as it were, from out the abyss
+of despair into the sudden light of hope.
+
+"If you will trust us," the voice whispered, "and not be afraid, you
+will be safely out of Paris within an hour."
+
+Papa was the first to realise what was happening: he had never lost his
+presence of mind, even during the darkest moment of this terrible time,
+and he said quite calmly and steadily now:
+
+"What must we do?"
+
+"Persuade the little ones not to be afraid, not to cry, to be as still
+and silent as may be," continued the voice, which I felt must be that of
+one of God's own angels, so exquisitely kind did it sound to my ear.
+
+"They will be quiet and still without persuasion," said papa; "eh,
+children?"
+
+And Jean, André, and Marguerite murmured: "Yes!" whilst maman and I
+drew them closer to us and said everything we could think of to make
+them still more brave.
+
+And the whispering, commanding voice went on after awhile:
+
+"Now, will you allow yourselves to be muffled and bound? and after that
+will you swear that whatever happens, whatever you may see or hear, you
+will neither move nor speak. Not only your own lives, but those of many
+brave men will depend upon your fulfilment of this oath."
+
+Papa made no reply, save to raise his hand and eyes up to where God
+surely was watching over us all. Maman said in her gentle, even voice:
+
+"For myself and my children, I swear to do all that you tell us."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A great feeling of confidence had entered into her heart, just as it had
+done into mine. We looked at one another and knew that we were both
+thinking of the same thing: we were thinking of the brave Englishman and
+his gallant little band of heroes about whom we had heard many wonderful
+tales of how they had rescued a number of innocent people who were
+unjustly threatened with the guillotine; and we all knew that the tall
+figure disguised in horrible rags, who spoke to us with such a gentle
+yet commanding voice, was the man whom rumour credited with supernatural
+powers, and who was known by the mysterious name of the Scarlet
+Pimpernel.
+
+Hardly had we sworn to do his bidding than his friends most
+unceremoniously threw great pieces of sacking over our heads and then
+proceeded to tie ropes round our bodies. At least I know that that is
+what one of them was doing to me, and from one or two whispered words of
+command which reached my ear I concluded that papa and maman and the
+children were being dealt with in the same summary way.
+
+I felt hot and stifled under that rough bit of sacking, but I would not
+have moved or even sighed for worlds. Strangely enough, as soon as my
+eyes and ears were shut off from the sounds and sights immediately round
+me, I once more became conscious of the horrible and awful din which was
+going on not only on the other side of our prison walls, but inside the
+whole of the Abbaye building and in the street beyond.
+
+Once more I heard those terrible howls of rage and of satisfied hatred
+uttered by the assassins who were being paid by the Government of our
+beautiful country to butcher helpless prisoners in their hundreds.
+
+[Illustration: The Scarlet Pimpernel to the Rescue
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by A. C. Michael_]
+
+Suddenly I felt myself hoisted up off my feet and slung up on to a pair
+of shoulders that must have been very powerful indeed, for I am no light
+weight, and once more I heard the voice, the very sound of which was
+delight, quite close to my ear this time, giving a brief and
+comprehensive command:
+
+"All ready--remember your part--en avant!"
+
+Then it added in English; "Here, Tony, you start kicking against the
+door whilst we begin to shout!"
+
+I loved those few words of English, and hoped that maman had heard them
+too, for it would confirm her--as it did me--in the happy knowledge that
+God and a brave man had taken our rescue in hand.
+
+But from that moment we might all have been in the very antechamber of
+hell. I could hear the violent kicks against the heavy door of our
+prison, and our brave rescuers seemed suddenly to be transformed into a
+cageful of wild beasts. Their shouts and yells were as horrible as any
+that came to us from the outside, and I must say that the gentle, firm
+voice which I had learnt to love was as execrable as any I could hear.
+
+Apparently the door would not yield, as the blows against it became more
+and more violent, and presently, from somewhere above my head--the
+window presumably--there came a rough call and a raucous laugh:
+
+"Why! what in the name of ---- is happening here?"
+
+And the voice near me answered back equally roughly:
+
+"A quarry of six--but we are caught in this trap--get the door open for
+us, citizen--we want to be rid of this booty and go in search for more."
+
+A horrible laugh was the reply from above, and the next instant I heard
+a terrific crash; the door had at last been burst open either from
+within or without, I could not tell which, and suddenly all the din, the
+cries, the groans, the hideous laughter and bibulous songs which had
+sounded muffled up to now burst upon us with all their hideousness.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That was, I think, the most awful moment of that truly fearful hour. I
+could not have moved then, even had I wished or been able to do so, but
+I knew that between us all and a horrible, yelling, murdering mob there
+was now nothing--except the hand of God and the heroism of a band of
+English gentlemen.
+
+Together they gave a cry--as loud, as terrifying as any that were
+uttered by the butchering crowd in the building, and with a wild rush
+they seemed to plunge with us right into the thick of the awful mêlée.
+
+At least that is what it all felt like to me, and afterwards I heard
+from our gallant rescuer himself that that is exactly what he and his
+friends did. There were eight of them altogether, and we four young ones
+had each been hoisted on a pair of devoted shoulders, whilst maman and
+papa were each carried by two men.
+
+I was lying across the finest pair of shoulders in the world, and close
+to me was beating the bravest heart on God's earth.
+
+Thus burdened, these eight noble English gentlemen charged right through
+an army of butchering, howling brutes, they themselves howling with the
+fiercest of them.
+
+All around me I heard weird and terrifying cries:
+
+"What ho, citizens! what have you there?"
+
+"Six aristos!" shouted my hero boldly as he rushed on, forcing his way
+through the crowd.
+
+"What are you doing with them?" yelled a raucous voice.
+
+"Food for the starving fish in the river," was the ready response.
+"Stand aside, citizen," he added, with a round curse. "I have my orders
+from citizen Danton himself about these six aristos. You hinder me at
+your peril."
+
+He was challenged over and over again in the same way, and so were his
+friends who were carrying papa and maman and the children, but they were
+always ready for a reply. With eyes that could not see one could imagine
+them as hideous, as vengeful, as cruel as the rest of the crowd.
+
+I think that soon I must have fainted from sheer excitement and terror,
+for I remember nothing more till I felt myself deposited on a hard
+floor, propped against the wall, and the stifling piece of sacking taken
+off my head and face.
+
+I looked around me dazed and bewildered; gradually the horrors of the
+past hour came back to me, and I had to close my eyes again, for I felt
+sick and giddy with the sheer memory of it all.
+
+But presently I felt stronger and looked around me again. Jean and André
+were squatting in a corner close by, gazing wide-eyed at the group of
+men in filthy, ragged clothing who sat round a deal table in the centre
+of a small, ill-furnished room.
+
+Maman was lying on a horse-hair sofa at the other end of the room, with
+Marguerite beside her, and papa sat in a low chair by her side holding
+her hand.
+
+The voice I loved was speaking in its quaint, somewhat drawly cadence:
+
+"You are quite safe now, my dear Monsieur Lemercier," it said. "After
+Madame and the young people have had a rest some of my friends will find
+you suitable disguises, and they will escort you out of Paris, as they
+have some really genuine passports in their possession, which we obtain
+from time to time through the agency of a personage highly placed in
+this murdering Government, and with the help of English banknotes. Those
+passports are not always unchallenged, I must confess," added my hero,
+with a quaint laugh, "but to-night every one is busy murdering in one
+part of Paris, so the other parts are comparatively safe."
+
+Then he turned to one of his friends and spoke to him in English:
+
+"You had better see this through, Tony," he said, "with Hastings and
+Mackenzie. Three of you will be enough: I shall have need of the
+others."
+
+No one seemed to question his orders. He had spoken and the others made
+ready to obey. Just then papa spoke up:
+
+"How are we going to thank you, sir?" he asked, speaking broken English,
+but with his habitual dignity of manner.
+
+"By leaving your welfare in our hands, Monsieur," replied our gallant
+rescuer quietly.
+
+Papa tried to speak again, but the Englishman put up his hand to stop
+any further talk.
+
+"There is no time now, Monsieur," he said, with gentle courtesy. "I must
+leave you, as I have much work yet to do."
+
+"Where are you going, Blakeney?" asked one of the others.
+
+"Back to the Abbaye prison," he said; "there are other women and
+children to be rescued there!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?
+
+BY JOHN OXENHAM
+
+_Painting by_ EUGENE HASTAIN _and Drawings by GORDON BROWNE, R.I._
+
+
+    _WHAT can a little chap do
+    For his country and for you?
+    What_ CAN _a little chap do?_
+
+    He can fight like a Knight
+    For the Truth and the Right--
+        _That's one good thing he can do._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "He can march in the queue
+    Of the Good and the Great,
+    Who battled with fate
+    And won through."
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Eugene Hastain_]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    He can shun all that's mean,
+    He can keep himself clean,
+    Both without and within--
+        _That's another good thing he can do_.
+
+    His soul he can brace
+    Against everything base,
+    And the trace will be seen
+    All his life in his face--
+        _That's a very fine thing he can do_.
+
+    He can look to the Light,
+    He can keep his thought white,
+    He can fight the great fight,
+    He can do with his might
+    What is good in God's sight--
+        _Those are excellent things he can do_.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    Though his years be but few,
+    He can march in the queue
+    Of the Good and the Great,
+    Who battled with fate
+    And won through--
+        _That's a wonderful thing he can do_.
+
+    And--in each little thing
+    He can follow The King.
+    Yes--in each smallest thing
+    He can follow The King--
+    He can follow The Christ, The King.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT
+
+BY W. PETT RIDGE
+
+_Painting by_ M. E. GRAY _and Drawings by_ LEWIS BAUMER
+
+
+I KNEW a child who----
+
+Some friends of mine have a daughter, and she----
+
+Not very many years ago, I remember hearing----
+
+Once upon a time--that is the proper way to begin this story--once upon
+a time there was a little girl, of about the usual age, who lived near
+to St. John's Wood Road Station, handy to Lord's cricket ground, and not
+far from the Zoological Gardens. You would think that any one who, in
+the summer, could look out of her window and see Mr. P. F. Warner
+batting, and in the winter was able to go any afternoon she liked, to
+watch the lions and tigers take high tea at four, ought to have been as
+happy as the days were long; cheerful even when the days were short. Yet
+she was not entirely satisfied; it may be said that her one failing was
+a spirit of discontent. When grown-ups are discontented, it is called
+ambition; but that is another matter.
+
+On a certain Tuesday evening in November it happened that she felt quite
+pleased with the world until about seven o'clock. Seven in the evening
+was the hour that frequently made her peevish.
+
+Nurse left her alone for a minute to see if everything was ready
+upstairs, and in that minute the little girl jumped on a chair and moved
+back the long hand. She was reading her picture-book with great interest
+when nurse returned.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried nurse. "Quite thought it wanted ten to seven, and
+here it is only ten past six. I shall find myself in Colney Hatch before
+I'm much older."
+
+The little girl wanted to assure Nanna there was no good reason to
+assume that mental decay had set in, but she did not do this at once,
+and afterwards it seemed too late. So nurse was allowed to chat on, and
+tell her very best story about the time when she was a child, and a good
+one at that, and when the clock, having been compelled to go over the
+ground twice, again gave the time as ten to seven, nurse said,
+
+"Now my dearie!"
+
+Upstairs, the little girl devoted a few minutes to instructing her dolly
+in the art of going off nicely to bye-byes.
+
+She was left alone, with just a mere star of gas-light for company
+shining above the dressing-table, and at the moment when she was about
+to go to sleep conscience woke up. Conscience became wide-awake.
+Conscience insisted upon talking, and the little girl had to listen. She
+was aware it is useless to cry when one is by oneself with nobody
+looking on; not only useless but wasteful, because you may want those
+tears on more important and more public occasions. So the little girl
+did not weep, but, oh! she felt troubled. She did feel troubled.
+
+"A silly, stupid world!" she cried aloud. "It ought--it ought to be
+changed. I'd very much love it to be altogether different."
+
+A knock at her door, and she answered, "Please come in, Nanna!" Not
+nurse. Certainly the tall lady with diamonds sparkling in her hair, and
+a white chiffon kind of costume, and a long silver stick in the right
+hand, was as unlike nurse as any one could be. The little girl said,
+"Oh, I beg pardon!" in her politest manner.
+
+"It is for me to beg yours," answered the tall lady with severity. "I am
+exceedingly sorry to disturb you."
+
+"Pray don't mention it."
+
+"I wish to mention it," insisted the lady. "I claim the right to mention
+it. I decline to allow any one to dictate to me what I shall or what I
+shall not mention. I am a good fairy."
+
+The little girl opened her mouth with surprise.
+
+"A good fairy, and I am here to do you a favour. When a good fairy
+wishes to do a favour, it is only necessary for a wish to be expressed,
+and----"
+
+[Illustration: "Bless my soul!" cried nurse]
+
+"Thank you," said the child nervously, "but really I would so much
+rather you did not take the trouble."
+
+"The trouble," replied the good fairy, striking the floor with her
+silver stick in an impatient way, "is no concern of yours. You mustn't
+haggle."
+
+"I don't know what that means," declared the other earnestly, "and if I
+did, I wouldn't do it, ma'am, I wouldn't really. Good evening, and, of
+course, thank you ever so much for calling."
+
+"Dress!" ordered the good fairy.
+
+On the instant something happened which the little girl had often
+thought about; more than once she had talked it over with nurse. She
+found herself, in the space of less time than it takes to click your
+finger and thumb, fully and completely costumed, boots laced up, hair
+taken out of curlers and properly brushed, hat set at the correct angle,
+parasol in hand, gloves buttoned, and everything ready for a walk out of
+doors. She gave a cry of delight and astonishment.
+
+"I am about to give you the great treat of your life," said the fairy,
+"something that no one has ever yet experienced, something that will
+give you a subject to talk about for the rest of your days. Nobody will
+believe you, but that must be endured. You are about to see the world as
+nobody else has seen it. And if you ask me why you have been selected
+for this high and special honour----"
+
+"Please, I don't!"
+
+"My answer is," taking no notice of the interruption, "that you are
+receiving the award for your wonderful discovery."
+
+"But I have discovered nothing."
+
+"Nothing!" echoed the lady, with amazement. "You call it nothing to have
+found out the secret that has puzzled clever people for thousands and
+thousands of years? How often folk have said, 'If only I could live some
+part of my life over again!' and they never have been able to do it.
+You, child, were the first."
+
+The staircase had always gone straight down until it neared the next
+landing, where it took a slight curve; now it was all curves and had
+nothing about it that could be called straight. It went up, it went
+down, it went to the left, it went to the right, so that wherever you
+put your foot expecting to find a step, you did not find it, and
+wherever you put your foot expecting to find nothing, you hurt your
+toes.
+
+"This is very strange, ma'am!"
+
+"That," replied the other, "should be its great attraction. Don't lag.
+We shall get to the end of the staircase in less than ten minutes."
+
+Going out of the street doorway proved one of the most difficult tasks.
+The fairy did not seem to mind, but the child found it extremely odd
+that when you pulled at the door it opened outwards, and that when you
+pushed at it it came in. The iron gate which led to the pavement had
+another form of behaviour. Determined not to be bothered here, she gave
+a touch with her boot, and instantly the iron gate offered her boot a
+pinch; she placed her hand upon it and the gate gripped it, much in the
+way that Uncle Henry did when he said "How do you do?" She put her back
+against it, and the iron gate gave her a clutch around the waist, and
+said, in rasping tones, as it waltzed to the pavement,
+
+"Do you reverse?"
+
+It was then that she perceived the fairy had left her.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A pavement is expected to behave in a calm and demure manner; even when
+it takes you up-hill it does this in the gentlest way. But this
+pavement, so soon as the little girl set foot upon it, at once changed
+to something like a switchback, and a switchback, mark you, she enjoyed
+when seated on a trolley at Shepherd's Bush Exhibitions; it was less
+agreeable to try to walk up and down the uneven parts here. Other people
+did not seem to experience her difficulties, and this she failed to
+understand until she observed that they went along on their hands and
+toes, pretending to have four legs; she tried the same method and found
+it made her back ache; discovered, too, that she could not see so much
+as when walking in the old way. Thus it was that she had reached the end
+of the road, where a steep ascent occurred that was like the side of a
+mountain, ere she noticed something strange and peculiar about the
+houses.
+
+"How very foolish of them to build in that way!" she cried. "They must
+be out of their senses."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was the more eccentric in that her own house so far as she had
+observed had not changed; thinking it over, though, she could not be
+quite sure. Here at any rate was every house upside down with the front
+door right away at the top, Virginia creepers growing downwards; at one
+house the painters were seeing to the front and their ladders came from
+the roof (which was the basement) nearly to the basement (which was the
+roof). A neat lawn hung out over the top of each house; it made her feel
+giddy to think of the risks of playing croquet there; she could not see
+how one would be able to make even the first hoop.
+
+Other things claimed her attention.
+
+There were carts with horses pushing them--she had often heard her
+father reprove her eldest brother for doing this in argument--the horses
+stood upright and wore silk hats in a rakish sort of way, sometimes
+lifting these on meeting another horse and taking cigars out of mouths.
+She spoke to a constable, who wore a helmet on each hand, and put an
+urgent inquiry.
+
+"Miaow!" said the policeman.
+
+"You didn't quite understand," remarked the little girl patiently. "I
+asked you if you would kindly tell me the way to get home to Wellington
+Road."
+
+"Ba, ba!"
+
+"Do please listen to me," she begged, "and tell me what I want to know.
+I think I've lost my way, and I'm so afraid that I'm going to cry."
+
+"Moo--oo!" said the constable.
+
+[Illustration: Instructing her dolly in the art of going off nicely to
+by-byes.
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by M. E. Gray_]
+
+"Please, please," she cried, "please don't be silly. Why do you keep
+making noises like that instead of giving me a proper answer?"
+
+"Missy," he explained, "I'm a comic policeman. I'm not here to tell folk
+the way or to lock them up, or anything of that kind; I'm here to make
+people laugh."
+
+"You are not amusing me!"
+
+"Not when I make a noise like a dog?" he asked, with surprise. "Why,
+that nearly always sends people into a good temper. You wait till I give
+you my imitation of a railway engine. Hark!"
+
+He set his teeth together and began to say "Isha--isha--isha," but the
+little girl turned away. She felt so indignant that she determined to
+tell her father about it at the very first opportunity, and see whether
+something could not be done. More than once her father had helped to
+straighten out tangled matters by simply writing a letter to the
+newspapers, and signing himself "An Indignant Ratepayer."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And at the very moment along came her father. He, too, walked on all
+fours as other people did, and the little girl thought it caused him to
+look particularly undignified, but she did not trouble about this, for,
+stout as he was, she was really glad to see him.
+
+"How do you do," he said respectfully. "Can you give me a penny to buy
+some sweeties?"
+
+"Daddie, dear!" she cried with distress. "Don't you begin to be funny,
+please."
+
+"I'm not," he said.
+
+"But you are my parent, you know."
+
+"Yes," he sighed, "I'm aware of that. But under the new rules--you must
+have heard all about them--under the new rules parents have to be
+obedient to their children, and do everything their children tell them
+to do."
+
+"Not a bad idea," decided the little girl, after giving it
+consideration. "I think if you don't mind I will get you to come along
+now to Finchley Road and buy for me the mechanical rocking-horse that
+has been talked about for some time."
+
+"Under the old arrangement," he replied readily, "I should have been
+only too pleased, but the new rules say that children must buy presents
+for their father and mother."
+
+"How can we," getting rather cross, "how in the world can we when we
+have no money?"
+
+"I think," he said, "that it is expected you should go to work and earn
+some."
+
+"Never heard such nonsense in the whole course of my life," she
+declared, using a grown-up remark. "It's perfect rubbish. Do you mean to
+say that I shall have to go to concerts and sing as mamma does?"
+
+"That's the idea, I believe."
+
+"But I can't sing. I can't sing nearly well enough to earn money."
+
+"Well," said her father, after considering the matter, "what about going
+out as charwoman? You'd get two shillings a day and your lunch."
+
+She stood there for a few minutes, not daring to speak, and overcome
+with cares and responsibilities. Some one touched her on the shoulder,
+and she looked up.
+
+"Good fairy!" she cried.
+
+"Do you like the altogether different you asked for?"
+
+"No," she answered, "I don't like it at all. I wish now I hadn't put
+back the hands of the clock."
+
+"You mean to say that that was how you did it? You dare to tell me it
+was nothing cleverer than that? Now, just to punish you," said the
+fairy, speaking with stern decision, "I shall send you away to the old
+sort of world, and you'll simply have to make the best of it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bedroom door opened, and nurse came in. The little girl, snuggling
+down into her warm, comfortable bed, kept her eyes shut.
+
+"Bless her!" said nurse to herself. "Sleeping as sound as a top. That's
+what comes of having nothing on your mind to worry you!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ESCAPE
+
+_A GIRL'S STORY FROM GALLANT BELGIUM_
+
+BY ANNIE S. SWAN
+
+_Drawings by_ HAROLD EARNSHAW
+
+
+Not a sound broke the exquisite hush of the early morning.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The old courtyard, with its tiled pavement, its cool fountain, and its
+cooing doves, the dog asleep in the sunshine, made a picture of perfect
+peace.
+
+The house, once the Château of a great family that had fallen on evil
+days, was grey and old, and beautiful still, though now merely _une
+pension de demoiselles_.
+
+It was August, when, as a rule, all the merry throng had scattered from
+the Château to their respective homes, leaving it to its former dignity
+and quiet. Mademoiselle usually went to England, perhaps seeking fresh
+pupils, or to enjoy the sea breezes on the Normandy coast.
+
+La Royat, in the village of Coutane, was inland from the sea, about
+fifteen miles from Brussels. It was a sweet spot, beloved of the
+understanding traveller, and many came to look at the fine old church,
+whose spire and windows were among the treasures known to lovers of the
+beautiful all over the world. Mademoiselle Ledru had nothing to complain
+of in her lot, with which she had been hitherto content. Success had
+flowed in upon her earnest efforts, though looking at her anxious face
+that summer morning one would have thought her oppressed by care. She
+was an elderly woman now, with the remains of beauty still on her face.
+The place where she stood that morning, before her household was astir,
+was certainly unusual, being the square tower of the Château, from whose
+low ramparts she was sweeping the horizon with a powerful glass. It was
+all very peaceful and beautiful, a wide rolling plateau, with fields
+white to harvest, not a hint of approaching desolation on its smiling
+face.
+
+It was very early, hardly an hour past daybreak, but already some of the
+thrifty peasants were busy in the fields. Far away on the red horizon
+there was a slight haze, regarding which Mademoiselle seemed more than a
+little curious. Again and again she focused her glass, until confident
+that the haze was not altogether stationary, but moved and broke and
+thickened again. Then with a sickening apprehension at her heart, she
+turned and fled down the stairs and went to open the big door of the
+Château. Jules, the fat and sleepy porter, was undoing the bolts as she
+got down.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Some one is at the gate, an early visitor." He
+chuckled as he undid the last bolt, and threw wide the door. When he
+would have hobbled across the courtyard to open the gate his mistress
+was before him. When she undid the bolts the Curé, bareheaded, stood
+before her.
+
+"Ah, Mademoiselle, it is bad news," he said in a firm voice, though his
+face was tense with apprehension. "They come, the barbarians. I have
+information, now it behoves us to consult what we will do."
+
+Mademoiselle whitened to the lips, and drew him in and shut the door.
+She signed to Jules to depart, but the Curé intervened.
+
+"Let him stay. It will save a twice-told tale. I have certain news that
+they are not more than a couple of hours' march away, and for sure they
+will come this way to Brussels. What shall we do?"
+
+"I will remain at my post," answered Julie Ledru firmly. "I have no fear
+for myself, but my charges, Father--Rosalie and Biddy, with whom their
+English parents have trusted me. My spirit fails! What must we do with
+them?"
+
+"It will not be safe to leave them here, Mademoiselle, nor even for you
+to stay. We will take you to the crypt of the church, where, with a
+little food and drink, you will be safe until they have passed through.
+We have no treasure here in Coutane, and are simple folk. Perhaps we
+shall be beneath their notice."
+
+Julie Ledru clasped her hands in an ecstasy of apprehension. They had
+been without newspapers for four days, but chance travellers from the
+East had brought strange and appalling tales of the invaders' desolating
+march. They told of ruined villages and burning homes, and helpless
+people mercilessly shot down in places as simple and as unimportant as
+Coutane. Julie Ledru looked round her little domain with a kind of sad
+pride. It did not contain many treasures, it is true, but it was her
+home, enshrined by many sweet memories. It contained her all.
+
+"Now, Father?" she asked feverishly. "Do you think we should come now?"
+
+"Without a moment's delay," he answered. "Go and get your charges roused
+and bring all with you; a little food also in a basket, lest you have to
+stop there several days."
+
+[Illustration: Fleur-de-Lis
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Carlton A. Smith, R.I._]
+
+"You will be with us, Father?" said Julie anxiously.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"My place is in the open street with such of my people as feel strong
+and brave in their innocence and faith. But you have English charges. If
+it was known, Mademoiselle, believe me, nothing would save them or you.
+Their fury against the English is so great."
+
+"Shall we take Jules? Besides him, there is only our faithful Babette."
+
+Before the Curé could reply Jules intervened, scratching his old grey
+head.
+
+"I hide not from them, Mademoiselle; I will stay and guard the Château
+and keep them out, if I can, barbarians that they are, making war on
+women and children."
+
+"They will shoot you, Jules, if you are so foolish," his mistress
+reminded him. His answer was a shrug of the shoulders.
+
+"A man dies but once--that is to say, a good man, who has faith in God
+and does his duty."
+
+So saying, Jules went back to take up his waiting duty.
+
+The Curé departed the way he had come, and Julie Ledru, with a feeling
+of strange calm upon her, hurried indoors to make her few simple
+preparations. Babette, the elderly servant, one of the best of the old
+Brabant type, was cool and ready for any emergency, and in an incredibly
+short time they had packed some food and a few necessaries in two
+considerable baskets. Then Mademoiselle Ledru essayed the task she
+dreaded--that of awaking her two young charges, and preparing them for
+the ordeal through which they had to pass.
+
+They were still asleep, in two beds side by side, in one of the
+pleasantest rooms of the Château. Rosalie Bentham, fair and rosy, like
+an English flower, her golden hair lying on her pillow like an aureole,
+and Biddy Connaught, the dark-eyed Irish girl, whose long black lashes
+swept her cheek, while her dimpled chin was in her open palm, as she
+smiled over some passing imagery of her dream. Something caught Julie
+Ledru's throat as she regarded these two pictures of innocence and
+beauty, and reflected on the greatness of her charge. Both were only
+children, entrusted to her care in the holidays, because their parents,
+both in the exercise of duty, could not take them home. But with a
+strong effort she controlled herself and awakened them gently. It was a
+process of some length, because the sleep of youth is sound and deep,
+but at last they were sitting up, drinking in her news.
+
+"We have to run away and hide in the crypt until the Germans have
+marched through the village. Do you hear, Biddy?" called Rosalie, as
+she sprang from her bed and began to get into her clothes. "But how
+ripping! What lots we shall all have to write about and to tell them
+when we get home!"
+
+Julie Ledru faintly, tremulously, smiled, and with her own hands she
+assisted them to make a hasty toilet. Some coffee was ready for them
+downstairs, for Babette was a methodical person, not easily upset. Thus
+fortified, they left the Château presently, leaving Babette and Jules in
+charge. Babette made the same excuse--some one must stay to guard the
+place, and surely when they found nobody but two simple old servants
+they would pass on.
+
+Julie had no time to argue; perhaps even she did not fully realise the
+peril to which these two faithful souls thus willingly exposed
+themselves. She looked back on their serene faces as she passed through
+the gate, and it was the last time she was to look on them in life. She
+never saw them again, nor found them. They disappeared in the ruins of
+La Royat as many had disappeared in other ruins, leaving no trace
+behind. At the church, which was but a few paces off, they found the
+Curé busy arranging shelter. It was a very tiny village, and the number
+of those willing to accept the shelter he offered and, indeed, advised
+was comparatively few. For though a simple they were a brave people, nor
+could they conceive of a wickedness and barbarity that would seek to
+destroy innocent souls who had naught to do with war. So they went about
+their ordinary avocations as usual, a trifle more apprehensively
+perhaps, but none the less bravely, and the morning wore on.
+
+The Curé took his charges, about twenty souls in all, down the narrow
+stairs to the crypt, where he had already provided light and such small
+comforts as he could spare from his own store.
+
+"Isn't it ripping, Biddy?" asked Rosalie, but perhaps her young voice
+had lost a little of its gallant ring. But Biddy, who had the
+imaginative temperament of her race, shivered a little, and burst into
+tears. It was strange and ominous to come in out of the warm, hopeful
+sunshine to this place of tombs, an adventure with which the child could
+very well have dispensed. The church was very old, and many who had been
+born in Coutane had never seen the crypt. Its very existence was unknown
+to a large number, and the entrance to it was so cunningly arranged, and
+so difficult of access, that it was of all hiding-places in the village
+the most secure.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then there was always the belief, founded on all precedent of war, that
+the sacred things would be respected, and sanctuary in God's house left
+undesecrated. The hours seemed long down there and the stillness
+profound. Not a sound from the upper air penetrated to that strange
+hiding-place. Though sure of their sanctuary, it seemed natural to lower
+their voices, to move softly, and even to watch apprehensively. Even the
+two girls, usually so high-spirited, found themselves naturally becoming
+quiet. It was only the very little children, of whom there were five,
+who, unconscious of danger, crowed and laughed and babbled in their
+usual glee. These little ones provided incessant interest and occupation
+for the two girls, and Julie Ledru smiled as she watched their pretty
+efforts to amuse and keep them quiet. She had brought her watch, and it
+pointed to nine o'clock at the moment when they heard a dull thud
+several times repeated, which caused them all to start and look at one
+another in quick alarm.
+
+"It is the guns," said old Monsieur Rollin, whose legs were twisted with
+rheumatism, so that they had half-carried him down the steps of the
+crypt. "They have come, and are starting their fiendish work."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No one could gainsay him, and for the next half-hour they had to listen
+to a repetition of the same sound gradually getting nearer and nearer.
+Presently their terror was increased by the deafening roar of artillery
+much nearer and the sound of falling masonry, indicating that the church
+itself, cradle and sanctuary of the life of Coutane for centuries, had
+not been respected. The two English girls, now thoroughly frightened,
+clung together fearfully, and the whole little company, some of them on
+their knees, did not exchange a word. After a time the firing ceased,
+and they were left to absolute stillness. But none of them moved, or
+offered to go up to discover what had actually happened in the village.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+After what seemed an interminable interval--in reality it was not more
+than a couple of hours from the moment the din ceased overhead--the door
+of the crypt was cautiously opened, and the Curé looked in. He was all
+dishevelled, his face blackened with smoke, and his whole appearance
+that of a man who had seen some terrible and haunting vision.
+
+"Ah, there you are, my children," he cried as they crowded round him; "I
+think you may come up presently, but be prepared to have your hearts
+broken. A regiment of the enemy has passed through, and left nothing
+behind. Mademoiselle, the Château is in flames, and the beautiful spire
+of the church has been blown to pieces, and at the Mairie the
+devastation is complete. But, above all, we mourn the death of so many
+helpless people--I myself escaped by a miracle."
+
+"Have they gone?" asked Mademoiselle, with a shivering breath.
+
+"They have, and I think that they are pursued, and that this was the
+hurried work of destruction prompted by hatred and revenge. Will you
+come up now and see for yourselves, or remain here in safety through the
+night? Alas! you will find no other refuge, Mademoiselle, for your home
+is in ruins."
+
+Such fear was upon them that with one accord they determined to remain
+in the crypt until the dawn of another day.
+
+Even the natural gaiety and high spirits of youth were not proof against
+the terror which all felt might swoop down upon them again at any
+moment.
+
+They had arranged themselves as comfortably as possible to pass the
+night, when they were suddenly disturbed by the grating of a door and
+the swinging of a lantern. All scrambled to their feet, some of them
+shrieking and hiding their eyes, certain that there had been a fresh
+arrival of the invaders, and that instant death would meet them.
+
+But once more the Curé smiled upon them reassuringly.
+
+"Courage, my children! Our trouble is for the moment at an end. Our own
+brave soldiers have arrived. It is as I said--they are in pursuit, but
+part of them will camp here to-night. Alas! we have little or no food to
+offer them, for the barbarians stripped the village of everything."
+
+Then Julie Ledru, hurriedly throwing on her cloak, said she would ascend
+with the Curé and give what stores she could from the Château.
+
+"But it is no more, my daughter. You have forgotten how I told you
+yesterday that they have burned it to the ground."
+
+"But my stores are hidden in the grotto in the garden, and there is a
+secret passage to it. I think, Father, they had not time, or did not
+take it, to explore, and we shall find things there. I have been putting
+them away since the war began."
+
+So in the pearly dawn, a strange sight was to be seen in the trampled,
+desecrated garden of the Château behind its smoking ruins.
+
+Led by Julie Ledru, the Commandant of the troops that had halted in the
+village found stores sufficient to help assuage the hunger of his men.
+He was profuse in his thanks.
+
+"What can I do for you in exchange, Mademoiselle?" he asked, as he stood
+at the salute. Instantly Mademoiselle pointed to her charges, who, still
+shivering a little with fear, yet profoundly, poignantly interested in
+the extraordinary scene of desolation, in what but a few hours ago was
+one of the fairest spots in Belgium.
+
+"These are my English children. Get them to their parents, Monsieur le
+Capitaine, and I shall be amply repaid."
+
+The officer shook his head.
+
+"Easier said than done, Madame; but leave it, and I will see what can be
+done. How is it you have been so indiscreet as to remain here? You ought
+to have removed yourself, and them, while there was still time."
+
+Mademoiselle shook her head.
+
+"We imagined we were of no account, and we have had no news for several
+days. We were assured that the tide of battle had flowed in a different
+direction."
+
+"It is everywhere, Mademoiselle--an evil flood, rolling over the whole
+of our country. But, look you, I will see what can be done."
+
+He was as good as his word, and that evening after dark, in an armoured
+motor-car, Julie Ledru and her charges were driven for hours and miles
+by tortuous ways which kept them out of danger, until they reached
+Ghent, where it was still possible to get a train for Ostend.
+
+Two days later, she landed in England with Rose and Biddy, herself
+utterly ruined, her home gone, one of the most pitiful of the refugees.
+
+But she was welcomed warmly and gratefully by Biddy's father, and in a
+few days' time was safe in a warm, comfortable home on the Irish coast,
+where Rose, too, was made welcome, until her own relatives in India
+could be communicated with.
+
+It was an experience the two girls would never forget, one which will
+remain with them through life as a very poignant personal experience of
+the Great War.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+_Fleur de Lis_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_by Kate Douglas Wiggin_
+
+    _Painting by_ Carlton A. Smith, _R.A._
+
+    _Drawings by_ Edmund J. Sullivan, _A.R.W.S._
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by the Century Company._
+
+
+FLEUR-DE-LIS had been christened Marie Hortense Amélie Dupont: Marie for
+her mother, Hortense and Amélie in honour of the two Vicomtesses de
+Rastignac, sole survivors of the proud old Royalist family in whose
+service Marie's mother and grandmother had lived, and into whose service
+Marie herself had been born. But when _la petite_ Marie Hortense Amélie
+was a mere blossom of babyhood she forsook the name that the priest had
+given her as he touched her downy head with the holy water, and chose
+instead to be called Fleur-de-lis--a name, in sooth, much better suited
+to a noble daughter of the Rastignacs than to a child of Marie Dupont,
+maker of tissue-paper flowers, and Pierre Dupont, street musician.
+
+Fleur-de-lis had first opened her eyes in a very humble chamber, but it
+was large enough to hold a deal of sweet content, which grew all the
+sweeter when she came to share it. There were only two rooms for father,
+mother, and child, and these were in a dreary tenement house, for Pierre
+Dupont, a stranger in a strange land, was having a desperate struggle
+with poverty. On being discharged from the hospital, where he had passed
+through the dangerous illness that left him a maimed and broken man, he
+had to begin the world all over again, and begin it single-handed, in
+very truth. There were few things to which he could turn his one hand;
+one of them was the crank of a street-piano, and in a modest example of
+that modern instrument of torture he accordingly invested the last of
+his savings. He was much too good for it, but by regarding it distinctly
+as a hated object which should be discarded the moment something better
+appeared, he mastered his aversion, and, by wheeling it through the
+streets from morning till night, he managed to live, for there were
+always people who wanted to hear it, and others who did not, so that
+between the two classes he scraped together enough for his frugal
+needs.
+
+Marie was young and pretty and loyal, and when affairs were most
+desperate she offered to take the baby Fleur-de-lis and accompany her
+husband, gathering the pennies in a tambourine, while he ground
+so-called music from the piano with the left arm, that grew so weary in
+the monotonous service. But there was not a trace of the mountebank in
+Pierre Dupont, nor a drop of beggar's blood in his veins. He was poor
+and crippled, but he had still the self-respecting pride of the peasant
+whose people had served noble families, and who know what true nobility
+is. He could injure the dead-and-gone Rastignacs, if he must, by
+trundling about a second-hand street-piano, but he could at least spare
+them the insult of adding a monkey or a woman to the procession. So
+Maman Marie, loving him more than ever for his chivalrous regard of her,
+took up an almost forgotten pastime of her girlhood, and fell to making
+artificial flowers, which she sold to an old woman who stood on the
+street corners and offered them to the passers-by.
+
+The two rooms in the tenement house were as neat as care and thrift
+could make them. The windows opened only into the court, it is true, but
+Pierre and Marie did not need to look out of doors to get a pleasant
+view, for they could look at each other, and at the baby; besides, the
+glass was spotlessly clean and hung with equally spotless curtains. The
+floors were uncarpeted, but there was never a speck of dust on them. The
+little kitchen where Marie worked had a not unappetising fragrance from
+the _pot-au-feu_ that simmered on the stove; it had also a gleam of
+sunshine in it for a few hours each day. Sometimes when Pierre left his
+incubus for half an hour and ran home for a mouthful of bread and soup,
+he looked at Maman Marie sitting by her table in the sunshine, her
+scissors gleaming among the paper-flower petals, and at Fleur-de-lis,
+sitting at her feet playing with the rainbow-coloured scraps, and then
+he fell on his knees beside them, and, putting his arm about them both,
+forgot that it was the only one he had, forgot that he was poor and
+crippled, and that the future was all uncertain, remembering only that
+he had home and wife and child, and that life, with all its hardships,
+was inexpressibly dear to him. For it happens, sometimes, that a poet's
+soul is lodged in a very humble tenement, and a love that would do
+honour to a knight blossoms and flourishes in the midst of mean and
+pitiful surroundings.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Fleur-de-lis's cradle had curtains made of a bit of tricolour, and from
+the centre of the canopy there hung a medal of the Virgin swinging on a
+narrow ribbon of blue. The cradle itself was a wooden box, and Marie,
+with a maternal ingenuity that surmounted the lack of ordinary
+materials, had lined the inside of the hood with tissue-paper flowers;
+white and blue fleurs-de-lis to match those on the faded satin coverlet,
+a fragment of ancient grandeur where the Rastignac coat-of-arms was
+intertwined with the Bourbon lilies of France. And when the baby's
+vagrant gaze wandered to the flowery heaven above her head, and her pink
+fingers reached to touch it and to stroke the soft counterpane, Maman
+Marie would tell her the name of the posies; and so after a time, when
+she discovered that people and things possessed names, Marie Hortense
+Amélie, Mademoiselle Bébé, elected to call herself Fleur-de-lis. It was
+the first word she lisped, and she attached it to herself with the
+utmost complacency. It was appropriate enough, for she looked as if she
+might have been originally intended for a flower, and then somehow a
+soul had strayed into the flower, and it had fluttered down to earth as
+a child--a curious blossom to come from lowly stock, a kind of tender
+and beautiful miracle wrought out of common clay by the fashioning and
+refining power of love. At times, when Marie sat at her work and looked
+at Fleur-de-lis cooing and smiling under her tri-coloured curtains, she
+forgot the strange land outside the windows, and the Babel of strange
+tongues in the crowded tenement, and as her deft, brown fingers shaped
+the tissue flowers, she saw in fancy the poppies and the wheat and the
+lilies of her native Breton fields. She saw the sun shining on the old
+château, her mother hanging a chaplet on the baron's tomb in the little
+oratory, the aged baroness walking sadly in the pleasance. All, all were
+gone. The château was dismantled. The proud old family, rooted for
+centuries to the soil of Brittany, had gradually lost its land and its
+riches, till now there was only one frail old dame, poor and childless,
+to maintain the ancient title. All these memories, half sad, half sweet,
+flitted in and out of Marie's mind as she snipped and trimmed and
+twisted and shaped, her head on one side to view the result, like a
+little brown pheasant regarding a berry; and if Fleur-de-lis slept, she
+hummed a Breton lullaby as she twined her paper nosegays. What wonder,
+then, that there was a French air about them that attracted purchasers?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+So "hope clad in April green" made life worth living for father and
+mother; and, as for Fleur-de-lis, she was a child; and she had love, and
+that was enough, and it is sad when we grow so old that it does not
+suffice for us. But these days, so full of care and anxiety, of
+weariness and self-denial tinged with happiness, came to an end; for
+when Fleur-de-lis was two years old, Maman Marie, young and strong,
+passionately in love with life, desperately needed by husband and
+child, had to leave them, to journey on alone to another far country,
+having just grown wonted to this.
+
+Then the light went out of the two little rooms that had been home;
+indeed, it seemed to go out of the world altogether. Hard times and yet
+harder ones descended upon poor Pierre Dupont. Marie's earnings no
+longer helped to swell the slender income, and there were no willing
+woman's hands to cut and plan and save, to contrive and embellish. Added
+to this, the piano suddenly grew uncertain, and subject to grave musical
+lapses, attacks of aphasia in the middle of some tunes, and of asthma in
+the middle of others; so that the hoot of the stony-hearted bystander
+and the ruffianly small boy became familiar to Pierre's ears; for he
+could not afford to buy new cylinders to fit into the old instrument,
+and to keep it up to the demands of the street, which is always
+delighted if you "cannot sing the old songs," and wishes the latest
+melody to the exclusion of everything else.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Fleur-de-lis had been left in the care of a woman for many weeks after
+Marie's death, but the sight of her tear-stained face at night, the
+tender frenzy with which she lifted her arms to her father when he came
+in, the sob of joy with which she buried her head in his coat, the sigh
+of content with which she stroked his cheek between every mouthful of
+bread and milk as she sat on his knee eating her meagre supper--all this
+was too much for his loving heart. He had a small sum of money that he
+had been hoarding to attach "Annie Rooney" and "Comrades" to his
+unfashionable instrument, that he might appease the public by the
+gratification of its darling wishes, and withdraw the Boulanger march
+from its sated ears. This money he took and went to a carpenter's shop
+in the neighbourhood. After many explanations in his broken English, and
+many diagrams rudely drawn on paper, the carpenter succeeded in building
+a primitive sort of baby-carriage on one end of the street-piano. It had
+two wheels of its own, and moved somewhat in harmony with the ancient
+instrument, which had its difficulties of locomotion nowadays, as well
+as its musical weaknesses. It had a drawer in which Fleur-de-lis's
+playthings were kept--a battered doll, and boxes of her favourite scraps
+of bright tissue-paper, the top of an old cotton umbrella, and a square
+of rubber cloth like that which covered the piano when it rained. Here
+Fleur-de-lis sat for many hours each day, happy and content. Pierre
+would often take her out, and let her toddle by his side until she was
+tired, when she would ascend her throne again. She wore a faded corduroy
+jacket and an old woollen cap, but the flower-face that smiled above
+the one, and the shower of chestnut hair that fell from beneath the
+other, made you forget the poverty of her raiment. She was always clean
+and sweet and comfortable, for Pierre, with the gentleness and patience
+of a woman, washed and even mended, in a rough sort of a way, that the
+child might not wholly miss a mother's care.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Matters were going on in this way, rather from bad to worse, when one
+November day father and child turned off a side-street, and trundled
+into one of the fashionable avenues of the city. Pierre did not often
+wheel his piano in front of brown-stone houses; it was too old and
+wheezy to commend itself to localities accustomed to Seidl's orchestra
+and the Hungarian band; but he scarcely knew to-day whither his aimless
+feet were carrying him. For two weeks he had gone out in the early
+morning and evening, leaving Fleur-de-lis asleep, and had spent an hour
+or two in a vain quest for employment. But his speech was broken, and he
+had only one arm--small wonder that he failed when hundreds of men with
+two arms and nimbler tongues were seeking the same thing and failing.
+People generally told him that he ought to have stayed at home in his
+own country, where he belonged; but that, as he had not done that, his
+next best plan was to get back there at the earliest possible moment. If
+they had had time to hear his justification for cumbering the earth of
+this free country, he might have told them that he left France a strong
+young man, with a strong young wife, and nearly fifteen hundred francs
+for the inevitable rainy day; but that the rainy day had turned out to
+be a continual downpour. He was wondering in a dull, vague sort of way,
+as they rattled along over the cobblestones, why there was not bread for
+the mouths that needed it. He wondered why, through no fault of his own,
+he should have been maimed and crippled, why the loss of wife should
+have followed the loss of limb, why there was not enough work in the
+world for the people who were willing to do it, why the children in the
+luxurious carriages that swept past him should be swathed in furs while
+Fleur-de-lis's hands were blue in her ragged mittens.
+
+The universe was a mystery to Pierre Dupont. Search it as he might, he
+could find no key to its curious distribution of miseries and
+injustices. It seemed to him that, if some people would be content to
+take a little less, there might be a little more for him; but he was by
+no means certain of the soundness of this comfortable theory. A little
+less gold plate on that harness, for instance, a yard less of lace on
+the gown of that lady just stepping into her brougham, a single diamond
+from her marquise ring--no, that superficial and snarling philosophy
+did not help Pierre; there was neither envy nor rage in his heart as
+yet; only a dull despair, a groping in the dark for a reason. Many of
+these fortunate people, he supposed, deserved their fortunes, and had
+earned them. They were cleverer than he, and had friends and
+opportunities not vouchsafed, perhaps, to him. But why, since he was not
+clever, and since he had neither friends nor opportunities, should he
+have been deprived first of his principal means of self-support, and
+then of his consolation, his courage, his other and braver self?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And now it was the anniversary of Marie's death. That made the day even
+harder to bear; for in some subtle way the remembrance of certain hours
+or moments in a dear dead past is always more bitter when we say to
+ourselves with a sigh, "It was just a year ago." Nature was in no
+buoyant mood. A cold, drizzling rain, which ought to have been snow,
+fell from time to time. The chill dampness made people draw their wraps
+closer, and look drearily at the sky. Even the children appeared less
+joyous than usual. Men turned up the bottoms of their trousers and the
+collars of their coats, and hurried past one another with a gruff nod
+that would have been a smile on a sunny day. The bare branches of the
+trees shivered in the wind, and a few snowbirds huddled themselves
+together cheerlessly here and there, as if even they wished themselves
+farther south.
+
+Pierre took out the rubber-cloth to cover his piano, and as he did so he
+saw two children at the second story of a fine house near by. He
+expected to be ordered away by a butler in livery at the moment he
+disclosed the limitations of his musical instrument, but one could never
+tell, the butler might be wooing the parlour-maid, so he drew up in
+front of the drive-way. Fleur-de-lis had just walked several blocks,
+and, on being lifted into her carriage, hoisted the dilapidated cotton
+umbrella and wrapped her doll in an extra bit of calico. Pierre turned
+the crank; the piano began on "Love's Young Dream." It seemed to him
+that, with every revolution of the handle, he twisted the chords of his
+aching heart, and that presently it would break, as the battered old
+cylinders threatened to do, and for the same reason; because, alas! too
+many tunes had been played upon them. When ill-fortune descends too
+thick and fast upon the human spirit, unless it can draw fresh
+accessions of strength from within, from without, from above, it sinks
+inevitably into despair. Man may be conscious that he is made in the
+image of God, fitted to endure, to conquer, all things, but for the time
+he is common human clay, he faints and dies, or falls into a cowardly
+lethargy that is worse than death. Such a moment had come to Pierre
+Dupont. In his first crushing blow he had had a wife to stand shoulder
+to shoulder with him. He had now his passionate devotion to his child;
+but in cold and weariness, in hunger and friendlessness, ill-fortune and
+despair, would love be able to keep itself pure, noble, self-denying,
+hopeful? There were ways of forgetting, of dulling one's self, of
+blotting out memory for hours together.
+
+His wants were comparatively simple; but, since he could not realise
+them, why not give up the struggle? He did not wish for a carriage or a
+palace; he wished to give up his vagrant life for some labour by which
+he could maintain himself and give his child a start towards honest
+womanhood. That was not extravagant, surely, and if God were indeed in
+His heaven, and all were indeed right with the world, it seemed to
+Pierre that it was none too much to ask.
+
+He finished "Love's Young Dream," and began the "Boulanger March." A
+young girl of eighteen or nineteen, with an open book in her hand,
+joined the children at the window. She had a beautiful, rather serious
+face, and it brightened into amusement, and then into earnestness, as
+she caught sight of the quaint vehicle, of the child under the faded
+umbrella, and of the empty sleeve of the musician. Pierre ground on
+mechanically; it was "I dreamt that I dwelt in Marble Halls" now, and he
+hoped that a dime would be flung from the window before he came to
+"Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town," for that was the weakest part of his
+repertoire. The group still stayed at the window, and the crisis could
+not be delayed. The piano jerked through several bars, stopped and
+repeated, wheezed and returned to the "Boulanger March," then bounded
+again to "Edinboro' Town," and, after several ineffectual attempts to
+finish it, made an asthmatic dash into "No One to Love." Pierre looked
+anxiously under the _porte-cochère_ for the resentful butler; but the
+children shrieked with renewed delight, and the young girl, going away
+from the window, presently appeared, running down the drive-way, and
+slipping on her jacket as she came. She approached the edge of the
+side-walk, for there was no group about the piano, and, after a brief
+interview with Pierre, she left a piece of silver with him, and went
+upstairs to her mother.
+
+Janet Gordon was a great anxiety to her family. She was possessed of the
+most extraordinary ideas, and no one could tell whence they came, unless
+she became infected by them in some mysterious fashion, as one is by
+microbes; at all events, she had never inherited them in the legitimate
+way. At present, it is true, she had not been introduced to society, but
+unless a great change of heart should make itself apparent in a few
+months, she threatened to be no ornament to her set, and no source of
+pride to an ambitious mother.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Please look out of the window, mama," she said, bringing a breath of
+raw air into her mother's flower-scented sitting-room.
+
+Mrs. Gordon rose languidly, her tea-gown trailing behind her. "What is
+it? Anything more than an organ-grinder who has been rasping my nerves
+for five minutes? Oh, I see what you mean; what an extraordinary
+combination--a child in one end of the machine! Tell Héloise to give the
+man a dime, dear."
+
+"I have given him a quarter myself, and have had a little talk with him;
+he is quite different from the ordinary organ-grinder, mama."
+
+"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Gordon good-naturedly; "all your geese are
+swans, dear; a dime was quite enough for him."
+
+"But he has only one arm, you see, mama."
+
+"Of course, they never have; that is one of the tricks of the trade.
+They bind one arm down to the side, and then slip the coat over it. If
+you notice the man to-morrow he will have the left sleeve hanging empty,
+and be playing with the right arm--it is more effective."
+
+"I'm sure there is no deception in this case, mama."
+
+"Well, have it your own way, child; but pray don't take off his coat to
+investigate, or you'll be catching some dreadful disease. It does seem
+strange that poor people should always be so odiously dirty, when water
+costs nothing."
+
+"This man is as clean as possible, and so is the baby. Her name is
+Fleur-de-lis; is it not quaint?"
+
+"Just what I should expect; the dirtier and commoner they are, the more
+regal and fanciful are the names they give their children. I suppose
+your Fleur-de-lis is redolent of garlic, like the Pansies and Violets of
+her class."
+
+"No, she is not. She is as sweet as a rose; but her face is almost blue
+with cold."
+
+"Of course; what can the man expect if he trundles her about in this
+weather? But I suppose he does it to enlist public sympathy. I wonder
+why foreigners choose this particularly obnoxious way of getting a
+living; and, if they must do it, why they go about with a decrepit old
+instrument like that."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Yes, his piano is very old, but he cannot afford to rent a better one
+just at present. He said, in his broken English, 'I had not the "Marche
+Boulanger," neither "Comrades," ma'mselle; it was then I had what you
+call bad luck, and now, _mon Dieu!_ it is that I have not
+"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay."' And, as for the child, he does not allow her to
+take the money. I was dropping the quarter into her hand, when he
+touched his cap, and said, '_Pardon_, give it to me, ma'mselle, _s'il
+vous plaît_. You see, if ze monees keep putting in her hand she will
+grow up one leetle beggair; she does not make ze muzeek, she does not
+push ze piano--_bien_, she s'all not take zee monees."
+
+"Extraordinary!" murmured Mrs. Gordon satirically, as she fitted the
+cushions to her back more luxuriously; "you must repeat that speech to
+your father. I actually believe that a new order of philosophic
+mendicant is springing up to match the new charity. The new charity does
+not wish to pauperise poverty, and the new poverty does not wish to be
+pauperised; it is really very amusing."
+
+"He is forced to take the child with him, because she has no mother,"
+explained Janet.
+
+"Of course she has no mother; they make it a point to have no mother,
+or, if they have, they say they never knew who she was nor where she
+is."
+
+"They know where this mother is," said Janet gravely, "for she died a
+year ago to-day."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Really, Janet, you exasperate me beyond measure, talking with these low
+people, and allowing them to fill your mind with their falsehoods. What
+is it you wish to do? You have given the man a quarter already; that
+will quench his thirst for the present--Héloise, don't take Fifine out
+without her blanket; she has been shivering on the rug before the fire.
+Go back to your books, Janet. There will always be poor organ-grinders,
+and most of them will have lost some of their arms or legs, and all of
+them will have motherless, or worse than motherless, children. It's the
+way of the world, and if you had the wealth of the Indies you could
+never set things right--and, Héloise, come back a moment; tell Madame
+Labiche that all three gowns must be sent home to-morrow; and that I
+shall give her no more orders if she copies any detail of my costumes
+for her other customers; and don't forget the American Beauties, two
+dozen, the longest stems, and give that piano-child at the gate ten
+cents more as you pass--I know it is not right, Janet, but you are so
+insistent. The societies tell you never to bestow alms without first
+looking into the case and finding whether it is really deserving; but I
+am too weakly benevolent, and too lazy, besides, ever to
+restrain--Janet, are you mad? Close that window at once!" And Mrs.
+Gordon almost shrieked as she held down her frizzes with both hands to
+shield them from the raw wind that rushed in from outside. She would not
+have spoken so peremptorily had it not been for the effect of the damp
+air on her coiffure. When her front hair was crimped and protected from
+the assaults of the atmosphere she was an amiable woman and could
+discuss any subject with calmness; but, deprive her of twenty little
+gold-wire hair-pins daintily darned into her auburn frizzes, and the
+invisible hair-net that Héloise pinned on with such nicety, and she
+would not have listened to any argument in the world, even if it
+concerned the salvation of her own soul.
+
+"I was only going to speak a word to the man, mama," said Janet
+apologetically.
+
+"I believe you've been reading Tolstoi," returned her mother, going to a
+mirror to repair damages. "Heavens! what a fright you've made me! I wish
+those Russians would keep their universal brotherhood ideas, and their
+cholera germs, at home."
+
+"Dear mama, I scarcely know who Tolstoi is, except that he wrote a novel
+about Anna somebody that you will not let me read. I do not know what
+Tolstoi thinks about the wrong in the world, or how he means to right
+it. I am not as sentimental as you and papa seem to fancy. I am not
+certain that I ought to wrap that cold little child in my new seal
+jacket, and run bare-headed by the side of the organ collecting pennies
+for the poor one-armed man. I know that if I should go down into the
+slums I should find a thousand others, and that if I worked from year's
+end to year's end, and spent papa's entire fortune, I could not make
+them all comfortable. But don't you believe, mama, when, once in a
+while, need, poverty, and sorrow seem to come directly in contact with
+plenty and riches and happiness, that it means something, and that we
+ought to stop and think out something special?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure I don't know, child; you confuse me so with your
+persistence, and I can't think of anything while he sticks fast in the
+middle of 'Edinboro' Town.' Give him half a dollar, if you
+like--anything to get rid of him, though he succeeds wonderfully in
+amusing the children."
+
+"I don't want to give him any more money, mama," said Janet, with a
+sigh. "I only feel as if I must not lose sight of the child--there they
+are going!"
+
+Pierre covered his piano, pinned the rubber-cloth more tightly round
+Fleur-de-lis's throat, and was preparing to move off in the direction of
+home, when Janet darted into the nursery, and, flinging open the window
+in front of the children, called impetuously in her clear young voice;
+"Bon soir, Fleur-de-lis! Bon soir, monsieur! Revenez bientôt, je vous
+prie!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Pierre's face lighted with surprise and pleasure, and, as he took off
+his cap he stammered excitedly, "Dis bon soir, bébé! Je vous remercis
+mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai!"
+
+He wheeled his piano to the shed where he kept it under cover at night,
+and carried Fleur-de-lis home on his arm. After he had undressed her and
+laid her in her crib, he took a crucifix from a drawer where, in a
+moment of bitterness, he had hidden it the day before, and, kissing it,
+restored it to its accustomed place above the head of his bed.
+
+And the anniversary of Marie's death did not go out in utter blackness
+after all; nor was it entirely because of the two pieces of silver that
+had unexpectedly swelled the day's receipts. He had felt the magic of a
+friendly voice; the beautiful little lady had spoken to him in his
+native tongue; she had drawn a fragment of his story from him, and thus
+relieved the weight at his heart; she had smiled on the child, and
+kissed her; she had asked him to come again. And as he fell asleep he
+whispered, "Merci, mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+     _Published by Hodder & Stoughton, St. Paul's House,
+     Warwick Square, London, B.C., and printed in Great
+     Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and
+     Aylesbury. Ten Colour Plates engraved and printed by
+     Henry Stone & Son, Ld., Banbury and London, and four by
+     the Bushey Colour Press._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
+
+Page 56, "abear" changed to "bear" (I can't bear)
+
+Page 125, "their" changed to "there" (there is only our)
+
+Page 125, "Barbette" changed to "Babette" (Babette, the elderly)
+
+Page 138, "air" changed to "hair" (her front hair was)
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
+
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+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by J. J. Shannon.
+    </title>
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Princess Mary's Gift Book
+       All profits on sale given to the Queen's "Work for Women"
+              Fund which is acting in Conjunction with The National
+              Relief Fund
+
+Author: Various
+
+Illustrator: Various
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39592]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCESS MARY'S GIFT BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 440px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="440" height="600" alt="Cover" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;"><a id="frontis"></a>
+<img src="images/i_002.jpg" width="415" height="600" alt="Painting and signature" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;">
+<img src="images/i_003.jpg" width="340" height="460" alt="I desire to express my very
+best thanks to the Authors and
+Artists who have so generously
+contributed to my Gift Book. Mary" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+<h1>PRINCESS MARY'S<br />
+GIFT BOOK</h1>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 89px;">
+<img src="images/i_005.png" width="89" height="150" alt="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'>
+All profits from sale are given to<br />
+<span class='big'>THE QUEEN'S "WORK FOR</span><br />
+<span class='big'>WOMEN" FUND</span><br />
+which is acting in conjunction with<br />
+The National Relief Fund<br />
+<br />
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+
+
+
+<span class='big'>HODDER &amp; STOUGHTON</span><br />
+LONDON · NEW YORK · TORONTO<br />
+</div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 89px;">
+<img src="images/i_005.png" width="89" height="150" alt="Emblem" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents and book spine">
+<tr><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 57px;">
+<img src="images/i_spine.jpg" width="57" height="600" alt="" />
+</div></td><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_007.png" width="500" height="91" alt="Contents" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>H.R.H. <span class="smcap">Princess Mary</span></td><td align="right"><i><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> J. J. SHANNON, R.A.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">A Holiday in Bed</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>J. M. Barrie</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., <i>and</i></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> C. E. BROCK</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">The Spy</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>G. A. Birmingham</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> H. R. MILLAR</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "General John Regan."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Charlie the Cox</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>Hall Caine</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A., <i>and</i> Author of "The Manxman."</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> ARCH WEBB</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Canada's Word</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>Ralph Connor</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> A. J. GOUGH</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Sky Pilot."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Bimbashi Joyce</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>A. Conan Doyle</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">The Ant-Lion</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>J. H. Fabre</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> E. J. DETMOLD</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>("The Insects' Homer").</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">An Angel of God</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Concerning Isabel Carnaby."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Model Soldier</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>Charles Garvice</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> J. H. HARTLEY</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Nance."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">The Land of Let'spretend</span></td><td align="right"><br /><i>Lady Sybil Grant</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Chequer Board."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Magepa the Buck</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />H. Rider Haggard</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "She."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">True Spartan Hearts</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Beatrice Harraden</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Ships that Pass in the Night."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Decorations by</i> EDMUND DULAC</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Big Steamers</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Jungle Book."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">A True Story from Camp</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />The Bishop of London</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">The Ebony Box</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />A. E. W. Mason</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Turnstile."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">A Spell for a Fairy</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Alfred Noyes</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "A Tale of Old Japan."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A.R.W.S.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Out of the Jaws of Death: A Pimpernel Story</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Baroness Orczy</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> A. C. MICHAEL <i>and</i></span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "The Scarlet Pimpernel."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> H. M. BROCK, R.I.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">What Can a Little Chap Do?</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />John Oxenham</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> EUGENE HASTAIN <i>and</i></span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Barbe of Grand Bayou."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> GORDON BROWNE, R.I.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Altogether Different</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />W. Pett Ridge</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> M. E. GRAY <i>and</i></span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Mord Em'ly."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> LEWIS BAUMER</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">The Escape</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Annie S. Swan</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> HAROLD EARNSHAW</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Mary Garth."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><br /><span class="smcap">Fleur-de-Lis</span></td><td align="right"><i><br />Kate Douglas Wiggin</i></td><td align='right'><br /><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><span class='small'>Author of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm."&nbsp;</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> CARLTON A. SMITH, R.I., <i>and</i></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> EDMUND J. SULLIVAN, A.R.W.S.</span></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'><br /><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Spartan Hearts</span>, by Beatrice Harraden, was first published in a volume entitled
+"Untold Tales of the Past"; <span class="smcap">Big Steamers</span>, by Rudyard Kipling, in "A History
+of England," by C. R. L. Fletcher and Rudyard Kipling; <span class="smcap">Bimbashi Joyce</span>, by
+Arthur Conan Doyle, in "The Green Flag, and other Stories"; and we have to thank
+Messrs. William Blackwood &amp; Sons, The Oxford University Press, and Messrs. Smith,
+Elder &amp; Co. for permission to include these contributions in Princess Mary's
+Gift Book.<br />
+
+With these exceptions the poems and stories in this book have not previously been issued
+in volume form. The illustrations have all been specially painted and drawn, and an
+exhibition of the work of the artists who have thus contributed to Princess Mary's
+Gift Book will be held at the Leicester Galleries, Leicester Square, W.C., and the
+originals sold in aid of the Queen's "Work for Women" Fund.</div>
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_009.png" width="500" height="381" alt="A Holiday in Bed" />
+</div><div class='center'><span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., <i>and Drawings
+by</i> C. E. BROCK</span><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">People</span> have tried a holiday in bed before now, and found it a failure,
+but that was because they were ignorant of the rules. They went to
+bed with the open intention of staying there, say, three days, and found
+to their surprise that each morning they wanted to get up. This was
+a novel experience to them; they flung about restlessly, and probably
+shortened their holiday. The proper thing is to take your holiday in
+bed with a vague intention of getting up in another quarter of an hour.
+The real pleasure of lying in bed after you are awake is largely due to
+the feeling that you ought to get up. To take another quarter of an
+hour then becomes a luxury. You are, in short, in the position of the
+man who dined on larks. Had he seen the hundreds that were ready
+for him, all set out on one monster dish, they would have alarmed him;
+but getting them two at a time, he went on eating till all the larks were
+gone. His feeling of uncertainty as to whether these might not be his
+last two larks is your feeling that, perhaps, you will have to get up in
+a quarter of an hour. Deceive yourself in this way, and your holiday
+in bed will pass only too quickly.</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Sympathy is what all the world is craving for, and sympathy is
+what the ordinary holiday-maker never gets. How can we be expected
+to sympathise with you when we know you are off to Perthshire to
+fish? No; we say we wish we were you, and forget that your holiday
+is sure to be a hollow mockery; that your child will jam her finger in
+the railway carriage, and scream to the end of the journey; that you
+will lose your luggage; that the guard will notice your dog beneath
+the seat, and insist on its being paid for; that you will be caught in a
+Scotch mist on the top of a mountain, and be put on gruel for a
+fortnight; that your wife will fret herself into a fever about the way
+the servant, who has been left at home, is treating her cousins, the
+milkman, and the policeman; and that you will be had up for trespassing.
+Yet, when you tell us you are off to-morrow, we have never
+the sympathy to say, "Poor fellow, I hope you'll pull through somehow."
+If it is an exhibition you go to gaze at, we never picture
+you dragging your weary legs from one department to another,
+and wondering why your back aches. Should it be the seaside, we
+talk heartlessly to you about the "briny," though we must know,
+if we would stop to think, that if there is one holiday more miserable
+than all the others, it is that spent at the seaside, when you wander
+along the weary beach and fling pebbles at the sea, and wonder how
+long it will be till dinner-time. Were we to come down to see
+you, we should probably find you, not on the beach, but moving
+slowly through the village, looking in at the one milliner's window,
+or laboriously reading what the one grocer's labels say on the subject
+of pale ale, compressed beef, or vinegar. There was never an object
+that called aloud for sympathy more than you do, but you get not
+a jot of it. You should take the first train home and go to bed
+for three days.</p>
+
+<p>To enjoy your holiday in bed to the full, you should let it be
+vaguely understood that there is something amiss with you. Don't
+go into details, for they are not necessary; and, besides, you want to
+be dreamy more or less, and the dreamy state is not consistent with a
+definite ailment. The moment one takes to bed he gets sympathy.
+He may be suffering from a tearing headache or a tooth that makes
+him cry out; but if he goes about his business, or even flops in a chair,
+true sympathy is denied him. Let him take to bed with one of those
+illnesses of which he can say with accuracy that he is not quite certain
+what is the matter with him, and his wife, for instance, will want to
+bathe his brow. She must not be made too anxious. That would not
+only be cruel to her, but it would wake you from the dreamy state.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+She must simply see that you are "not yourself." Women have an
+idea that unless men are "not themselves" they will not take to bed,
+and as a consequence your wife is tenderly thoughtful of you. Every
+little while she will ask you if you are feeling any better now, and
+you can reply, with the old regard for truth, that you are "much
+about it." You may even (for your own pleasure) talk of getting
+up now, when she will earnestly urge you to stay in bed until you
+feel easier. You consent; indeed, you are ready to do anything to
+please her.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_011.png" width="500" height="356" alt="At the shore" />
+<span class="caption">And wonder how long it will be till dinner-time</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The ideal holiday in bed does not require the presence of a
+ministering angel in the room all day. You frequently prefer to be
+alone, and point out to her that you cannot have her trifling with her
+health for your sake, and so she must go out for a walk. She is
+reluctant, but finally goes, protesting that you are the most unselfish
+of men, and only too good for her. This leaves a pleasant aroma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+behind it, for even when lying in
+bed, we like to feel that we are
+uncommonly fine fellows. After she
+has gone you get up cautiously,
+and, walking stealthily to the wardrobe,
+produce from the pocket of
+your greatcoat a good novel. A
+holiday in bed must be arranged for
+beforehand. With a gleam in your
+eye you slip back to bed, double your
+pillow to make it higher, and begin
+to read. You have only got to
+the fourth page, when you make a
+horrible discovery&mdash;namely, that the
+book is not cut. An experienced
+holiday-maker would have had it cut the night before, but this is your
+first real holiday, or perhaps you have been thoughtless. In any case
+you have now matter to think of. You are torn in two different ways.
+There is your coat on the floor with a knife in it, but you cannot reach
+the coat without getting up again. Ought you to get the knife or to
+give up reading? Perhaps it takes a quarter of an hour to decide this
+question, and you decide it by discovering a third course. Being a
+sort of an invalid, you have certain privileges which would be denied
+you if you were merely sitting in a chair in the agonies of neuralgia.
+One of the glorious privileges of a holiday in bed is that you are
+entitled to cut books with your fingers. So you cut the novel in
+this way, and read on.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_012.png" width="300" height="227" alt="Reading" />
+<span class="caption">You are in the middle of
+a chapter&mdash;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Those who have never tried it may fancy that there is a lack of
+incident in a holiday in bed. There could not be a more monstrous
+mistake. You are in the middle of a chapter, when suddenly you hear
+a step upon the stairs. Your loving ears tell you that the ministering
+angel has returned, and is hastening to you. Now, what happens?
+The book disappears beneath the pillow, and when she enters the room
+softly you are lying there with your eyes shut. This is not merely
+incident; it is drama.</p>
+
+<p>What happens next depends on circumstances. She says, in
+a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Are you feeling any easier now, John?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I believe he is sleeping."</p>
+
+<p>Then she steals from the room, and you begin to read again.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;">
+<img src="images/i_013.jpg" width="396" height="600" alt="Cozy in bed" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_015a.png" width="300" height="245" alt="hearing a step" />
+<span class="caption">&mdash;Suddenly you hear a step</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>During a holiday in bed one
+never thinks, of course, of analysing
+his actions. If you had done so in
+this instance, you would have seen
+that you pretended sleep because
+you had got to an exciting passage.
+You love your wife, but, wife or
+no wife, you must see how the
+passage ends.</p>
+
+<p>Possibly the little scene plays
+differently, as thus:</p>
+
+<p>"John, are you feeling any
+easier now?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you asleep?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"What a pity! I don't want to waken him, and yet the fowl
+will be spoilt."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that you back, Marion?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear; I thought you were asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"No, only thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"You think too much, dear. I have cooked a chicken for you."</p>
+
+<p>"I have no appetite."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry, but I can give it to the children."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, as it's cooked, you may as well bring it up."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_015b.png" width="300" height="218" alt="feigning sleep" />
+<span class="caption">You are lying there with your
+eyes shut</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>In that case the reason of your change of action is obvious. But
+why do you not let your wife
+know that you have been reading?
+This is another matter that you
+never reason about. Perhaps it is
+because of your craving for sympathy,
+and you fear that if you
+were seen enjoying a novel the
+sympathy would go. Or perhaps
+it is that a holiday in bed is never
+perfect without a secret. Monotony
+must be guarded against, and so
+long as you keep the book to yourself
+your holiday in bed is a healthy
+excitement. A stolen book (as we
+may call it) is like stolen fruit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+sweeter than what you can devour openly. The boy enjoys his stolen
+apple because at any moment he may have to slip it down the leg of his
+trousers and pretend that he has merely climbed the tree to enjoy the
+scenery. You enjoy your book doubly because you feel that it is
+a forbidden pleasure. Or do you conceal your book from your wife
+lest she should think you are over-exerting yourself? She must not
+be made anxious on your account? Ah, that is it.</p>
+
+<p>People who pretend (for it must be pretence) that they enjoy
+their holiday in the country, explain that the hills or the sea give them
+such an appetite. I could never myself feel the delight of being able to
+manage an extra herring for breakfast, but it should be pointed out that
+neither mountains nor oceans give you such an appetite as a holiday in
+bed. What makes people eat more anywhere is that they have nothing
+else to do, and in bed you have lots of time for meals. As for the
+quality of the food supplied, there is no comparison. In the highlands
+it is ham and eggs all day till you sicken. At the seaside it is fish till
+the bones stick in your mouth. But in bed&mdash;oh, there you get something
+worth eating. You don't take three big meals a day, but twelve
+little ones, and each time it is something different from the last. There
+are delicacies for breakfast, for your four luncheons and your five
+dinners. You explain to your wife that you have lost your appetite,
+and she believes you, but at the same time she has the sense to hurry
+on your dinner. At the clatter of dishes (for which you have been
+lying listening) you raise your poor head, and say faintly:</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Marion, I can't touch food."</p>
+
+<p>"But this is nothing," she says, "only the wing of a partridge."</p>
+
+<p>You take a side glance at it, and see that there is also the
+other wing and the body and two legs. Your alarm thus dispelled,
+you say:</p>
+
+<p>"I really can't."</p>
+
+<p>"But, dear, it is so beautifully cooked."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I have no appetite."</p>
+
+<p>"But try to take it, John, for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>Then for her sake you say she can leave it on the chair, and
+perhaps you will just taste it. As soon as she has gone you
+devour that partridge, and when she comes back she has the sense
+to say:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you have scarcely eaten anything. What could you
+take for supper?"</p>
+
+<p>You say you can take nothing, but if she likes she can cook a large
+sole, only you won't be able to touch it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 417px;">
+<img src="images/i_017.png" width="417" height="550" alt="Concerned wife" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;But try to take it, John, for my sake&quot;</span>
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 193px;">
+<img src="images/i_018.png" width="193" height="375" alt="doctor" />
+<span class="caption">The chances are that he won&#39;t
+understand your case</span>
+</div>
+<p>"Poor dear," she says, "your appetite has completely gone,"
+and then she rushes to the kitchen to cook the sole with her own
+hands. In half an hour she steals into your room with it, and then
+you (who have been wondering why she is so long) start up
+protesting:</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Marion, this is nothing for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Only the least bit of a sole, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"But I told you I could eat nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this is nothing, it is so small."</p>
+
+<p>You look again, and see with relief that it is a large sole.</p>
+
+
+<p>"I would much rather that you took it away."</p>
+
+<p>"But, dear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you I have no appetite."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I know that; but how can you hope to preserve your
+strength if you eat so little? You have
+had nothing all day."</p>
+
+<p>You glance at her face to see if
+she is in earnest, for you can remember
+three breakfasts, four luncheons and
+two dinners; but evidently she is not
+jesting. Then you yield.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, to keep my health up
+I may just put a fork into it."</p>
+
+<p>"Do, dear; it will do you good,
+though you have no caring for it."</p>
+
+<p>Take a holiday in bed, if only to
+discover what an angel your wife is.</p>
+
+
+<p>There is one thing to guard
+against. Never call it a holiday.
+Continue not to feel sure what is
+wrong with you, and to talk vaguely
+of getting up presently. Your wife
+will suggest calling in the doctor,
+but pooh-pooh him. Be firm on that
+point. The chances are that he won't
+understand your case.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_019.png" width="550" height="161" alt="Three men looking suspiciously at one woman" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE SPY</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY G. A. BIRMINGHAM<br />
+
+<i>Drawings by</i> H. R. MILLAR</div>
+
+<div class='copyright'><br /><i>Copyright in the U.S.A. by G. A. Birmingham</i></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Our</span> village used to be one of the quietest in England. We prided
+ourselves that nothing ever happened there to excite or worry us in any
+way. Colonel Challenger, of the Royal Engineers, retired, often congratulated
+the vicar, who is upwards of sixty-five years of age, on the
+unbroken peace which we enjoyed. The vicar used to remind me, once
+a fortnight or so, that we owed our happiness largely to the fact that
+we were eight miles from a railway station. When I met Hankly, a
+retired Indian judge, in the post office I invariably pointed out to him
+that our lot would be much less pleasant if we lived in a neighbourhood
+where tennis parties were rife or among people who expected us to turn
+out in the evenings after dinner to play cards. Lord Manby, who owns
+the village and all the country round it, used to pay a visit to his home
+every year and ask us each to lunch with him once. We all accepted
+these invitations, but we told each other that they were a horrible
+nuisance and a most disagreeable break in the monotony of our lives.
+I think we were all quite honest and really believed that we were
+perfectly happy.</div>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Clegg C. Mimms rented the Manor House from Lord
+Manby, and all peace came to an end for us. She described herself on
+her visiting cards as "the Honourable Mrs. Mimms," and that disturbed
+us to begin with. We had to meet each other pretty frequently to
+discuss how she could be the Honourable Mrs. anything. She was plainly
+and unmistakably an American, and the vicar was of opinion that, since
+there are no titles in the American Republic, neither Mrs. Mimms nor
+her late husband could be the descendant of a lord. Hankly, who has
+seen a great deal of the world, told us that American ambassadors are
+styled the Right Honourable, and that Mrs. Mimms's husband might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+have been an ambassador. The Colonel maintained that ambassadors
+are like bishops and cannot share their official titles with their wives,
+particularly after they are dead. My own view was that if Mrs. Mimms
+wanted to be styled "the Honourable" it would be discourteous to deny
+her the title.</p>
+
+<p>We had hardly settled down again after deciding this point when
+Mrs. Mimms upset us still more seriously. She gave a Christmas Tree
+to the village children. At first we thought that this would not matter
+to any one except the vicar. We were mistaken about that. Mrs. Mimms
+made us all help. The Colonel and I spent a long afternoon
+on a step-ladder sticking candles on the branches. Hankly, who is a
+lean, yellow little man, was made to dress himself up as "Father
+Christmas." We got no dinner on the evening of the party, and very
+nearly had to dance with the children afterwards. The presents which
+Mrs. Mimms distributed to the children were of the most gorgeous and
+expensive kind. We all agreed that she must be enormously rich, and
+the Colonel said that she would demoralise the whole village.</p>
+
+<p>She certainly demoralised us. We found ourselves invited to
+dinner at the Manor House twice, sometimes three times, a week, and
+had a standing invitation to supper every Sunday night. It was no
+use refusing the invitations. I tried that twice; but Mrs. Mimms
+simply came round to my house in her motor and fetched me. The
+Colonel complained bitterly. He has been writing a book on Chhota
+Nagpur ever since I knew him, and he said that he hated being interrupted
+in the evenings. He only dined with Mrs. Mimms in order to
+avoid unpleasantness with his wife, who wanted to go. Hankly said
+plainly that Mrs. Mimms had a very good cook, and we all came in the
+end to accept that as our excuse for dining with her.</p>
+
+<p>It is, I know, scarcely credible, but last Easter she dragged us
+into private theatricals. By that time we had agreed that Mrs. Mimms,
+in spite of her annoying lack of repose, was a very kind-hearted woman,
+and we did not wish to snub her in any way. My own part in the
+play let me in for a love scene with Mrs. Challenger, the most
+grotesquely absurd thing imaginable, for the lady is sixty at least and
+enormously fat. I should never have agreed to do it, however good-hearted
+Mrs. Mimms might be, if Hankly had not been cast for the
+part of an heroic Christian curate, and I knew he would look even more
+foolish than I did when I kissed Mrs. Challenger's left ear. Hankly
+hated being an heroic Christian curate and did not do the part at all
+well. We got through the theatricals in June, and after that, except for a
+couple of picnics every week, we had a comparatively quiet time until the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+war broke out. Mrs. Mimms broke out at the same time. All festivities,
+even picnics, stopped at once, of course, and we all began to take life very
+strenuously. Mrs. Mimms outdid us easily in every form of activity.</p>
+
+<p>She began by erecting a flag-staff at the Manor House gates and
+hoisting an enormous American flag on it, the largest American flag
+I have ever seen. The Colonel, who had his motor decorated with
+a French and a Belgian flag as well as a Union Jack, said that Mrs.
+Mimms's Stars and Stripes were, under the circumstances, rather bad
+form. Hankly and I agreed with him, and we made the vicar speak to
+her about it. She explained to him that she had hoisted it entirely for
+our good. It was, so she told the vicar, and he told us, the only flag
+in the world which the Germans would respect, and that when the
+Uhlans entered our village we could all congregate in perfect safety
+under its folds. The Colonel was furious&mdash;we were all rather angry&mdash;at
+the idea that the Germans would ever set foot in England; but there
+was no denying that Mrs. Mimms meant to be kind when she hoisted
+the flag. Besides, she is a difficult woman to argue with, and we did
+not quite see how we could make her take the thing down.</p>
+
+<p>Hankly and I more or less forgave her, though, as it appeared, the
+Colonel did not, when she came forward at a meeting summoned
+by the vicar and offered to turn the Manor House into a hospital
+for wounded soldiers. The generosity of her proposal actually staggered
+us. She intended, so she said&mdash;and I quite believe it&mdash;to
+turn out all the existing furniture of the house, fit the place up
+with the latest sanitary devices, hire two surgeons and a competent
+staff of nurses who should be under her own personal supervision. We
+at once wired to the War Office and expected to be thanked gratefully.
+As a matter of fact we never got any official acknowledgment
+of the offer at all. What we did get&mdash;or rather what Mrs. Mimms
+got&mdash;was a letter from Lord Manby's solicitor pointing out that the
+agreement under which she had taken the Manor House did not allow
+of her getting rid of the furniture or using the place in any way except
+as an ordinary dwelling.</p>
+
+<p>I thought that Lord Manby was a little unsympathetic, and that
+the War Office might very well have replied to our telegram, but the
+Colonel took quite a different line. He said that Mrs. Mimms was an
+interfering old woman who deserved to be snubbed. We all hoped that
+after this set-back she would be a little subdued and allow us to manage
+our own war in our own way.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>For a time she kept tolerably quiet. She contented herself with
+making shirts and subscribing to various funds like any ordinary woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+She was, so my wife told me, an amazingly rapid worker, and could
+turn out three shirts while any other woman in the village was making
+two. Her subscriptions were very generous. Gradually the whole
+activities of our village centred in the Manor House. Mrs. Mimms
+put up another flag-staff and flew a large Red Cross from it. Working
+parties went on in her dining-room from morning to night, and hardly
+a day passed without a committee meeting. The vicar, Colonel
+Challenger, Hankly, and I were the committee, and we met whenever
+Mrs. Mimms summoned us. The vicar was supposed to preside, but it
+was Mrs. Mimms who suggested the things we did. The Colonel
+objected, in private, to every suggestion she made, but he never succeeded
+in carrying a point against her. Once or twice she got us into
+trouble. There was, for instance, a lot of ill feeling when we sealed up
+the village pump and set my chauffeur to keep guard over it with a gun,
+only allowing people to draw water for an hour in the morning and an
+hour in the evening. Mrs. Mimms had a theory that a German might
+come in an aeroplane and poison our water supply. That would have
+been a horrible thing: but the people in the village made a fuss about
+not being able to get at the pump. Tompkins, the innkeeper, who
+was particularly objectionable, said that he only used the water for
+washing and would rather have it poisoned than do without it.</p>
+
+<p>We all began to get rather tired of being rushed into doing things
+we didn't want to do; but we were none of us able to withstand
+Mrs. Mimms. The Colonel said that we ought to drive her out of the
+village altogether, but he never succeeded in suggesting any practical
+way of doing it.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately she got tired of making shirts and holding committee
+meetings after about a month. Then she said she was going up to
+London to get a few families of Belgian refugees. We were all greatly
+pleased, for we felt that her energies might be turned into a channel
+which would save us from making fools of ourselves. I saw her off at
+the station, and we waited with the greatest curiosity to see what would
+happen. I suppose the Belgian Consul felt doubtful about Mrs. Mimms
+when he met her. At all events she came back without a single
+refugee. Most women would have been a little disappointed at a
+failure like that, but Mrs. Mimms was as full of energy as ever. She
+had, it appeared, called at several public offices in London and had
+been immensely impressed by the Boy Scouts whom she saw waiting
+about the doors.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 453px;">
+<img src="images/i_025.png" width="453" height="575" alt="pump and chauffeur" />
+<span class="caption">We sealed up the village pump and set my chauffeur to keep guard</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>"They're the cutest things I've seen in England," she said, "and
+their bare knees are just sweet. I could kiss them all day. I simply
+must have a couple to stand on guard while the working parties are
+going on."</p>
+
+<p>I talked to the vicar, Hankly, and the Colonel about this. I did
+not see how we could possibly provide Mrs. Mimms with Boy Scouts,
+for there were none in the parish. The vicar said he was sorry that he
+had not started the organisation long ago, but supposed it was too late
+to do so now. To my surprise the Colonel, who up to that time had
+been getting angrier and angrier with Mrs. Mimms, took her side and
+said that if she wanted Boy Scouts she ought to have them. He
+proposed that we should enrol four choir boys at once, and offered to
+buy uniforms for them himself. The vicar was a little doubtful, but
+Hankly and I backed up the Colonel. We were very tired of the
+constant committee meetings, and we hoped that if Mrs. Mimms got
+really interested in Boy Scouts she might let us alone. We acted
+promptly, and in a week had four boys ready to stand on guard at the
+doors of the Manor House.</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel gave them a talking to at their first parade. He
+impressed on them the fact that discipline and strict obedience to
+orders are the essence of a military manhood. He quoted Tennyson,
+and made the boys repeat the lines after him:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Theirs not to make reply,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Theirs not to reason why."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p>He succeeded in inspiring them with a tremendous sense of their
+own importance. My idea was that he was trying to prepare them for
+having their knees kissed by Mrs. Mimms.</p>
+
+<p>For a time everything went well. The boys got off going to
+school and were immensely pleased. Mrs. Mimms fed them with
+dainties at odd hours of the day, and always had a basket of apples in
+the porch from which they could help themselves. So far as I knew
+she never attempted to kiss either their knees or any other part of
+them. The Colonel kept on exhorting them. He paid them a visit
+every morning, and insisted on their reporting themselves at his house
+when they went off duty in the evening.</p>
+
+<p>About a fortnight after the boys first went on guard Mrs. Mimms
+complained to the vicar that she had found one of them concealed under
+the dining-room table while she was at luncheon. She said that she
+did not like the feeling that she might kick a boy every time she
+stretched her leg while she was at meals. The vicar, of course, promised
+to speak to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Mrs. Mimms made another complaint. One of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a><br /><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+boys had climbed up by some creepers, and was found by her maid
+sitting on the window-sill of a bedroom early in the morning. It was
+not Mrs. Mimms's bedroom, but, as she explained, it might have been.
+She had no particular objection, so she told the vicar, to a Boy Scout
+in her bedroom at any reasonable hour, but she did not want the child
+to break his neck.</p>
+
+<p>Then the postmaster gave me a hint that Mrs. Mimms's letters,
+which were posted every day by one of the Scouts, showed signs of
+having been opened and closed again before they came into his hands.
+He said that if this was being done by the Colonel's orders it was all
+right, but he thought he ought to tell me about it. I met the vicar
+in the street immediately afterwards and said I thought the Scouts
+were getting out of hand and ought to be disbanded at once. He
+agreed with me.</p>
+
+<p>While we were discussing the matter Hankly came up to us and
+said he heard that Mrs. Mimms was to be arrested at once as a German
+spy.</p>
+
+<p>"Tompkins," he said, "is going about the village saying that she
+ought to be shot."</p>
+
+<p>Tompkins always blamed Mrs. Mimms for the sealing up of the
+village pump, and had never spoken a good word about her since. The
+vicar was greatly put out.</p>
+
+<p>"Tut&mdash;tut!" he said; "arrested! shot! Nonsense. Mrs. Mimms
+is a most estimable lady."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not so sure about that," said Hankly. "Those boys have
+been watching her lately, and there are several things which look
+suspicious."</p>
+
+<p>I suppose the vicar and I showed our surprise. Hankly went on
+to explain.</p>
+
+<p>"She gives the boys peaches and grapes," he said, "and cakes and
+meringues. Now I put it to you&mdash;the apples of course I understand. I
+might give a boy an apple myself, but I put it to you, vicar, would
+anybody give boys like that hothouse grapes and peaches unless&mdash;well,
+unless there was something to conceal. It's not a natural thing
+to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Now I come to think of it," said the vicar, "I did meet one of
+them yesterday with a peach in his fist."</p>
+
+<p>"There you are," said Hankly triumphantly, "and, anyhow, the
+police inspector is coming over to-day to look into the matter."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mimms was not actually arrested. The police inspector&mdash;acting
+on information received from the Boy Scouts, Tompkins, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+indeed almost every one in the village&mdash;made a lot of inquiries about
+her. He did not succeed in finding out why she called herself "the
+Honourable," but the questions he asked her made her so angry that she
+packed up her trunks and left the village at once.</p>
+
+<p>I met the Colonel the day after she left, and told him I was afraid
+we should all miss her. The Colonel chuckled in a self-satisfied way.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you we ought to get rid of her," he said, "and we have."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean to say you think she was really a spy?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>"She was a good deal worse," said the Colonel; "she was a public
+nuisance."</p>
+
+<p>Later on the Colonel took a kindlier view of Mrs. Mimms.</p>
+
+<p>"Only for her," he said to me a week ago, "we shouldn't have had
+Boy Scouts here. We have quite a good company now. She did us
+that much good, anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel did her no more than bare justice. Our Scouts,
+though they have caught no more spies, have improved the general tone
+of the village. The Colonel is their commanding officer, and, though
+I do not say so in public, they have done him a lot of good.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_028.png" width="500" height="400" alt="The woman" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align="left"><div class="figleft" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_029a.png" width="400" height="331" alt="Fisherman Charlie" />
+</div>
+</td><td align="center"><h2>CHARLIE THE COX</h2>
+
+<i>A LIFE POEM</i><br />
+<br /><br />
+BY HALL CAINE<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A.</span><br /><br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> ARCH. WEBB</span></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Charlie</span> was the cox of our Peel lifeboat. A braver spirit never sailed
+the sea.</div>
+
+<p>Years ago, in a terrific gale, a ship from Norway, the <i>St. George</i>,
+came dead on for the wildest part of our coast, the fierce headland
+that lies back of the old Castle rock. The sound signal was fired, and
+Charlie and his brave comrades went out to her. She was reeling on
+the top of a tremendous sea, and there was no coming near to her side.</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i_023.jpg" width="600" height="496" alt="Charlie the Cox" />
+</div>
+<p>It was an awful task to get the crew aboard the lifeboat, but
+Charlie saved every soul, and lost not a hand of his own. When the
+"traveller" was rigged and the "breeches" were ready, and the crew
+of the doomed ship were at the bulwarks waiting to leave her, Charlie
+sang out over the clamour of the sea:</p>
+
+<p>"How many are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Twenty-four," came back as answer.</p>
+
+<p>Then Charlie cried, "I can see only twenty-three."</p>
+
+<p>"The other man is hurt. He's dying. No use saving him," the
+Norseman shouted.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll bring the dying man on deck before a soul of you leaves
+the ship," cried Charlie.</p>
+
+<p>There was a woman among them, and when the carpenter came
+scudding down the rope he had a canvas bag on his back.</p>
+
+<p>"No tools here," shouted Charlie.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the child," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>The captain came next. He had left everything
+else behind him&mdash;his money, his instruments, his clothes,
+his ship&mdash;but out of his pocket there peeped the
+head of a baby's doll.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i_029b.png" width="450" height="298" alt="ship" />
+</div>
+
+<p>It was a thrilling rescue, but to see it in all
+its splendour you must have a drop of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+Manx blood in you. Our forefathers were from Norway, our first
+Norse king was named Gorry. He landed on this island, not far
+from this spot. And on that day of the wreck of the <i>St. George</i> his
+children's children rescued from the sea the children's children of the
+kinsmen he had left at home.</p>
+
+<p>Most of our men had Norse names. One of them was a Gorry,
+lineal descendant beyond doubt of the old sea king. The Norwegian
+Government felt the touch of great things in this incident. It was not
+merely that the bravery of the rescue fired their gratitude. Something
+called to them from that deep place where blood answers to the cry of
+blood. They sent medals for Charlie and his crew, and the Governor
+of the island distributed them inside the roofless walls of the old castle
+of the "Black Dog." It was like grasping hands with the past across
+the space of a thousand years.</p>
+
+<p>The other day we had another great wind and another brave rescue.
+The sun had gone down overnight in a sullen red, very fierce and angry
+in his setting, and out of the black north-east the storm had come up
+while we slept. In the heavy grey of the dawn the sound-signal fired
+its double shot over our little town. A Welsh schooner, which had run
+in for shelter during the dark hours, was riding to an anchor in the bay
+and flying her ensign for help.</p>
+
+<p>The sea was terrific&mdash;a slaty grey, streaked with white foam, like
+quartz veins. It was coming over the breakwater in sheets that hid it.
+Sometimes it was flying in clouds to the top of the round tower of the
+castle. The white sea-fowl were like dark specks darting through it,
+but no human ear could hear the cry of their thousand throats
+in the thunderous quake of the breakers on the cavernous rocks.</p>
+
+<p>A crowd of men answered the call, and there was no shortness
+of hands to man the lifeboat. The big, slow-legged fellows
+who had been idling on the quay the day before when the sea
+was calm were struggling, chafing, and quarrelling to go out on
+it now that it was in storm, for the blood of the old Vikings is in
+our Manxmen still.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i_030.png" width="600" height="423" alt="ocean" />
+</div>
+
+<p>It was a splendid rescue. The crew of the Welshman were
+brought ashore. Then the abandoned schooner rode three hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+longer in the gale, and a hundred men stood and watched her, talking
+of other winds and other wrecks, and of Peel boys who were out on
+the sea. At last the ship parted her cables and went rolling like a
+blinded porpoise dead on for the jagged coast.</p>
+
+<p>Seven men took an open fishing-boat and went after her, and we
+climbed the Head to look at them. The wind smote us there like an
+invisible wing, sometimes swirling us out of our course, often bringing
+us to our knees, and whipping our ears with our hair like rods. Sheets
+of spray were coming up to us from below and running along the cliffs
+like driven rain. The sun, which had broken in fierce brilliance from a
+green rent in the sky, made rainbows in the flying foam.</p>
+
+<p>From the heights we watched the seven men and the open boat.
+They rose and fell, appeared and disappeared, but they overtook the
+Welshman before she had drifted on to the coast, boarded her with
+difficulty, let go another anchor and made her tight. There was
+nothing else to do, for she was disabled, and her sails were torn to
+shreds. The new anchor held the ship an hour longer, and then there
+was no help left for her. She was within a hundred feet of the rocks,
+and she fell on them with the groan of a living creature.</p>
+
+<p>The instant her head was down the white lions of the sea leapt
+over her, the water swirled through her bulwarks and plunged down
+her hatch; her helm was unshipped, her sails were torn from their
+gaskets, and the floating home wherein men had sailed and sung and
+slept and laughed and jested was a broken wreck in the heavy wallowings
+of the waves.</p>
+
+<p>When it was over and we were coming back, drenched through
+and green with the drift of the sea foam caked thick on our faces,
+some of us began to think of Charlie. He had not been there that day.
+A year or more ago, in the prime of a splendid manhood, he was
+stricken by heart disease. He kept a good heart, nevertheless, and by
+indomitable will held on for some time. First a little work, then no
+work at all, only a sail now and then if the sea was calm, but of late
+hardly ever well enough to take the open air. The old hulk of his poor
+body had been anchored deep, but she was parting her cables at last.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i_031.png" width="600" height="249" alt="ocean" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Charlie lay dying while this second rescue was being made. He
+had not answered the signal for the lifeboat, but he had heard it in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+fierce light of morning, and they could not keep him in
+bed. The soul of the old sea dog leapt to the call, but
+his ailing body held him down. He wanted to go out.
+Wasn't he cox? Had the boat ever gone out without
+him?</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 217px;">
+<img src="images/i_032a.png" width="217" height="450" alt="Fisherman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>His house is one of the little places like children's
+Noah's arks which dot the line of this hungry shore.
+He could hear everything and see a good deal. Often
+he could hardly keep himself from crying and shouting
+aloud. In spirit he was out on the boiling surf, dipping,
+rising, stooping, going over, righting again, clambering
+back, exulting, glorying, getting nearer the ship, standing
+off her, rigging the "traveller," and fetching men aboard
+in the "breeches." And then away from the rolling hulk,
+and sing ho, my lads, and haul through the white waves for home. But
+his poor dying body was down on the bed and his face was sickly scarlet.</p>
+
+<p>Charlie's volcanic soul did not go off to the deep of deeps on the
+big breakers and through the wild noises of the storm. He died later.
+After the great wind there came a great calm. The air was quiet and
+full of the odour of seaweed; banks of seaweed were on the shore, and
+the broken schooner was covered with brown wrack, like any rock of
+the coast; the sky was round as the inside of a shell, and pale pink
+like the shadow of flame; the water was smooth, and land and sea lay
+like a sleeping child. In this broad and steady weather our little town
+was startled by the double shot again. We went to the windows in
+surprise, and saw the red flag over the rocket house, which is the signal
+for the lifeboat.</p>
+
+<p>Charlie was dead. He had just breathed his last, and his rugged
+comrades, who know nothing of poetry, but are poets nevertheless to the
+deepest grain of them, had run up the flag mast-high (not half-mast) as
+signal to the Great Cox of all that here was a soul in the troubled
+waters of death waiting for the everlasting lifeboat to bear him to the
+eternal shore.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_032b.png" width="500" height="259" alt="In row boats" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The sea takes some of our bravest and best. Charlie it did not
+take. Not so sure is it that he who lives by the sword will perish
+by the sword, as that he who baulks the sea the sea will surely have for
+its prey. Charlie had battled with the giant time and again, but he
+has gone to sleep on the land.</p>
+
+<p>We buried him to-day in the little cemetery looking on to the grey
+water that was more than half his element. The funeral was beautiful
+in its old simplicity. First a hymn at the door of the house in the little
+alley by the beach, "Safe in the arms of Jesus," with the coffin on the
+ground and all standing round; the sea quiet, hardly a breeze as soft as
+human breath moving its tranquil surface; the deadly rival in its everlasting
+coming and going making no triumphant clamour now the sea-warrior
+was down. Then the companions of his dangers, the crew of
+his boat, a group of stalwart fellows who have never known what it is to
+be afraid, carrying him up the hill, shoulder high, each in his red stocking
+cap and his life-belt, emblems of how they had fought the sea and
+beaten it.</p>
+
+<p>There were some of us whose eyes were wet, but if these brave boys
+wept at all, it was only for the helpless little ones left behind. For
+Charlie they did not weep. His spirit is not dead for them&mdash;it cannot
+die. When brave deeds have to be done, they will see its light, like a
+beacon that does not fail, over the mountains of the fiercest storm; they
+will hear its voice above the thunder of the loudest waves.</p>
+
+<p>A full moon is shining to-night on the place of Charlie's rest, and if
+the old Norse story is true, that while the body lies in sight of the sea the
+spirit lives in the winds above it, Charlie is not done with his old enemy
+yet. He will come back to this sea-bound land in warning whispers of
+the mighty and mysterious power that lures men to itself.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_033.png" width="500" height="304" alt="in a boat" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="title and illustrations">
+<tr><td align="left"><div class="figleft" style="width: 181px;">
+<img src="images/i_034a.png" width="181" height="400" alt="drummer" />
+</div></td><td align="center"><h2>CANADA'S WORD</h2>
+
+BY RALPH CONNOR<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> A. J. GOUGH</span>
+</td><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 245px;">
+<img src="images/i_034b.png" width="245" height="450" alt="Woman warrior" />
+</div></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span class="smcap">O Canada!</span> A voice calls through the mist and spume<br />
+Across the wide wet salty leagues of foam<br />
+For aid. Whose voice thus penetrates thy peace?<br />
+Whose? Thy Mother's, Canada, thy Mother's voice.<br />
+<br />
+O Canada! A drum beats through the night and day,<br />
+Unresting, eager, strident, summoning<br />
+To arms. Whose drum thus throbs persistent?<br />
+Whose? Old England's, Canada, Old England's drum.<br />
+<br />
+O Canada! A sword gleams, leaping swift to strike<br />
+At foes that press and leap to kill brave men<br />
+On guard. Whose sword thus gleams fierce death?<br />
+Whose? 'Tis Britain's, Canada, Great Britain's sword.<br />
+<br />
+O Canada! A prayer beats hard at Heaven's gate,<br />
+Tearing the heart wide open to God's eye,<br />
+For righteousness. Whose prayer thus pierces Heaven?<br />
+Whose? 'Tis God's prayer, Canada, Thy Kingdom come!<br />
+<br />
+O Canada! What answer make to calling voice and beating drum,<br />
+To sword flash and to pleading prayer of God<br />
+For right? What answer makes my soul?<br />
+"Mother, to thee! God, to Thy help! Quick! My sword!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i_034c.png" width="450" height="366" alt="soldiers" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<h2>BIMBASHI JOYCE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY A. CONAN DOYLE<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.</span></div>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 318px;">
+<img src="images/i_035a.png" width="318" height="500" alt="spears shield uniform" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">It</span> was in the days when the tide of Mahdism,
+which had swept in such a flood from the
+Great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of
+Egypt, had at last come to its full, and even
+begun, as some hoped, to show signs of a
+turn. At its outset it had been terrible. It
+had engulfed Hicks's army, swept over Gordon
+and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forces
+as they retired down the river, and finally cast up a
+spray of raiding parties as far north as Assouan.
+Then it found other channels to east and west, to
+Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little
+on the side of Egypt. For ten years there ensued a
+lull, during which the frontier garrisons looked out
+upon those distant blue hills of Dongola. Behind
+the violet mists which draped them lay a land of
+blood and horror. From time to time some adventurer
+went south towards those haze-girt mountains, tempted by stories
+of gum and ivory, but none ever returned. Once a mutilated Egyptian
+and once a Greek woman, mad with thirst and fear, made their way
+to the lines. They were the only exports of that country of darkness.
+Sometimes the sunset would turn those distant mists into a bank of
+crimson, and the dark mountains would rise from that sinister reek
+like islands in a sea of blood. It seemed a grim symbol in the southern
+heaven when seen from the fort-capped hills by Wady Halfa. Ten
+years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silent work in Cairo, and then
+all was ready, and it was time for Civilisation to take a trip south
+once more, travelling as her wont is in an armoured train. Everything
+was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the last camel, and
+yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Government has its
+advantage. A great administrator had argued, and managed, and
+cajoled; a great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres
+do the work of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits
+met and clasped hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+business of his own. And just at that very time, Bimbashi Hilary
+Joyce, seconded from the Royal Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily
+attached to the Ninth Soudanese, made his first appearance in Cairo.</div>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 345px;">
+<img src="images/i_035b.png" width="345" height="250" alt="on camel" />
+</div>
+<p>Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great
+reputations are only to be made in the East. Here he was in the
+East with four tin cases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond's
+slug-throwing pistol, and a copy of "Green's Introduction to the
+Study of Arabic." With such a start, and the blood of youth running
+hot in his veins, everything seemed easy. He was a little frightened
+of the general; he had heard stories of his sternness to young officers,
+but with tact and suavity he hoped for the best. So, leaving his effects
+at "Shepherd's Hotel," he reported himself at headquarters. It was
+not the general, but the head of the Intelligence Department who
+received him, the chief being still absent upon that business which
+had called him. Hilary Joyce found himself in the presence of a short,
+thick-set officer, with a gentle voice and a placid expression which
+covered a remarkably acute and energetic spirit. With that quiet
+smile and guileless manner he had undercut and outwitted the most
+cunning of Orientals. He stood, a cigarette between his fingers,
+looking at the newcomer. "I heard that you had come. Sorry the
+chief isn't here to see you. Gone up to the frontier, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should
+report myself there at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I was to give you your orders." He led the way to a map
+upon the wall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. "You see
+this place. It's the Oasis of Kurkur&mdash;a little quiet, I am afraid, but
+excellent air. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You'll
+find a company of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will
+be in command."</p>
+
+<p>Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of two
+black lines without another dot upon the map for several inches around
+it. "A village, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, a well. Not very good water, I'm afraid, but you soon get
+accustomed to natron. It's an important post, as being at the junction
+of two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but still
+you never know who <i>might</i> come along them."</p>
+
+<p>"We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="550" height="132" alt="row of camels" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Well, between you and me, there's really nothing to raid. You
+are there to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of
+course you have only just come out, but you probably understand
+already enough about the conditions of this country to know that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+there is a great deal of disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is
+likely to try and keep in touch with his adherents. Then, again,
+Senoussi lives up that way"&mdash;he waved his cigarette to the westward&mdash;"the
+Khalifa might send a messenger to him along that route. Anyhow,
+your duty is to arrest every one coming along, and get some
+account of him before you let him go. You don't talk Arabic, I
+suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am learning, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, you'll have time enough to study there. And you'll
+have a native officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English,
+and can interpret for you. Well, good-bye&mdash;I'll tell the chief that you
+reported yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_037.png" width="400" height="352" alt="on a camel" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two day
+on a camel in the Libyan desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and three
+baggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace.
+However, even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and
+at last, on the third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill
+which is called the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a
+distant clump of palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in
+the midst of the merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour
+effect that he had ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little
+camp, the guard had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate
+had greeted him in excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his
+own. It was not an exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There
+was one large, bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three
+pits of brown and brackish water. There,
+also, was the grove of palm trees beautiful
+to look upon, but exasperating in view
+of the fact that Nature has provided her
+least shady trees on the very spot where
+shade is needed most. A single wide-spread
+acacia did something to restore the balance.
+Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat,
+and in the cool he inspected his square-shouldered,
+spindle-shanked Soudanese,
+with their cheery black faces and their
+funny little pork-pie forage caps. Joyce
+was a martinet at drill, and the blacks
+loved being drilled, so the Bimbashi was
+soon popular among them. But one day
+was exactly like another. The weather,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+the view, the employment, the food&mdash;everything was the same. At
+the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there for interminable
+years. And then at last there came something to break the monotony.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 131px;">
+<img src="images/i_038a.png" width="131" height="350" alt="palm trees" />
+</div>
+
+<p>One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly
+down the old caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow
+track, winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for he
+remembered how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away
+into the unknown heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable
+camels through many centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now,
+unused and deserted, it still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot
+broad, and perhaps two thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as
+he rode how long it was since any traveller had journeyed up it from the
+south, and then he raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along
+the path. For an instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own
+men, but a second glance assured him that this could not be so. The
+stranger was dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the
+close-fitting khaki of a soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban
+made him seem gigantic. He strode swiftly along, with head erect,
+and the bearing of a man who knows no fear.</p>
+
+<p>Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the
+unknown? The precursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen.
+And where could he have walked from? The nearest well was a long
+hundred miles down the track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur
+could not afford to receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round
+his horse, galloped into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty
+horsemen at his back, he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was
+still coming on in spite of these hostile preparations. For an instant he
+hesitated when first he saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the
+question, and he advanced with the air of a man who makes the best of
+a bad job. He made no resistance, and said nothing when the hands
+of two troopers clutched at his shoulders, but walked quietly between
+their horses into camp. Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again.
+There were no signs of any dervishes. The man was alone. A splendid
+trotting camel had been found lying dead a little way down the track.
+The mystery of the stranger's arrival was explained. But why, and
+whence, and whither?&mdash;these were questions for which a zealous officer
+must find an answer.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="550" height="132" alt="row of camels" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no dervishes. It
+would have been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he
+fought a little action on his own account. But even as it was, he had
+a rare chance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+capacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim
+chief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack.
+The prisoner's dress and bearing showed that he was of importance.
+Mean men do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his
+head with cold water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposing
+official tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a
+court of inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would have
+liked his people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies in
+waiting, and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind a
+camp-table, and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. The
+man was a handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long black
+beard.</p>
+
+<p>"Why!" cried Joyce, "the rascal is making faces at me." A
+curious contraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly
+that it might have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of
+Oriental gravity. "Ask him who he is, and what he wants?" The
+native officer did so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the same
+sharp spasm passed once more over his face. "Well, I'm blessed!"
+cried Hilary Joyce. "Of all the impudent scoundrels! He keeps on
+winking at me. Who are you, you rascal? Give an account of yourself!
+D'ye hear?" But the tall Arab was as impervious to English as
+to Arabic. The Egyptian tried again and again. The prisoner looked
+at Joyce with his inscrutable eyes, and occasionally twitched his face at
+him, but never opened his mouth. The Bimbashi scratched his head in
+bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this
+fellow. You say there are no papers on him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; we found no papers."</p>
+
+<p>"No clue of any kind?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He
+has come from Dongola, at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we must get him to talk."</p>
+
+<p>"It is possible that he is deaf and dumb."</p>
+
+<p>"Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life."</p>
+
+<p>"You might send him across to Assouan."</p>
+
+<p>"And give some one else the credit? No, thank you. This is my
+bird. But how are we going to get him to find his tongue?"</p>
+
+<p>The Egyptian's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on
+the cook's fire. "Perhaps," said he, "if the Bimbashi thought fit&mdash;&mdash;"
+He looked at the prisoner and then at the burning wood.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="550" height="132" alt="row of camels" />
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"A very little might do it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. It's all very well here, but it would sound just awful if
+ever it got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say," he whispered, "we might
+frighten him a bit. There's no harm in that."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell them to undo the man's galabeeah. Order them to put a
+horseshoe in the fire and make it red-hot." The prisoner watched the
+proceedings with an air which had more of amusement than of uneasiness.
+He never winced as the black sergeant approached with the
+glowing shoe held upon two bayonets.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you speak now?" asked the Bimbashi, savagely. The
+prisoner smiled gently and stroked his beard.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!" cried Joyce, jumping up in
+a passion. "There's no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we
+won't do it. But I <i>can</i> and I <i>will</i> flog him, and you can tell him from
+me that if he hasn't found his tongue by to-morrow morning I'll take the
+skin off his back as sure as my name's Joyce. Have you said all that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night's rest
+may it give you!" He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as
+imperturbable as ever, was led away by the guard to his supper of rice
+and water. Hilary Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep
+was considerably disturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he
+must inflict next day. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash
+and the thongs might prevail over his prisoner's obstinacy. And
+then, again, he thought how shocking it would be if the man proved to
+be really dumb after all. The possibility shook him so that he had
+almost determined by daybreak that he would send the stranger on
+unhurt to Assouan. And yet what a tame conclusion it would be
+to the incident! He lay upon his angareeb still debating it when
+the question suddenly and effectively settled itself. Ali Mahomet
+rushed into his tent.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," he cried, "the prisoner is gone!"</p>
+
+<p>"Gone!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit
+cut in the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="550" height="132" alt="row of camels" />
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every
+track; scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the
+fugitive, but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared.
+With a heavy heart, Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter
+and forwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order
+from the chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst
+from the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself.
+And his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he
+reported himself one night at the general's quarters. Behind a table
+piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his
+Chief of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting
+was a cold one.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<img src="images/i_041.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="Bimbashi Joyce painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"I understand, Captain Joyce," said the general, "that you have
+allowed a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain
+anything about him before you lost him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"How was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I could get nothing out of him, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you try?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; I did what I could."</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"What was he like?"</p>
+
+<p>"A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think."</p>
+
+<p>"Any way by which we could identify him?"</p>
+
+<p>"A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of
+twitching his face."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Captain Joyce," said the general, in his stern, inflexible
+voice, "I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the
+Egyptian army. You are aware that every English officer in this force
+is a picked man. I have the whole British army from which to draw.
+It is necessary, therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest
+efficiency. It would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious
+want of zeal or intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows,
+I understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling
+your regimental duties again." Hilary Joyce's heart was too heavy for
+words. He was silent. "I will let you know my final decision to-morrow
+morning." Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.</p>
+
+<p>"You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night's rest
+may it give you!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="550" height="132" alt="row of camels" />
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a><br /><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used
+before? Who was it who had used them? The general was standing
+erect. Both he and the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing.
+Joyce stared at the tall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable
+grey eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Lord!" he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!" said the general,
+holding out his hand. "You gave me a bad ten minutes with that
+infernal red-hot horseshoe of yours. I've done as much for you. I
+don't think we can spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile."</p>
+
+<p>"But, sir; but&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>"The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must
+seem rather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish.
+It must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in my
+return. I kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with
+you alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. I begin to understand."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't give it away before all those blacks, or where should I
+have been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You
+put me in a very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone
+with your Egyptian officer, who managed my escape all right."</p>
+
+<p>"He! Mahomet Ali!"</p>
+
+<p>"I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you.
+But we dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I think
+I can do you a little better than you did me at Kurkur."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_044.png" width="400" height="354" alt="Riding a camel" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE ANT-LION</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY J. H. FABRE<br />
+
+("The Insects' Homer")<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> E. J. DETMOLD</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. Copyright U.S.A., 1914, by Hughes Massie &amp; Co.</i></span><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">My</span> big and little readers, look at the picture illustrating this story and
+tell me what you see. First of all, a hideous little monster. It has six
+short legs and an enormous body&mdash;the sign of an insatiable appetite&mdash;and
+carries on its head two sharp-pointed, curved, movable horns,
+which open and shut like a savage pair of pincers. Suppose we were
+to hear that, in a desert island, a monster like that, but the size of
+a wolf, was just emerging from the thick jungle and making for a
+traveller, for some modern Robinson Crusoe, and that, in another
+moment, it would be sticking its tusks into him, how thrilling we should
+find it! We should hope that the man whose life was in danger was
+armed with the most effective weapons, which would help him to come
+victorious out of the contest: a twelve-chambered revolver at least, to
+say nothing of a breech-loading rifle and explosive bullets!</div>
+
+<p>But we must not take an unfair advantage of the animal's ugly
+appearance in order to provoke unnatural excitement, for what I am
+about to tell is history and not a fairy-tale: proper, genuine history. I
+will lose no time in saying that the creature is quite harmless to any of
+us, even the smallest. By this I do not mean to suggest that it has not
+a very fierce and brutal temper; only, the victims of its bloodthirsty
+instincts move in a world so tiny that we tread it under foot unnoticed.
+It is an ogre, ever hungering after fresh meat, like the famous ogre of
+your fairy-tales: you know, the one who welcomed Hop-o'-my-Thumb
+and his brothers to his house one evening, meaning to put them all in a
+pie like so many pigeons; in short, just the sort of ogre who makes your
+blood run cold.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_045.png" width="300" height="212" alt="bug" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Our little monster, then, wants its dinner, a thing not always easy
+to find in this world, especially for an ogre. Hunger is gnawing at its
+inside; it must eat or die. Its usual prey is the Ant, a good runner,
+whose nimble legs promptly take to flight and baffle the clumsy,
+corpulent hunter's attempts to attack her. You might as well tell the
+Tortoise to run and catch the Gazelle. Our ogre possesses no greater
+agility in comparison with the Ant; and moreover there is another
+reason that makes it quite impossible for him to run after anything:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+like the Crab, he can only really walk backwards, which is not exactly
+the way to overtake your quarry when it's in front of you.</p>
+
+<p>To be fat and heavy, to walk backwards and to be obliged to have
+live Ant for one's dinner is a difficult, a very difficult problem. What
+would you do in such a case? Come, try to find something! Rack your
+brains! You can think of nothing? Well, never mind: plenty of
+others, including myself, could not think of anything either.</p>
+
+<p>Everyday common-sense, expressed in proverbs, tells us over and
+over again that necessity is the mother of invention. This great truth,
+which we have learnt by personal experience, we shall learn once more
+from the Ant-hunter. But first let us give him a name, to simplify our
+story. Naturalists call him the Ant-lion, a very happy term, which
+reminds us that, like the Lion, he lives by carnage, slaughtering live
+prey, in this case Ants. Now that we have christened him we can
+go on.</p>
+
+<p>When he wants his dinner, the Ant-lion says to himself:</p>
+
+<p>"You're a fat little beggar, you know, short-legged and slow-moving;
+you'll never catch Ants by running after them. On the other
+hand, you can walk backwards, that's capital; you have a head flattened
+like a navvy's shovel, that's first-rate; your pincers are long and grip
+like a knife, that's perfect, absolutely perfect. We'll use that talent for
+walking backwards; we'll use those tools, the shovel and tongs; we'll
+make craft take the place of the agility which we lack; and the dinner
+will come along."</p>
+
+<p>No sooner said than done. In a nice dry spot, warmed by the sun
+and sheltered from the rain by an overhanging rock, the wily animal
+selects a place where Ants are incessantly moving to and fro on household
+matters. Gravely, with the mathematical accuracy of an engineer
+tracing the foundation of a well-planned building, the Ant-lion walks
+backwards, with his body dug into the sand; he turns and turns and
+in this way hollows out a groove shaped like a perfect circle. Then,
+still moving backwards and still digging deeper and deeper into the
+sand, he repeats the circuit many times over, but gradually coming
+nearer the centre, where he arrives in the end. If any obstacle, such as
+a large bit of gravel, which would spoil the work, makes its appearance,
+the Ant-lion takes it on his flat head and, with a vigorous jerk of his
+neck, flings it to a distance over the edge of the hole. We should use
+a shovel in exactly the same way to throw out the rubbish when
+digging.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_045.png" width="300" height="212" alt="bug" />
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The result of this labour is a sort of funnel, two inches wide and
+a little less in depth. For that matter, each Ant-lion scoops himself
+out one proportioned to his size: the larger ones, the giants of the
+family, produce one almost big enough to hold an orange; the younger
+and smaller ones are content with a hollow which a walnut would fill.
+But, whether great funnels or modest dents, all these cavities are
+constructed on one and the same principle: the slope is very steep
+and formed of extremely loose sand; nothing, however light, can set
+foot upon it without producing a landslip, followed by a headlong fall.</p>
+
+<p>When the work is finished, the scoundrel buries himself in the
+sand, right at the bottom of the funnel; his pincers alone appear outside,
+ever ready to snap, but nevertheless hidden as far as possible.
+And now the Ant-lion remains completely motionless and waits; he
+waits for hours, for days, for weeks, if necessary, for his patience is
+unequalled; he waits for his dinner to come to him, as he cannot go
+after his dinner himself.</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 384px;">
+<img src="images/i_059.jpg" width="384" height="600" alt="Ant Lion painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Let us do as he does and wait, very attentively. What will
+happen? See, an Ant comes trotting along, suspecting no harm,
+bringing a little honey in her crop for her mates, who are working at
+a distance, just as the goodwife, on the stroke of noon, brings the
+reaper his midday meal in the fields. In her hurry, or perhaps in
+her heedlessness, she has not seen the precipice. She steps upon it,
+but only just on the edge. It makes no difference: as soon as her
+foot is on the perfidious slope, the sand gives way and the poor thing
+is dragged down. If our eyes were sharp enough, we should see signs
+of fierce delight betrayed by the formidable jaws at the bottom.</p>
+
+<p>Thank goodness! A microscopic bit of straw has interfered with
+the landslide. The fall ends in the middle of the slope; and the Ant,
+recovering her balance, tries to scramble back to the top. The sand
+trickles under her feet; no matter: she goes to work with so much
+prudence, she so skilfully makes use of the smallest solid support, she
+is so careful to move sideways instead of going straight up the slope
+that it looks as though the climb ought to be achieved without fresh
+impediment. Her knees, her delicate feelers seem atremble with
+excitement. One more effort, only a little effort, and the thing is
+done. The edge is there, close by; the Ant must reach it.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/i_045.png" width="300" height="212" alt="bug" />
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Alas, she does not reach it! Suddenly from the sky there falls
+upon the poor wretch, thick as hailstones, a rain of grains of sand,
+which, for the tiny Ant, is as bad as a regular rain of pebbles. Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+is the brute that takes delight in thus stoning the distressed Ant, who
+clings in her despair now to this side, now to that, as best she may,
+so as not to roll to the bottom of the precipice? The brute is the Ant-lion,
+the ruffian, lying in ambush down in his funnel. See what he is
+doing. He takes on his flat head a load, a shovelful of sand, and flings
+it in the air towards the Ant, with a sudden, quick jerk of the neck, like
+the movement of a spring. The shovelfuls follow rapidly, one after
+the other. Whoosh! And whoosh! Do you want another? There's
+one! You don't want another? There's one all the same!</p>
+
+<p>What can the Ant do, I ask you, on the slope of that terrible
+trap, where the ground falls from under her in a rushing torrent, while
+a hail of pebbles dashes down from above? In vain she struggles, with
+all the pluck of despair: for each step forward she takes three back,
+coming nearer and nearer to the dreadful jaws that are waiting for her
+at the bottom of the funnel. Bruised and dazed with the stoning, she
+rolls over and over, right into the jaws. The jaws seize her and
+everything disappears under the sand; not a trace remains of the recent
+tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>Peacefully buried in the sand of his lair, the Ant-lion devours his
+astutely-captured prey. When the meal is over, there remains a dry
+carcass, which must be thrown away, for, if left in the funnel, it might
+frighten any game in future and betray the hunter in his ambush.
+A jerk of the shovel, that is to say, a toss of the flat head, flings it
+outside the hole.</p>
+
+<p>Then the Ant-lion repairs the damage done to his trap, removes
+the coarser grains of sand, touches up the slopes to make them ready
+for a new slide. He buries himself as I have described and awaits the
+coming of the next Ant.</p>
+
+<p>That is how the Ant-lion secures his dinner. And yet there are
+people who say that animals have no sense!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 421px;">
+<img src="images/i_048.png" width="421" height="300" alt="dragon-flies" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>AN ANGEL OF GOD</h2>
+
+<div class='center'><i>A TRUE STORY</i><br />
+<br />
+BY ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.</span><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">You</span> may talk about the Germans as much as you like," remarked
+Mrs. Batterby with her customary decision; "but, for my part, I have
+no doubt that we shall beat them in the end: no doubt whatsoever!"</div>
+
+<p>"Still, the German hosts are very numerous, and their artillery is
+magnificent," said Mrs. Veale, who, much as she longed for the defeat
+of Germany, longed for the defeat of Mrs. Batterby still more.</p>
+
+<p>Little Miss Skipworth hastened, as usual, to thrust in the olive-branch.
+"Dear Mrs. Batterby is thinking of the superior courage of
+our brave English soldiers," she explained gently.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Batterby could not stand being Bowdlerised, or even
+translated. "No, I wasn't, Matilda; at least not at that particular
+minute, though nobody admires the courage of the British Army more
+than I do, and always have done, and especially with Lord Kitchener
+at their head and in action against the enemy. I've got a very
+high opinion of the British soldier myself; none higher: much too
+high, in fact, to allow him to wear a collar to his bed-jacket like
+the one you are making, Matilda, without speaking a word in his
+defence."</p>
+
+<p>Matilda collapsed at once: she was composed of the most collapsible
+material ever provided for the manufacture of souls. "What
+is wrong with my collar, Mrs. Batterby? I thought I was exactly
+copying the pattern sent to us by the Red Cross. Anyway, I was
+trying to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"Trying and succeeding are two different things, which I should
+have thought you'd have found out by this time, Matilda, and you
+five-and-forty, if you are a day! Give me the collar, and I'll fix it
+for you, or else the wounded soldier that wears it will wish he had
+died in the trenches before he had the chance of putting it on."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was the afternoon of the Red Cross weekly working-party, held
+in the village of Summerglade, in the early stages of the Great War.
+The party was a small one, consisting of Mrs. Batterby, a farmer's
+wife, in whose parlour the meeting was held; Mrs. Veale, the wife of
+the village doctor; Mrs. Windybank, a gloomy widow; and Miss Skipworth,
+an ingenuous and tender-hearted spinster. Between Mrs. Batterby
+and Mrs. Veale there existed a bitter and abiding warfare.</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask what you were thinking of&mdash;if not of the bravery of
+our own dear soldiers&mdash;when you expressed your assurance of the
+ultimate success of the Allied Forces?" asked Mrs. Veale, with her
+needle in her fingers and the light of battle in her eye.</p>
+
+<p>"By all means," replied Mrs. Batterby; "and, a civil question
+demanding a civil answer, I don't mind telling you that I feel sure we
+shall win, because we know that God is on our side and is fighting
+for us."</p>
+
+<p>"But their numbers are so great and their guns so magnificent,"
+repeated Mrs. Windybank with a lugubrious sigh. "I sometimes fear
+that they will win in the end, and we shall all be blown up by Zeppelins
+and trampled underfoot. I'm sure I pray every morning that our
+armies may win, but I tremble when I think of the forces against us."</p>
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 425px;">
+<img src="images/i_050.png" width="425" height="222" alt="sewing basket" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"So did the Prophet's servant till his eyes were opened and he saw
+the mountain full of horses and chariots," replied Mrs. Batterby. "But
+some folk's eyes seem made not to open, like the stained-glass windows
+in Summerglade Church."</p>
+
+<p>"It is right to pray, but we must beware of presumptuousness in
+our prayers," said Mrs. Veale sententiously.</p>
+
+<p>"We'd much better beware of want of faith," retorted the hostess.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is difficult to have faith when things seem going against us,"
+said Matilda Skipworth.</p>
+
+<p>"Stuff and nonsense, Matilda! It's when things seem going
+against us that our faith is really any compliment to the Almighty.
+I can't see anything very complimentary to Him when every morning
+I pray with faith, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' knowing all the
+time that it's in the larder with a damp cloth over it. But it's when
+people pray that particular prayer, with no bread in the house and no
+money to pay for any, that their faith is any compliment to God or
+worthy of His acceptance."</p>
+
+
+<p>"I know my faith is very feeble and my prayers are unworthy,"
+sighed Miss Skipworth, "but I do try to
+believe. Still, I cannot help envying the
+Prophet's servant who <i>saw</i> the horses and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+the chariots fighting on his
+side. I wish we could
+<i>see</i> the angel hosts
+fighting for us.
+I do so wish
+that we had
+appearances of
+that kind nowadays:
+it would
+make faith so
+much easier and
+life altogether
+so much more
+beautiful."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_051.png" width="500" height="306" alt="sewing circle" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"But it would not be in accordance with God's teaching in these later
+times. Such assistance to faith as the appearance of saints and angels
+would not be at all in accordance with our modern religious thought,
+and I am sure that the Almighty would not permit it," said Mrs. Veale.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not so sure of that," retorted Mrs. Batterby. "I think that
+visions of angels are granted to-day to those that have eyes to see them,
+just as they were in Old Testament times."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Mrs. Batterby," exclaimed Matilda in excitement, "do you
+really believe that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do. But I don't believe that the angels appear as you would
+expect them, Matilda&mdash;all got up in harps and crowns and flaming
+swords. I believe that when they come nowadays they look so
+commonplace and what you might call ordinary-looking, that only those
+folks that have the eye of faith can perceive them at all. They can <i>see</i>
+them all right, mind you! But they can't recognise them as the angels
+of God."</p>
+
+<p>"How I should like to see somebody who had actually seen an
+angel!" sighed Miss Skipworth.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever come across any one who had enjoyed such an
+experience, Mrs. Batterby?" asked Mrs. Veale in a sceptical tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did, Mrs. Veale&mdash;that is, if you can say that you ever came
+across yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how interesting!&mdash;how very interesting!" cried Miss Skipworth.
+"But you don't look at all the sort of person that would see
+angels and spirits."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Batterby took the last remark as a compliment; as indeed it
+was intended. "That's just my point, Matilda. The real angels don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+look like the Scripture-picture sort of angels; and they don't appear to
+the high-flown, star-gazing sort of people who are always looking for
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"Do tell us what you saw, Mrs. Batterby," besought the emotional
+Matilda.</p>
+
+<p>"And also what calamity it foretold," added Mrs. Windybank.
+"I always believe that supernatural appearances precede some terrible
+misfortune."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my experience, or whatever you call it, happened five-and-thirty
+years ago, and no calamity has happened to me since. On the
+contrary, it taught me that no calamity <i>could</i> happen to me as long as
+I lay safe in my Heavenly Father's Hand. That's just the lesson that
+I learnt from it."</p>
+
+<p>"Do tell us the story," urged Miss Skipworth.</p>
+
+<p>"I will, Matilda, if you'll get on with your bed-jacket, and not
+leave off your sewing whenever anybody speaks, as if your hearing
+lay in your fingers, and you couldn't sew and listen at the same time.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when I was a young woman I lived with an aunt in
+Merchester who kept a stationer's shop; and every Sunday I used to
+walk over to see my mother who lived at a village about three miles
+off, she being a widow and keeping the post-office there and my two
+little sisters as well.</p>
+
+<p>"It was one Sunday in September&mdash;one of those deceitful sort of
+days that look like summer, and then take you all of a heap by getting
+dark before you can say <i>Jack Robinson</i>&mdash;and I had been spending the
+day with my mother as usual; I stayed for the evening service, it being
+the Sunday-school Anniversary and a special preacher for the occasion;
+quite a young man, but one of the finest preachers I ever heard.
+Though it was five-and-thirty years ago, I remember that sermon as if
+I'd heard it last Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>"What was it about?" asked Mrs. Windybank. "For my part, I
+always enjoy funeral-sermons the most; but I've heard some very
+sweet ones in times of war, and on the last Sundays in the Old Year."</p>
+
+<p>"It was on the very subject that Matilda was speaking about&mdash;in
+fact, it was her conversation that recalled the whole incident to my
+mind. The text was, 'Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God
+met him'; and the preacher said&mdash;what I've just being saying to you&mdash;that
+the angels of God meet us far oftener than we think; only we are
+so busy looking out for them to come in our own particular way that
+we don't recognise them. Unless they are in their flowing robes with
+their harps and halos and fiery swords, we don't know that they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+angels at all: which is just as stupid of us as if we didn't believe we'd
+seen the Queen, unless we'd seen her with her crown on. I remember
+that this impressed us very much: Queen Victoria had just been to
+Merchester to lay the foundation-stone of some public building or other
+(I forget what), and we had all cried at seeing her in a widow's bonnet;
+it seemed to make her so much more real and human than if she'd had
+her crown on. I'm sure that black bonnet brought her nearer to our
+hearts than all the Crown Jewels out of the Tower of London could
+have done; and taught us to love and reverence her as a woman as
+well as obey and serve her as a Queen. And so, as the young minister
+said, it ought to be with the angels; because when the Lord came
+among us, He came as One of ourselves, and led us by the paths that
+we were used to.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the sermon was so grand, and the hymn after the sermon
+so beautiful&mdash;I remember it was a six-lines-eight, sung to the tune
+called <i>Stella</i>, and mother and I swayed to it till we kept bumping
+against each other&mdash;that by the time we got out of chapel it was
+quite dark&mdash;so dark that mother didn't like the idea of my walking
+to Merchester alone, as it was three miles at the least, and along a
+very lonely road. But there was nobody to go with me, and I was
+bound to get back to aunt's that night, for some special reason that
+I forget now; so&mdash;like it or not like it&mdash;I had to go, though
+I was very timid."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how dreadful! I should have been terrified,"
+groaned Miss Skipworth. "I don't wonder that you
+were frightened."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't have minded if I'd been your age,
+Matilda: surely a woman of five-and-forty is old enough
+to go anywhere by herself! But I was only eighteen,
+and that makes all the difference."</p>
+
+<p>Matilda returned a soft answer&mdash;or, to be more
+accurate, a soft question.</p>
+
+<p>"Then did you venture, Mrs. Batterby?"</p>
+
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 342px;">
+<img src="images/i_053.png" width="342" height="500" alt="at the counter" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Of course I did: there was nothing
+else to do; and I didn't want mother to
+know I was frightened for fear of worrying
+her. But I didn't like it, I can tell
+you; and I started with my heart in my
+mouth, ready to jump at my own shadow.
+And then it came into my mind (I
+remember it as if it had happened last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+night) that I was a poor sort of Christian to enjoy a sermon and then
+make no sort of effort to put it into practice; in fact, that I was only
+a hearer of the Word, and not a doer, letting God's message go in
+at one ear and out at the other, leaving nothing behind it. So I set
+to to pray that as I went on my way the angels of God might meet
+me, as they met Jacob, and save me from all harm. And what with
+the excitement of the sermon, and my own fears, and the darkness of
+the road, I got worked up to such a pitch that I shouldn't have been
+surprised if a white-robed angel with shining wings had flown over the
+hedge and perched beside me."</p>
+
+<p>"Which, of course, no angel did," interrupted Mrs. Veale.</p>
+
+<p>"That is as may be," retorted Mrs. Batterby darkly. "In the
+middle of my prayer I heard a rustle in the hedge on the side of the
+road, which, of course, I thought was a thief lying in wait to waylay
+me and murder me, and I prayed harder and harder. But then, in the
+fading light, I perceived that it was no thief, but a huge yellow collie
+dog, such as they have for minding sheep."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear!" said Miss Skipworth; "I should have been as much
+afraid of a strange dog as of a strange man, if I'd been you."</p>
+
+<p>"Fortunately, however, you weren't me, nor ever likely to be,
+which seems fortunate for all parties concerned," replied her hostess
+dryly. "And as for being afraid of a dog&mdash;why! I'd been accustomed
+to dogs from a child, though I'm not the one to deny that collies are
+uncertain in temper and apt to snap at strangers unawares. So I spoke
+kindly to this one, in case it should take me for a thief come after its
+master's sheep; though where the sheep were I hadn't a notion, there
+being nothing but cornfields ready for cutting on both sides of the
+road, the harvest being very late that year."</p>
+
+<p>"It was rather foolish, to my thinking, to speak to it at all,"
+remarked Mrs. Windybank. "I had a friend once who spoke to a
+strange collie; and it bit her thimble finger so badly that she was never
+able to sew properly again."</p>
+
+<p>"Then she must have said the wrong thing to it," replied Mrs.
+Batterby; "and it served her right. I know when folks say the wrong
+thing to me, I'd give anything to be able to bite their thimble finger, and
+dogs feel the same as we do. But to get on with my story. The dog
+came up to me quite friendly-like, and didn't attempt to snap or anything;
+but though it came close to me, it wouldn't let me touch or pet it. It
+shied away the moment I put out my hand to fondle it. So&mdash;being
+accustomed to dogs and their ways&mdash;I treated it as it evidently wished to
+be treated, and just talked to it pleasantly as it trotted along by my side."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 259px;">
+<img src="images/i_055.png" width="259" height="500" alt="woman with dog" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;For my part, I believe it was one of the angels of God&quot;</span>
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Then it followed you?" asked Miss Skipworth.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; all the way to Merchester, just as if it had been my own
+dog. When there was nobody in sight, it ran backwards and forwards
+and scampered about by itself; but whenever we met anybody&mdash;and we
+met some nasty-looking tramps, I can tell you, that I should have been
+terrified to meet alone&mdash;it came close to me, looking that big and fierce
+that the tramps kept well to the other side of the road, as far away from
+us as they could; and it stalked by me till they were out of sight, as is
+the way of collies when they scent danger ahead. I can't tell you how
+delighted I was to have found such a splendid pet; and I made up my
+mind to take it home with me and keep it, unless some one claimed it;
+as aunt and I had long wanted a house-dog to take care of the shop at
+nights. And, besides, I thought it would be such a nice companion for
+me on all the long country-walks which I was so fond of taking out of
+shop-hours."</p>
+
+<p>"And did any one ever come and claim it?" asked Miss Skipworth
+with breathless interest.</p>
+
+<p>"No; never. It followed me all the way to Merchester, wagging
+its tail whenever I spoke to it, and looking up at me with its soft brown
+eyes as friendly as never was; but it never let me touch it, though I
+tried to pat it once or twice."</p>
+
+<p>"And you took it home with you, the dear creature?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Batterby shook her head. "It followed me right into
+Merchester; but when I was safe in the town among all the gas-lamps
+and the people and the traffic, it turned round and scampered back
+along the road by which we had come. I whistled to it to come back,
+but it took no notice; and the last I saw of it was its yellow coat disappearing
+into the darkness."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Skipworth gave a deep sigh. "And you never saw it
+again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never."</p>
+
+<p>"And you never found out who it belonged to?"</p>
+
+<p>A look came into Mrs. Batterby's eyes that was new to Miss
+Skipworth. "I wouldn't say that. As a matter of fact, I believe I did
+find out Who it belonged to."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it was the sheep-dog of one of the neighbouring farmers,"
+suggested Mrs. Veale.</p>
+
+<p>"Some might suppose so; but I don't," replied Mrs. Batterby, still
+with that wonderful smile in her sharp grey eyes. "For my part, I believe
+it was one of the angels of God."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="title and illustrations">
+<tr><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 185px;">
+<img src="images/i_057a.png" width="185" height="200" alt="soldier" />
+</div>
+</td><td align="center"><h2>A MODEL SOLDIER<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>BY CHARLES GARVICE<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Author of "Nance," etc.</i></span><br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> J. H. HARTLEY</span></div>
+</td><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 239px;">
+<img src="images/i_057b.png" width="239" height="250" alt="woman" />
+</div></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Kitty</span> came into the studio and, dropping on to a stool, said, as she drew
+the pins from her hat:</div>
+
+<p>"Dad, I've had an adventure."</p>
+
+<p>She made the assertion with seeming gravity, but her father glanced
+at her dancing eyes with a mixture of interest and a suspicion of being
+spoofed; for past experiences of his light-hearted, mischief-loving
+daughter had taught him to be wary; so he said nothing, but continued
+to chalk in the rough sketch on the easel.</p>
+
+<p>"Behold in me a heroine of romance!" said Kitty, striking an
+attitude and regarding the toes of her dainty boots with her head on one
+side; and her father, as he glanced at her again, noted vaguely her pose
+and expression for future use; for Kitty served frequently as a model,
+and her pretty face and svelte figure had appeared in numerous
+magazines as the heroine of all sorts of stories.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, I have saved a fellow creature's life," she went on. "Told
+in the language of popular fiction it would run thus: 'A young girl of
+pleasing appearance was seen going down one of our leading thoroughfares.
+She was of meek and modest demeanour&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you said the adventure happened to you, Kitty," said
+Mr. Thorold.</p>
+
+<p>"'The road was crowded with the carriages and motor-cars of
+the wealthy and noble,'" continued Kitty, disregarding the mild
+sarcasm; "'the young girl, lost "in maiden meditation, fancy-free," was
+startled suddenly by a cry of anguished terror. Raising her downcast
+eyes, she saw a pretty young thing running across the road right in
+front of an approaching motor-car, from the occupant of which, a
+lady of mature age and buxom form, the cry had arisen. Without
+a thought of her own fair young life, the maiden rushed forward, seized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+the young thing in her arms and carried it in safety to the pavement.
+The magnificent 2,000-h.p. motor-car pulled up beside her, and the richly
+dressed lady, with a gasp of relief and admiration, expressed her appreciation
+of the young girl's heroism, demanded her name and address, and,
+handing her a card, desired the rescuer to call. The heroine, murmuring
+something inaudible, blushed sweetly and, making her way through
+the small but loudly cheering crowd which had collected, modestly
+disappeared.'"</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 157px;">
+<img src="images/i_058.png" width="157" height="200" alt="dog" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"All very well," grumbled Mr. Thorold; "but you'll be brought
+home on a stretcher some day, Kit. You're too venturesome by far.
+What became of the child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it wasn't a child; it was a collie pup."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you said 'fellow-creature,'" remarked her father
+plaintively.</p>
+
+<p>"All dogs are my fellow-creatures," declared Kitty simply.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a credulous as well as a sinfully indulgent parent," said
+Mr. Thorold, stepping back to view his sketch; "but I don't believe
+a word of your story."</p>
+
+<p>"'Documentary evidence was instantly forthcoming,'" retorted
+Kitty, extending a tiny paw with a card inserted delicately between her
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Her father took it, read aloud: "Lady Hawborough, 209, Belgrave
+Square," and then emitted a low whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"My word, Kitty, you've gone and done it!" he said. "If this is
+<i>the</i> Lady Hawborough&mdash;and Nature, with all her audacity, cannot have
+made two of them&mdash;you've run up against a celebrity of the deepest
+dye."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh?" said Kitty. "Never heard of her. What's she celebrated
+for?"</p>
+
+<p>"For good works&mdash;which means, in most cases, a disposition and a
+capacity for interfering in the affairs of other people. And her ladyship
+is one of the biggest and most incorrigible interferers in this crank of a
+world of ours. She is immensely rich; she is also 'powerful,' as the
+novelists say; she is a tyrant to her relations, a terror to her friends,
+and a well-meaning, charitable bugbear to the world in general."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Kitty, somewhat dismayed. "But how is it you are
+so intimately acquainted with the history and characteristics of this lady
+of lofty rank and goodly oof?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Kitty, 'oof' is not nearly such a good word as 'wealth.'"</p>
+
+
+<p>"Maybe, but it's easier to pronounce," retorted Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Mr. Thorold, as if he were weary of the
+subject. "Heard some one at the Club talking about her; seen her
+name in the papers. Take my advice and don't call. She'll enlist you
+in one of her gangs of workers, hustle you into a hospital as a nurse,
+make you into a district visitor, or turn you a lecturer on vegetarianism
+or some other fad."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 169px;">
+<img src="images/i_061.png" width="169" height="200" alt="dog" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Oh no, she won't," said Kitty, with sublime confidence; "not that
+I should object to being a nurse&mdash;that is, if I hadn't already to look
+after an aged and infirm parent. Yes; much as I value your advice,
+Dad, I think I'll call. I'll go to-morrow; and if I come back, say, in a
+Salvation Army kit, and banging a tambourine&mdash;and, mind you! I
+might do worse: I've a whole-hearted admiration for the S.A. and the
+uniform is distinctly fetching&mdash;you can indulge in the exquisite pleasure
+of exclaiming, 'I told you so!' What are you on this morning, Dad?"
+she asked, going to him, putting her arm round his neck, and giving
+him a little hug.</p>
+
+<p>"Sketch for an illustration for the <i>Long Acre Magazine</i>," he said,
+with a kind of resignation; for your most gifted artist has to do
+pot-boilers nowadays: and generally he does them well.</p>
+
+<p>"The girl's all right, anyhow," said Kitty. "Where's the man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm going to stick him in directly," said Mr. Thorold.
+"He's to be a soldier, and I've got a young fellow coming as a model
+presently. Ran against him in a rather extraordinary way. He called
+on me yesterday with an introduction from Bloxham: said he had never
+sat as model before; but that he was hard up, and would do his best.
+Fine young fellow, and a nice taking sort of chap altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"Burglar in disguise, coming to inspect the premises, no doubt,"
+surmised Kitty cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he's welcome to anything he takes a fancy to," remarked
+Mr. Thorold.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well!" she said. "I'm off to consult Selinar-Ann as to
+whether it's to be bread-and-butter pudding or a baked roly-poly;
+expect me back, or what remains of me, in an hour."</p>
+
+<p>Carefully rumpling her father's already disordered hair, she screwed
+up his patient face between her hands, kissed him and ran out, singing
+as she went.</p>
+
+<p>In less than an hour she re-entered the studio, still singing; but
+the song snapped off suddenly, and she stood just within the doorway,
+staring with wide-open eyes at a young soldier in khaki who stood
+on the model's dais, one arm in a sling, the other extended with
+a sword in the hand, in the kind of attitude beloved by the populace,
+and forming the picture which bears inevitably the legend, "Charge!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a><br /><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 139px;">
+<img src="images/i_062.png" width="139" height="300" alt="woman at door" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The young man turned his eyes&mdash;he dared not move anything
+else&mdash;and, at sight of the stricken maiden, his tanned face grew the
+colour of a healthy beetroot.</p>
+
+<p>"Getting on famously, Kit," remarked Mr. Thorold in a preoccupied
+manner. "Arm a little higher, if you please, Captain&mdash;&mdash;Pardon,
+didn't catch your name."</p>
+
+<p>"Barnard," said the model, in a small voice quite inconsistent with
+his fine and manly proportions.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, thank you! Could you&mdash;er&mdash;put on something of a scowl?
+You're wounded, you know, and you're leading a forlorn hope, or
+something of the sort."</p>
+
+<p>The young man's good-looking face assumed as much of a scowl
+as it was capable of doing, and Mr. Thorold dashed it on the paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Capital! Now you can rest a minute. I've got to go and get
+some more ochre. Perhaps you'd like a drink?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you; I should," confessed the young man, with a slight
+huskiness.</p>
+
+<p>"All right; I'll bring it," said Mr. Thorold; and, as he was
+leaving the room, he said over his shoulder, "My daughter; Captain
+Barnard."</p>
+
+<p>Kitty closed the door carefully; then, seating herself on the divan,
+she rested her chin in her hand and, regarding the young man severely,
+she demanded sternly:</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you'll be kind enough to inform me of the&mdash;the meaning
+of this?"</p>
+
+<p>He had seated himself on the edge of the dais and was wiping his
+face, as if he were just going through a dangerous action, with the
+enemy pressing on all sides.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon?" he faltered, with meekness in his voice, mien,
+and eye.</p>
+
+<p>"I asked you why you are masquerading here?" she said, uncompromisingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, come to that, I'm not masquerading. This is my own kit;
+I'm a soldier, as you know. This is a genuine wound, not a fake; and
+I'm really hard up: had a run of bad luck lately. No harm in earning
+an honest shilling."</p>
+
+<p>"But why come to my father, this particular studio, to earn it?"
+demanded Kitty, cutting short his feeble attempts at plausible
+explanation.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well," he replied desperately: "you see, when I met you at
+the Thomsons' the other night, and asked you if I might have the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+honour of calling on you, you said that your father was a very busy man
+and that you yourself had no time for receiving visitors."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 112px;">
+<img src="images/i_063.png" width="112" height="300" alt="soldier with wounded arm" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Well?" demanded Kitty, as icily as before.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he resumed, looking down and then up at her, as if he
+could not keep his eyes from her face, stern and almost ferocious as it
+was, "well, I asked the Thomsons who your father was, and when they
+told me, I thought&mdash;I thought&mdash;&mdash;Well, don't you know, it seemed
+to me that he might want a model. War pictures are all the go now,
+aren't they? And so&mdash;&mdash;" He broke down, made a little gesture with
+his unwounded arm, and blurted out, "Of course you know why I've
+come. I wanted to see you again. I told you so the other night; like
+my cheek, of course, but&mdash;I don't know how it is&mdash;I feel as if I'd <i>got</i> to
+see you, to know you. Look here, Miss Kitty&mdash;I beg your pardon, all
+the Thomsons call you that&mdash;I hope you won't mind my saying that
+I've fallen in love with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me; I mind it very much," Kitty informed him with
+distressing promptitude; but her eyes wavered and the colour came
+into her face and made it, in the unfortunate young man's opinion,
+more maddeningly fascinating than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, I'm sorry," he said, but without much penitence in his
+tone; "but the truth should always be told, shouldn't it? And it is
+the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" queried Kitty. "You've seen me only once before, and
+then only for an hour or two."</p>
+
+<p>"Two hours and three-quarters," he said, as if he were a stickler
+for accuracy; "and I fell in love with you after the first quarter of an
+hour. That being the case&mdash;as it certainly is&mdash;what was I to do?
+I shall have to go back to the regiment as soon as this old arm of mine
+is right; and it's getting right quickly; and I felt that I couldn't go
+without at any rate telling you what&mdash;what was the matter with me."</p>
+
+<p>"You speak as if&mdash;as if love were a disease," said Kitty, with an
+attempt at mockery which was an abject failure.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," he declared, "and I've got it bad&mdash;very bad indeed.
+I'll ask you to believe me, Miss Kitty&mdash;I mean Miss Thorold&mdash;that I
+haven't had you out of my mind for one moment since we parted."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pity you haven't something better to think of," said Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>"There I disagree with you," observed the young man stoutly.
+"I couldn't have anything better to think of, and I don't want to.
+I shall think of you for the rest of my natural life. One moment,
+Miss Kitty, before you refuse me. I ought to tell you that I'm a poor
+young captain, in a marching regiment, with no prospects."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"The allurement is irresistible&mdash;&mdash;" began Kitty, with admirable
+gravity.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "So you accept me?"</p>
+
+<p>"The politeness of a soldier should have compelled you to hear
+me out. I was going to add, that it would be irresistible if I were in
+love with you; but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go on, I beg of you!" he implored. "I'm not such a fat-headed
+idiot as to suppose that you <i>are</i> in love with me. What I
+wanted to ask you was to give me a show. You see, I've arranged with
+Mr. Thorold to stand, not only for this picture, but for an oil-painting,
+which I suppose&mdash;don't know much about art&mdash;will take some time."</p>
+
+<p>"You have? Well, of all the&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," he said meekly. "You see, it will give me a chance
+of trying to explain to you that, if you refuse me, it will be&mdash;oh, worse
+than a conical bullet in a particularly vital spot. All I ask is that you
+will look in now and again, and&mdash;and give me an opportunity of&mdash;of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bothering me to death," finished Kitty for him.</p>
+
+<p>"No; bothering you into an engagement&mdash;which is sometimes
+a serious affair, but not always fatal," he said frankly. "Come, Miss
+Kitty, don't be hard on me! It's not much to ask&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, isn't it?" interjected Kitty with fine irony. "Thank you.
+Captain Barnard."</p>
+
+<p>"If you were in love with me&mdash;absurd idea, of course! but I'm
+just putting the case&mdash;I'd come and sit with you and give you any
+amount of chances."</p>
+
+<p>Kitty heard her father's returning footsteps, and she stood up
+and looked from side to side, and then at this meekly audacious young
+man, with a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment&mdash;and something
+else I cannot define&mdash;in her really wonderful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of all the cool&mdash;&mdash;" she said again. But he cut her short.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right," he said breathlessly; "thank you ever so
+much. Your father's coming. I'm to be here at eleven o'clock every
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"And you think," said Kitty, as hurriedly, "that, by simply
+sitting here and regarding you in that absurd attitude, I shall fall
+in&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 173px;">
+<img src="images/i_064.png" width="173" height="300" alt="woman at door again" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; not at all. Fortune will have pity on me and give
+me an opportunity for seeing you for a minute or two alone. Besides,
+perhaps&mdash;I only say perhaps, mind!&mdash;you might be induced to lunch
+at an A.B.C. shop," he jerked out in a rapid whisper, as the innocent
+parent returned with his yellow ochre.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Kitty went up to her room, flung herself into a chair in her
+favourite attitude, with her chin in her hands, and stared at nothing&mdash;no,
+not nothing, but at the handsome face and manly form of a wounded
+soldier.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, she would not go near the studio while he was there.
+Consequently, the next morning, at half-past eleven, she entered with
+refreshment on a tray; and, with downcast eyes and a blush, informed
+her father that she had left his soda-and-milk in the dining-room
+because a change of scene and air would be good for him.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 146px;">
+<img src="images/i_065.png" width="146" height="200" alt="woman with tray" />
+</div>
+
+<p>She was still rosy with shame when the model sprang from the
+dais, caught her hand, and declared fervently that she was an angel.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am a sly and deceitful, not to say forward, girl," said Kitty.
+"But I've only made an opportunity to tell you that I'm not coming
+into the studio again while you're here."</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about
+this time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get
+some lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner&mdash;I should
+like you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary
+to refuse me. I think that's only fair to you."</p>
+
+<p>"And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the
+concentrated cheek&mdash;I am sorry there is no stronger word&mdash;of the whole
+British Army; and I decline your invitation."</p>
+
+<p>She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of
+an hour.</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+
+<p>In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square,
+and was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and
+spacious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair,
+knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly
+disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian tracts,
+and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received Kitty
+with more than graciousness; for her ladyship, notwithstanding her
+crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are
+led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes&mdash;a
+"good heart."</p>
+
+<p>Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired
+genuinely the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the
+rescue of the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent
+member of the S.P.C.A.</p>
+
+<p>She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and
+proceeded to put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+before tea was over, had obtained sufficient information respecting
+Kitty's life to convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her
+ladyship's benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty
+caught a glimpse of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladyship
+displayed in her favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who
+came in contact with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to
+recognise the presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the
+old lady with the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of
+tyranny.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 183px;">
+<img src="images/i_066.png" width="183" height="200" alt="woman wiht lorgnette" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her
+return home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that;
+but she can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation&mdash;I was going to
+say 'Thank goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to
+see some of your pictures some day."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true
+artist, had a loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art
+patron.</p>
+
+<p>The drawing for the <i>Long Acre Magazine</i> being duly finished,
+Mr. Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I'm going to make a hit with this, Kitty," he said to his
+daughter one morning, as he was preparing for the arrival of his admirably
+punctual and singularly patient model. "You see, I've got a splendid
+young chap to stand for it. He's the real thing, instead of a coster
+dressed up in an officer's uniform. And he's a pleasant chap, too," he
+continued meditatively. "A modest, well-mannered young fellow: no
+swank or swagger; in fact, a gentleman. By the way, Kitty, you
+might remember that little fact, and not be quite so short and sharp
+with him when he speaks to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it won't hurt him," retorted Kitty, turning her back quickly.
+"From what I have seen of him, I should say that Captain Barnard
+would not be easily snubbed."</p>
+
+<p>"And you try pretty hard," remarked her father. "For instance,
+yesterday there was no occasion for you to tell him to shut up when he
+observed that it was a fine day."</p>
+
+<p>"All I said was that a model was much more effective when he
+kept his mouth closed," said Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>"That strikes me as being pretty much the same thing," said her
+father. "He looked quite crushed."</p>
+
+<p>"Do him good," murmured Kitty. "Besides, he can talk the hind
+leg off an army mule when he likes."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?" asked her parent, with mild surprise.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm only drawing inferences from&mdash;from his general appearance,"
+said Kitty, looking a trifle confused.</p>
+
+<p>"Going out to lunch again to-day?" demanded her father, repiningly,
+as, clad in outdoor things, she passed him in the passage a
+couple of hours later.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry, dear; got a pressing engagement. Besides, you never eat
+anything. There! did it miss its nurse? Never mind! I'll be in all
+the evening." She scrunched up his face, gave him what she called her
+"screw" kiss, and departed to the A.B.C. shop.</p>
+
+<p>By this time, it must be confessed, the fortress besieged by Captain
+Barnard with such ingenuous strategy, but manly courage, had surrendered;
+and to-day the wounded soldier had brought a pretty but
+inexpensive ring with him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all I can afford, dearest," he said, as he slipped it on the
+finger.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a perfect duck," she returned, touching the ring with her
+lips&mdash;a wicked and maddening thing to do; for you can't kiss a girl in
+an A.B.C. shop, however much in love with her you may be.</p>
+
+<p>"And to-morrow I'll tell your father. What&mdash;what do you think
+he'll say, darling?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know what he'll say, but I couldn't repeat it, because I've been
+properly brought up," replied Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>"But he won't refuse his consent, won't chuck me out?" cried her
+lover, aghast.</p>
+
+<p>"No; because, strange as it may seem, he's really fond of me. Oh,
+I don't deserve it; for he's the dearest dad that ever had a hussy and a
+minx for a daughter. No, he won't throw you out, at any rate until
+the picture's finished. And perhaps you'll be tired of me&mdash;I mean,
+I shall be tired of you&mdash;we shall be tired of each other, before that
+time."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll risk that," he said confidently, pressing her hand under the table.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 93px;">
+<img src="images/i_067.png" width="93" height="300" alt="man in livery" />
+</div>
+
+<p>That afternoon Kitty, in a state of perfect bliss, paid one of her
+frequent visits to Lady Hawborough, with whom she had now become
+great friends; in fact, the old lady had grown quite fond of the girl;
+and the extent of this affection was proved that afternoon to Kitty by
+an extraordinary mischance. The footman had shown her into a small
+ante-room, which Lady Hawborough called her "study"; the adjoining
+apartment was divided from that in which Kitty was waiting by a pair
+of folding doors, and, one of these being partly open, Kitty heard the
+rustling of dresses, followed by Lady Hawborough's clear and very
+distinct voice saying:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Must you go, dear? I'm so sorry, because I wanted you to see
+her. She's quite a nice girl&mdash;in fact, a really sweet little soul. Oh,
+yes, of course, I've plans for her," she continued, as if in response to a
+remark by the other lady. "I'm afraid she has not many opportunities;
+the father is a struggling artist and they don't move in society, of
+course. I'm thinking of&mdash;in fact, I've made up my mind to marry her
+to Archibald."</p>
+
+<p>"Lucky Archibald!" observed the other lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I think he will be," assented Lady Hawborough, with a
+complacency she always exhibited when disposing of the fate of those
+belonging to her. "He is a good boy, a little wild, perhaps, but really
+no harm in him; and it's time he was married. I'm a little anxious
+about him, because he's so&mdash;so impetuous, like all the Hawboroughs."
+Her ladyship's "dearest friend" could not have accused her of impetuosity;
+and Kitty could almost see the other lady smile. "He is the
+sort of boy who might fall in love with a barmaid or a ballet girl and
+marry her."</p>
+
+<p>"Then this young lady doesn't come within the category of
+undesirables?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear, no," said Lady Hawborough. "She's quite a lady and
+will suit Archibald very nicely. I am very pleased with him; he has
+been doing so well lately: quite distinguished himself; you've heard, of
+course? It was in the papers. I am going to look after him."</p>
+
+<p>Kitty had been listening with burning face and twitching lips. She
+had been so astonished as to be incapable of carrying out her desire to
+spring to the door and declare her presence, and escape from the position
+of an eavesdropper; but she recovered sufficiently to rise and confront
+Lady Hawborough as, on having said farewell to her visitor, she entered
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear!" said her ladyship, almost embarrassed, "I
+didn't know that you were here: have you been waiting long?"</p>
+
+<p>"Long enough to hear what you said," replied Kitty bluntly, her
+face pale now, her eyes flashing. "I couldn't help listening. I'm sorry.
+Yet it's just as well, because, Lady Hawborough, I don't think you
+have any right to&mdash;to dispose of me in the way you intended doing.&mdash;I
+don't know who 'Archibald' is."</p>
+
+<p>"Archibald is my nephew," said Lady Hawborough stiffly; and
+when Lady Hawborough was stiff, the common or kitchen poker
+compared with her was a soft and flexible article. "My nephew and
+heir. He is a very good and brave young man."</p>
+
+<p>"He may be a saint for all I care," said Kitty; "but I don't want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+to marry him, and I won't. In fact, I'm&mdash;&mdash;" She was going to say
+"engaged," but she was really too angry to confide in Lady Hawborough
+"&mdash;I'm resolved not to do so. I am afraid you will think me very
+ungrateful, and that&mdash;well, that this is the end of our friendship."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are stating the situation very accurately," said Lady
+Hawborough, whose face was exceeding red.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," said Kitty, rather wistfully and sadly, her resentment
+waning; for the old lady had been very kind to her, and Kitty saw that
+even this absurd intention of hers sprang from a benevolent desire
+to benefit her protégée. "I want to thank you for all your goodness
+to me, and&mdash;&mdash;Good-bye, Lady Hawborough."</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand, but Lady Hawborough appeared not to see
+it, and Kitty got outside the "stately and desirable mansion" and
+hastened home to enjoy a good cry.</p>
+
+<p>When she made her appearance in the studio next morning, she
+found her father seated on his stool in an attitude of profound dismay,
+his long figure bowed, his rumpled hair clutched in his hands, his
+painting-brush between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>On the dais stood the wounded soldier, his face flushed, an expression
+of keen discomfort all over him.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, look here, Kitty!" wailed her distracted parent. "Just
+listen to what this young man's been telling me? He says that you
+and he have got engaged! Heavens!"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite true, father," said Kitty calmly, but with a blush.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my goodness! And he tells me that he's poor, and has
+nothing to live on excepting his pay and a small allowance."</p>
+
+<p>"That's true also, I believe, father," said Kitty. "I'm sorry;
+but it can't be helped. You'll have to paint me as 'The Mendicant's
+Bride.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't joke about it, you foolish, abandoned girl!" groaned Mr.
+Thorold.</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't want me to cry about it, Dad dear," said Kitty,
+going to him, taking the brush from between his teeth, and putting her
+arm round his neck. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?"
+she asked, addressing the discomfited young man.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word," he returned. "Said all I've got to say. And look
+at the effect of it!"</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 167px;">
+<img src="images/i_069.png" width="167" height="310" alt="artist" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Yes," she retorted. "You've broken the heart of an affectionate
+and devoted parent. You're a wicked young man.&mdash;Oh, dad dear,
+do get up and go on with your work! You know as well as I do that
+you're not going to make us unhappy? Say, 'Bless you, my children!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+like a good father, and let's all go up and mingle our tears over a lunch
+at the Floriani."</p>
+
+<p>"Ripping idea!" cried the infatuated lover, who would have said
+the same if Kitty had proposed they should lunch in the moon.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well," said Mr. Thorold, a trifle more cheerfully, and with a
+shrug of resignation. "But I shall not go unavenged. Young man,
+you do not know what lies before you. She will make a slave of you,
+as she has made a slave of me; this girl is a tyrant of the most outrageous
+kind. You will not possess a soul of your own; you will&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo, Dad!" interrupted Kitty. "But it will be quite time
+enough to give me away when we get to the church. There's your
+hat, on the bust there."</p>
+
+<p>"And now we'll go on the bust ourselves," said the young man
+joyously. "I say, how jolly it all is! Would you mind my kissing
+her, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>He was in the middle of the somewhat lengthy act, when the
+door opened, and Selinar-Ann announced in awe-stricken tones:</p>
+
+<p>"Lidy 'Awborough!" And her ladyship swept in.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 118px;">
+<img src="images/i_070.png" width="118" height="300" alt="maid" />
+</div>
+
+<p>With his arm still round Kitty, her lover stared at the portly
+dame as if she were a gorgon. Kitty, with a stifled exclamation of
+astonishment, freed herself with difficulty from the young man's grasp,
+and, with blushing face, hastened to greet the august visitor, whom
+Mr. Thorold was regarding with an air of patient resignation.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Hawborough put out one hand to keep Kitty back,
+and, fixing her lover with a stony stare, exclaimed sepulchrally:</p>
+
+<p>"Archibald!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a profound silence for a moment; then Kitty, staring
+in her turn at her lover, echoed the objectionable word; for it was a
+name she detested.</p>
+
+<p>"Archibald! His name's Harry!"</p>
+
+<p>"His name is <i>Archibald</i>," said Lady Hawborough sternly. "I
+ought to know; for he is my nephew."</p>
+
+<p>"Your nephew!" gasped Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>The young man, having recovered from a fright which no shrapnel
+built by Krupp could have caused him, now came forward with hand
+extended.</p>
+
+<p>"How are you, Aunt?&mdash;yes, it's my aunt, right enough. Didn't I
+tell you? Must have forgotten to mention it: ought to be ashamed of
+myself, for Aunt Philippa's been awfully good to me. Aunt, this young
+lady is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know quite well enough who she is, Archibald," broke in Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+Hawborough severely. "What I want to know is&mdash;What does this
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I see!" he stammered. "Oh, well, it means&mdash;of course, you
+saw when you came in? It means that Kitty here&mdash;Miss Thorold,
+allow me to introduce you to my aunt. Mr. Thorold, my aunt, Lady
+Hawborough. Aunt Philippa, Mr. Thorold: he is the father of this
+young lady, Kitty here, who has done me the very great honour of
+promising to marry me. Sounds impossible; but it's true!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Hawborough stalked to the nearest chair and, with stately
+dignity seated herself on it, very much as a judge might take his place
+on the dreadful bench.</p>
+
+<p>"Girl," she said, in her deepest tones, "why have you tricked,
+deceived me?"</p>
+
+<p>Then, suddenly, as if influenced by a peculiar expression in Kitty's
+eyes, an expression which conveyed a kind of warning, her ladyship
+faltered, opened her lips once or twice, then said, in quite a different
+tone, indeed, almost meekly:</p>
+
+<p>"This&mdash;this is quite a surprise. You will forgive me if I am a little
+upset. I think I ought to have been prepared. However, as you young
+people have taken the matter into your own hands&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just what we have done, haven't we, Kitty?" exclaimed her
+lover, as if he were proclaiming the supernal wisdom of his relative.</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;there is no more to be said," concluded Lady Hawborough
+rather lamely. "At least, I should like to have a word or two with
+Miss&mdash;Miss Thorold&mdash;I mean, Kitty&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Outside, Eliza!" cried Harry, otherwise Archibald, joyously, as,
+catching the bewildered Mr. Thorold by the arm, he walked, almost
+danced, him out.</p>
+
+<p>Kitty did not wait for any question.</p>
+
+<p>"You see," she said, explaining the significance of her warning
+look, "it was just as well not to tell these foolish men everything.
+It might happen that if Harry&mdash;I mean Archibald&mdash;knew that you
+had meant to insist upon his marrying me&mdash;well, men get huffy so
+quickly, don't they?&mdash;he might refuse to do so now."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he might, but I don't think it's very likely, my dear," said
+Lady Hawborough; and she patted the little hand that lay on her
+knee. "But I think you are right. We will not say anything about&mdash;yesterday.
+You're a clever little thing," she added, kissing her.</p>
+
+<p>"Can we come in?" demanded Harry, a few minutes later.
+"Aunt, we're all going up to the Floriani to get some lunch. Come
+with us, like a good soul!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"The&mdash;Flo&mdash;Floriani! <i>What</i> is it?" asked her ladyship fearsomely.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a restaurant in Soho, where you get a thorough blow-out&mdash;I
+mean a Continental lunch&mdash;for one-and-nine," her nephew informed
+her. "Come on, Aunt Philippa!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Hawborough shuddered. "I should be delighted, Archibald
+dear, but&mdash;but I think you'd better all go round to Belgrave Square with
+me. It&mdash;it would be safer."</p>
+
+<p>It was after lunch, when the two young and silly lovers were in
+the very ante-room where Kitty had overheard Lady Hawborough's fell
+designs, that Kitty, holding his head back from her for a moment, asked:</p>
+
+<p>"But why does she call you Archibald?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's my name, or one of 'em," he replied. "Harry
+Archibald Stephen Fitzwilliam&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, stop, stop! I shall feel as if I were marrying half a dozen
+men. But you haven't told me <i>why</i> she calls you Archibald; and has
+thus caused all this confusion!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, because a lawyer chap who bolted
+with a lot of her money was called
+Henry; and, moreover, a bishop we've
+got in the family, and a chap my aunt's very
+proud of, is called Archibald."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 161px;">
+<img src="images/i_072.png" width="161" height="400" alt="united couple" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"She'll have to drop that name,
+Harry," said Kitty firmly. "I can't <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'abear'">bear</ins>
+it. Do you think she will?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm perfectly certain she will, if
+you've made up your mind she shall," he returned,
+with an air of profound conviction;
+"for it's plain to me you've captured the
+aunt as well as the nephew. Yes, it's a
+fair cop." "She's a dear," murmured
+Kitty, very close to his ear.</p>
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Copyright in Great Britain, the Colonies, and the United States of America by Charles Garvice,
+1914. Dramatic and other rights reserved.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<h2>THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY LADY SYBIL GRANT<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+
+<h3>I.&mdash;LET'SPRETEND</h3>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">This</span> country is not on the map,<br />
+But sometimes, curled on Mother's lap,<br />
+Or sitting in my bedtime bath,<br />
+I wish that I could find the path.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">There</span> no one's ever called a dunce,<br />
+And you eat jam and cake at once,<br />
+Or chocolate and lemon squash,<br />
+While nobody need ever wash.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Mothers</span> have nothing else to do<br />
+Except to kiss and cuddle you;<br />
+And fathers need not "earn their bread,"<br />
+But stay and romp with you instead.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">There</span> are no girls: just men and boys<br />
+And mothers; <i>all</i> the shops sell toys;<br />
+Just <i>every one</i> plays Hide and Seek,<br />
+And Christmas happens twice a week.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">While</span> everybody has a car,<br />
+Also a yacht, like Grandpapa,<br />
+And lives in wigwams, tents, or huts,<br />
+And owns a knife that really cuts.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">But</span> some things you can never find,<br />
+However tired you make your mind;<br />
+Like other things you never know<br />
+For sure&mdash;if you try ever so.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Just</span> as: how God turns on the rain,<br />
+So nobody can quite explain<br />
+Exactly where the rainbows end.<br />
+And so it is with Let'spretend.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">My</span> Father says that all his life<br />
+With my Mamma (who is his wife)<br />
+They've looked; and they are <i>very</i> old.<br />
+My father's thirty, I've been told!<br /></div>
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 402px;">
+<img src="images/i_074.png" width="402" height="400" alt="" />
+
+<div class='poem'>
+&quot;And they are <i>very</i> old.<br />
+My father&#39;s thirty, I&#39;ve been told!&quot;<br />
+</div>
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3><br />II.&mdash;SUPPOSING</h3>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Supposing</span> one had been<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shut up in Noah's Ark</span><br />
+(During the flood, I mean)&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It would have been a lark!</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">The</span> animals, you know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were not as they are now;</span><br />
+<i>Quite</i> different long ago&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just see this purple cow!</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">The</span> lion, it seems, was pink,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bears and tigers too,</span><br />
+While zebras had, I <i>think</i>,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most lovely stripes of blue.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">But</span> really, I forget,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For now the stripes are faint,</span><br />
+In my own Noah's Ark set<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I once licked off the paint.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">At</span> least, so I am told<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(A stupid thing to do!</span><br />
+But I was not so old<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then&mdash;only half-past two).</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Noah's</span> sons&mdash;just look at Ham,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Japhet, of course, and Shem!</span><br />
+I think I really am<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glad I don't look like them!</span><br /><br /></div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_075.png" width="500" height="347" alt="Shem, Ham and Japheth" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">They</span> all stand on green rings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of grass. Perhaps at night</span><br />
+The cows and sheep and things<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prowled round to steal a bite.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Horrid</span> for Shem to feel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tickling around his toes,</span><br />
+Hoping to snatch a meal,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two hungry buffaloes!</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">But</span> think what lovely pets<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Noah had all for his own;</span><br />
+Each one in double sets,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mostly quite unknown.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Even</span> a tame baboon!&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, he is painted red&mdash;</span><br />
+Would get to know you soon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sleep upon your bed.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">The</span> kangaroo that jumps,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Camels that learn to kneel</span><br />
+And let you ride their bumps,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or follow you to heel.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">The</span> pets that I keep now<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are guinea-pigs and such;</span><br />
+My parents won't allow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ones I want so much.</span><br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'>A baby crocodile<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or <i>really</i> tame giraffe,</span><br />
+I wonder why you smile;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They, too, say "no" and laugh.</span><br /></div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 173px;">
+<img src="images/i_076.png" width="173" height="400" alt="Noah" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">I &nbsp; would</span> have loved it so<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To travel in the Ark,</span><br />
+With all the Zoo, you know&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except when it was dark!</span><br /> <br /><br />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;">
+<img src="images/i_077.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="Rainbow painting" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;<br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;">
+<img src="images/i_079.png" width="373" height="500" alt="Rain falling and animals" />
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+&quot;The animals, you know,<br />
+Were not as they are now&quot;<br />
+</div>
+<br /><br /><br /></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a><br /><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>III.&mdash;WHEN JIM IS QUITE GROWN UP</h3>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">When</span> Jim is quite grown up,<br />
+And has a bulldog pup,<br />
+And sits up very late<br />
+<i>Always</i> till half-past eight,<br />
+Then, when he is a man,<br />
+He means to marry Ann.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Her</span> age is twenty-two,<br />
+But he <i>thinks</i> she will do;<br />
+He has not told her yet,<br />
+Or she might be upset<br />
+At having got to wait<br />
+Until this distant date.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">The</span> life that he will lead<br />
+Sounds very fine indeed:<br />
+Adventures, wounds, and fights,<br />
+And hunting raids of nights;<br />
+Murders and blug and fun<br />
+With sword and axe and gun.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">Airships</span> and hydroplanes,<br />
+Mustangs and prairie flames!<br />
+Deserts and jungles vast,<br />
+And, when quite tired at last<br />
+With being on the roam,<br />
+Of course, he would come home.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">And</span>, after miles of tramp,<br />
+Reel, wounded, into camp,<br />
+Bound with a handkerchief,<br />
+And munching bully-beef;<br />
+While Ann at the camp fire<br />
+Would listen and admire.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">What</span> fun he will have, too!<br />
+Nothing he will not do.<br />
+He often says to me<br />
+(Excepting the V.C.)<br />
+Medals he would decline&mdash;<br />
+They are not in his line.<br /></div>
+<br />
+<div class='cap'><span class="smcap">But</span> he would soar to fame<br />
+And win a glorious name.<br />
+And Ann? How odd you are!<br />
+Why, just like his Mamma,<br />
+Would sit at home and sew,<br />
+Like women do, you know.<br /></div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_080.png" width="400" height="346" alt="Saying no" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>MAGEPA THE BUCK</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY H. RIDER HAGGARD<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Copyright in the U.S.A. by H. Rider Haggard</i></span></div>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 182px;">
+<img src="images/i_081.png" width="182" height="250" alt="Baby" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">In</span> a preface to the story of the early life of
+the late Allan Quatermain, known in Africa
+as Macumazahn, which has recently been
+published under the name of "Marie," Mr.
+Curtis, the brother of Sir Henry Curtis, tells
+of how he found a number of manuscripts
+that were left by Mr. Quatermain in his house
+in Yorkshire. Of these "Marie" was one, but
+in addition to it and sundry other completed
+stories, I, the Editor to whom it was directed that these manuscripts
+should be handed for publication, have found a quantity of unclassified
+notes and papers.</div>
+
+<p>One of these notes&mdash;it is contained in a book, much soiled and worn,
+that evidently its owner had carried about with him for years&mdash;reminds
+me of a conversation I had with Mr. Quatermain long ago when I was
+his guest in Yorkshire. The note itself is short; I think that he must
+have jotted it down within an hour or two of the event to which it refers.
+It runs thus:</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder whether in the 'Land Beyond' any recognition is
+granted for acts of great courage and unselfish devotion&mdash;a kind of
+spiritual Victoria Cross. If so I think it ought to be accorded to that
+poor old savage, Magepa, at least it would be if I had any voice in the
+matter. Upon my word he has made me feel proud of humanity.
+And yet he was nothing but a 'nigger,' as so many call the Kaffirs."</p>
+
+<p>For a while I, the Editor, wondered to what this entry could allude.
+Then of a sudden it all came back to me. I saw myself, as a young
+man, seated in the hall of Quatermain's house one evening after dinner.
+With me were Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. We were smoking,
+and the conversation had turned upon deeds of heroism. Each of us
+detailed such acts as he could remember which had made the most
+impression on him. When we had finished, old Allan said:</p>
+
+<p>"With your leave I'll tell you a story of what I think was one of
+the bravest things I ever saw. It happened at the beginning of the
+Zulu war, when the troops were marching into Zululand. Now at that
+time, as you know, I was turning an honest penny transport-riding for
+Government, or rather for the military authorities. I hired them three
+wagons with the necessary voorloopers and drivers, sixteen good salted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+oxen to each wagon, and myself in charge of the lot. They paid me&mdash;well,
+never mind how much&mdash;I am rather ashamed to mention the
+amount. I asked a good price for my wagons, or rather for the hire
+of them, of a very well satisfied young gentleman in uniform who had
+been exactly three weeks in the country, and, to my surprise, got it.
+But when I went to those in command and warned them what would
+happen if they persisted in their way of advance, then in their pride
+they would not listen to the old hunter and transport-rider, but politely
+bowed me out. If they had, there would have been no Isandhlwana
+disaster."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 129px;">
+<img src="images/i_082.png" width="129" height="200" alt="man" />
+</div>
+
+<p>He brooded awhile, for, as I knew, this was a sore subject with
+him, one of which he would rarely talk. Although he escaped himself,
+Quatermain had lost friends on that fatal field. He went on:</p>
+
+<p>To return to old Magepa. I had known him for many years. The
+first time we met was in the battle of the Tugela. I was fighting for
+the king's son, Umbelazi the Handsome, in the ranks of the Amawombe
+regiment&mdash;I mean to write all that story, for it should not be lost.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
+Well, as I have told you before, the Amawombe were wiped out; of
+the three thousand or so of them I think only about fifty remained
+alive after they had annihilated the three of Cetewayo's regiments that
+set upon them. But Magepa was one who survived.</p>
+
+<p>I met him afterwards at old King Panda's kraal and recognised
+him as having fought by my side. Whilst I was talking with him the
+Prince Cetewayo came by; to me he was civil enough, for he knew
+how I chanced to be in the battle, but he glared at Magepa, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Macumazahn, is not this man one of the dogs with which
+you tried to bite me by the Tugela not long ago? He must be a
+cunning dog also, one who can run fast, for how comes it that he lives
+to snarl when so many will never bark again? <i>Ow!</i> if I had my way
+I would find a strip of hide to fit his neck."</p>
+
+<p>"Not so," I answered; "he has the king's peace and he is a brave
+man&mdash;braver than I am, anyway, Prince, seeing that I ran from the
+ranks of the Amawombe, while he stood where he was."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean that your horse ran, Macumazahn. Well, since you
+like this dog, I will not hurt him"; and with a shrug he went his
+way.</p>
+
+<p>"Yet soon or late he will hurt me," said Magepa, when the Prince
+had gone. "U'Cetewayo has a memory long as the shadow thrown by
+a tree at sunset. Moreover, as he knows well, it is true that I ran,
+Macumazahn, though not till all was finished and I could do no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+by standing still. You remember how, after we had eaten up the first
+of Cetewayo's regiments, the second charged us and we ate that up
+also. Well, in that fight I got a tap on the head from a kerry. It
+struck me on my man's ring which I had just put on, for I think I was
+the youngest soldier in that regiment of veterans. The ring saved me;
+still, for a while I lost my mind and lay like one dead. When I found
+it again the fight was over and Cetewayo's people were searching for our
+wounded that they might kill them. Presently they found me and saw
+that there was no hurt on me.</p>
+
+<p>"'Here is one who shams dead like a stink-cat,' said a big fellow,
+lifting his spear.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was that I sprang up and ran, I who was but just married
+and desired to live. He struck at me, but I jumped over the spear, and
+the others that they threw missed me. Then they began to hunt me,
+but, Macumazahn, I, who am named 'The Buck' because I am swifter
+of foot than any man in Zululand, outpaced them all and got
+away safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Well done, Magepa," I said. "Still, remember the saying of
+your people, 'At last the strong swimmer goes with the stream and
+the swift runner is run down.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, Macumazahn," he answered, with a nod, "and perhaps
+in a day to come I shall know it better."</p>
+
+<p>I took little heed of his words at the time, but more than thirty
+years afterwards I remembered them.</p>
+
+<p>Such was my first acquaintance with Magepa. Now, friends, I will
+tell you how it was renewed at the time of the Zulu war.</p>
+
+<p>As you know, I was attached to the centre column that advanced
+into Zululand by Rorke's Drift on the Buffalo River. Before war was
+declared, or at any rate before the advance began, while it might have
+been and many thought it would be averted, I was employed transport-riding
+goods to the little Rorke's Drift station, that which became so
+famous afterwards, and incidentally in collecting what information I
+could of Cetewayo's intentions. Hearing that there was a kraal a mile
+or so the other side of the river, of which the people were said to be
+very friendly to the English, I determined to visit it. You may think
+this was rash, but I was so well known in Zululand, where for many
+years, by special leave of the king, I was allowed to go whither I would
+quite unmolested, that I felt no fear for myself so long as I went alone.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly one evening I crossed the drift and headed for a kloof
+in which I was told the kraal stood. Ten minutes' ride brought me in
+sight of it. It was not a large kraal; there may have been six or eight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+huts and a cattle enclosure surrounded by the usual fence. The situation,
+however, was very pretty, a knoll of rising ground backed by the wooded
+slopes of the kloof. As I approached I saw women and children running
+to the kraal to hide, and when I reached the gateway for some time no
+one would come out to meet me. At length a small boy appeared who
+informed me that the kraal was "empty as a gourd."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," I answered; "still, go and tell the headman that
+Macumazahn wishes to speak with him."</p>
+
+<p>The boy departed, and presently I saw a face that seemed familiar
+to me peeping round the gateway. After a careful inspection its owner
+emerged.</p>
+
+<p>He was a tall, thin man of indefinite age, perhaps between sixty
+and seventy, with a finely-cut face, a little grey beard, kind eyes and
+very well shaped hands and feet, the fingers, which twitched incessantly,
+being remarkably long.</p>
+
+<p>"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said. "I see you do not remember
+me. Well, think of the battle of the Tugela, and of the last stand of
+the Amawombe, and of a certain talk at the kraal of our Father-who-is-dead"
+(that is, King Panda), "and of how he who sits in his place"
+(he meant Cetewayo) "told you that if he had his way he would find a
+hide rope to fit the neck of a certain one."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" I said, "I know you now; you are Magepa the Buck. So
+the Runner has not yet been run down."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Macumazahn, not yet; but there is still time. I think that
+many swift feet will be at work ere long."</p>
+
+<p>"How have you prospered?" I asked him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well enough, Macumazahn, in all ways except one. I have
+three wives, but my children have been few and are dead, except one
+daughter, who is married and lives with me, for her husband, too, is
+dead. He was killed by a buffalo, and she has not yet married again.
+But enter and see."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 182px;">
+<img src="images/i_081.png" width="182" height="250" alt="Baby" />
+</div>
+
+
+<p>So I went in and saw Magepa's wives, old women all of them.
+Also, at his bidding, his daughter, whose name was Gita, brought me
+some <i>maas</i>, or curdled milk, to drink. She was a well-formed woman,
+very like her father, but sad-faced, perhaps with a prescience of evil
+to come. Clinging to her finger was a beautiful boy of something
+under two years of age, who, when he saw Magepa, ran to him and
+threw his little arms about his legs. The old man lifted the child and
+kissed him tenderly, saying:</p>
+
+<p>"It is well that this toddler and I should love one another,
+Macumazahn, seeing that he is the last of my race. All the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+children here are those of the people who have come to live in my
+shadow."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are their fathers?" I asked, patting the little boy (who,
+his mother told me, was named Sinala) upon the cheek, an attention
+that he resented.</p>
+
+<p>"They have been called away on duty," answered Magepa shortly;
+and I changed the subject.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 129px;">
+<img src="images/i_082.png" width="129" height="200" alt="man" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Then we began to talk about old times, and I asked him if he
+had any oxen to sell, saying that this was my reason for visiting his
+kraal.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Macumazahn," he answered, in a meaning voice. "This year
+all the cattle are the king's."</p>
+
+<p>I nodded and replied that, as it was so, I had better be going;
+whereon, as I half expected, Magepa announced that he would see me
+safe to the drift. So I bade farewell to the wives and the widowed
+daughter, and we started.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as we were clear of the kraal Magepa began to open his
+heart to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Macumazahn," he said, looking up at me earnestly, for I was
+mounted and he walked beside my horse, "there is to be war.
+Cetewayo will not consent to the demands of the great White Chief
+from the Cape"&mdash;he meant Sir Bartle Frere. "He will fight with the
+English; only he will let them begin the fighting. He will draw them
+on into Zululand and then overwhelm them with his <i>impis</i> and stamp
+them flat, and eat them up; and I, who love the English, am very
+sorry. Yes, it makes my heart bleed. If it were the Boers now,
+I should be glad, for we Zulus hate the Boers; but the English we do
+not hate; even Cetewayo likes them; still he will eat them up if
+they attack him."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed," I answered; and then, as in duty bound, I proceeded to
+get what I could out of him, and that was not a little. Of course,
+however, I did not swallow it all, since I suspected that Magepa was
+feeding me with news that he had been ordered to disseminate.</p>
+
+<p>Presently we came to the mouth of the kloof in which the kraal
+stood, and here, for greater convenience of conversation, we halted, for I
+thought it as well that we should not be seen in close talk on the open
+plain beyond. The path here, I should add, ran past a clump of green
+bushes; I remember they bore a white flower that smelt sweet, and
+were backed by some tall grass, elephant-grass I think it was, among
+which grew mimosa trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Magepa," I said, "if in truth there is to be fighting, why don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+you move over the river one night with your people and cattle, and get
+into Natal?"</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 182px;">
+<img src="images/i_081.png" width="182" height="250" alt="Baby" />
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"I would if I could, Macumazahn, who have no stomach for this
+war against the English. But there I should not be safe, since presently
+the king will come into Natal too, or send thirty thousand assegais
+as his messengers. Then what will happen to those who have left
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if you think that," I answered, "you had better stay where
+you are."</p>
+
+<p>"Also, Macumazahn, the husbands of those women at my kraal
+have been called up to their regiments, and if their wives fled to
+the English they would be killed. Again, the king has sent for nearly
+all our cattle, 'to keep it safe.' He fears lest we Border Zulus might
+join our people in Natal, and that is why he is keeping our cattle
+'safe.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Life is more than cattle, Magepa. At least you might come."</p>
+
+<p>"What! And leave my people to be killed? Macumazahn, you
+did not use to talk so. Still, hearken. Macumazahn, will you do me a
+service? I will pay you well for it. I would get my daughter Gita
+and my little grandson Sinala into safety. If I and my wives are wiped
+out it does not matter, for we are old. But her I would save, and the
+boy I would save, so that one may live who will remember my name.
+Now, if I were to send them across the drift, say at the dawn, not
+to-morrow, and not the next day, but the day after, would you receive
+them into your wagon and deliver them safe to some place in Natal?
+I have money hidden, fifty pieces of gold, and you may take half of
+these and also half of the cattle if ever I live to get them back out of
+the keeping of the king."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind about the money, and we will speak of the cattle
+afterwards," I said. "I understand that you wish to send your daughter
+and your little grandson out of danger, and I think you wise, very
+wise. When once the advance begins, if there is an advance, who
+knows what may happen? War is a rough game, Magepa. It is not
+the custom of you black people to spare women and children, and
+there will be Zulus fighting on our side as well as on yours; do you
+understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ow!</i> I understand, Macumazahn. I have known the face of war
+and seen many a little one like my grandson Sinala assegaied upon his
+mother's back."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. But if I do this for you, you must do something for
+me. Say, Magepa, does Cetewayo <i>really</i> mean to fight, and if so, how?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+Oh yes, I know all you have been telling me, but I want not words, but
+truth from the heart."</p>
+
+<p>"You ask secrets," said the old fellow, peering about him into the
+gathering gloom. "Still, 'a spear for a spear and a shield for a shield,' as
+our saying runs. I have spoken no lie. The king <i>does</i> mean to fight,
+not because he wants to, but because the regiments swear that they will
+wash their assegais, they who have never seen blood since that battle
+of the Tugela in which we two played a part; and if he will not suffer it,
+well, there are more of his race! Also he means to fight thus," and he
+gave me some very useful information; that is, information which would
+have been useful if those in authority had deigned to pay any attention
+to it when I passed it on.</p>
+
+<p>Just as he finished speaking I thought that I heard a sound in the
+dense green bush behind us. It reminded me of the noise a man makes
+when he tries to stifle a cough, and frightened me. For if we had been
+overheard by a spy, Magepa was as good as dead, and the sooner I was
+across the river the better.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"A bush buck, Macumazahn. There are lots of them about here."</p>
+
+<p>Not being satisfied, though it is true that buck do cough like this,
+I turned my horse to the bush, seeking an opening. Thereon something
+crashed away and vanished into the long grass. In those shadows, of
+course, I could not see what it was, but such light as remained glinted
+on what might have been the polished tip of the horn of an antelope or&mdash;an
+assegai.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you it was a buck, Macumazahn," said Magepa. "Still, if
+you smell danger, let us come away from the bush, though the orders
+are that no white man is to be touched as yet."</p>
+
+<p>Then, while we walked on towards the ford, he set out with great
+detail, as Kaffirs do, the exact arrangements that he proposed to make
+for the handing over of his daughter and her child into my care. I
+remember that I asked him why he would not send her on the following
+morning, instead of two mornings later. He answered because he
+expected an outpost of scouts from one of the regiments at his kraal
+that night, who would probably remain there over the morrow and
+perhaps longer. While they were in the place it would be difficult for
+him to send away Gita and her son without exciting suspicion.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 129px;">
+<img src="images/i_082.png" width="129" height="200" alt="man" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Near the drift we parted, and I returned to our provisional camp
+and wrote a beautiful report of all that I had learned, of which report, I
+may add, no one took the slightest notice.</p>
+
+<p>I think it was the morning before that whereon I had arranged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+to meet Gita and the little boy at the drift that just about dawn I
+went down to the river for a wash. Having taken my dip I climbed
+on to a flat rock to dress myself, and looked at the billows of beautiful,
+pearly mist which hid the face of the water, and considered&mdash;I
+almost said listened to&mdash;the great silence, for as yet no live thing
+was stirring.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! if I had known of the hideous sights and sounds that were
+destined to be heard ere long in this same haunt of perfect peace! Indeed,
+at that moment there came a kind of hint or premonition of them,
+since suddenly through the utter quiet broke the blood-curdling wail
+of a woman. It was followed by other wails and shouts, distant and
+yet distinct. Then the silence fell again.</p>
+
+<p>Now, thought I to myself, that noise might very well have come
+from old Magepa's kraal; luckily, however, sounds are deceptive in
+mist.</p>
+
+<p>Well, the end of it was that I waited there till the sun rose.
+The first thing on which its bright beams struck was a mighty column
+of smoke rising to heaven from where Magepa's kraal had stood!</p>
+
+<p>I went back to my wagons very sad, so sad that I could scarcely
+eat my breakfast. While I walked I wondered hard whether the light
+had glinted upon the tip of a buck's horn in that patch of green bush
+with the sweet-smelling white flowers a night or two ago. Or had
+it perchance fallen upon the point of the assegai of some spy who
+was watching my movements! In that event yonder column of smoke
+and the horrible cries which preceded it were easy to explain. For had
+not Magepa and I talked secrets together, and in Zulu.</p>
+
+<p>On the following morning at the dawn I attended at the drift in
+the faint hope that Gita and her boy might arrive there as arranged.
+But nobody came, which was not wonderful, seeing that Gita lay dead,
+stabbed through and through, as I saw afterwards (she made a good
+fight for the child), and that her spirit had gone to wherever go the
+souls of the brave-hearted, be they white or black. Only on the farther
+bank of the river I saw some Zulu scouts who seemed to know my
+errand, for they called to me, asking mockingly where was the pretty
+woman I had come to meet?</p>
+
+<p>After that I tried to put the matter out of my head, which indeed
+was full enough of other things, since now definite orders had arrived
+as to the advance, and with these many troops and officers.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 386px;">
+<img src="images/i_089.png" width="386" height="500" alt="soldier, man and baby" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;Then he lifted himself upon one arm, and
+with the other saluted&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was just then that the Zulus began to fire across the river at
+such of our people as they saw upon the bank. At these they took
+aim, and, as a result, hit nobody. A raw Kaffir with a rifle, in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+experience, is only dangerous when he aims at nothing, for then the
+bullet looks after itself, and may catch you. To put a stop to this
+nuisance a regiment of the friendly natives&mdash;there may have been
+several hundred of them&mdash;was directed to cross the river and clear
+the kloofs and rocks of the Zulu skirmishers who were hidden among
+them. I watched them go off in fine style.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 129px;">
+<img src="images/i_082.png" width="129" height="200" alt="man" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Towards evening some one told me that our <i>impi</i>, as he grandiloquently
+called it, was returning victorious. Having at the moment
+nothing else to do, I walked down to the river at a point where the
+water was deep and the banks were high. Here I climbed to the top
+of a pile of boulders, whence with my field-glasses I could sweep a great
+extent of plain which stretched away on the Zululand side till at length
+it merged into hills and bush.</p>
+
+<p>Presently I saw some of our natives marching homewards in a
+scattered and disorganised fashion, but evidently very proud of themselves,
+for they were waving their assegais and singing scraps of war-songs.
+A few minutes later, a mile or more away, I caught sight of a
+man running.</p>
+
+<p>Watching him through the glasses I noted three things: first,
+that he was tall; secondly, that he ran with extraordinary swiftness;
+and, thirdly, that he had something tied upon his back. It was
+evident, further, that he had good reason to run, since he was being
+hunted by a number of our Kaffirs, of whom more and more continually
+joined in the chase. From every side they poured down upon him,
+trying to cut him off and kill him, for as they got nearer I could see
+the assegais which they threw at him flash in the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>Very soon I understood that the man was running with a definite
+object and to a definite point; he was trying to reach the river. I
+thought the sight very pitiful, this one poor creature being hunted to
+death by so many. Also I wondered why he did not free himself from
+the bundle on his back, and came to the conclusion that he must be
+a witch-doctor, and that the bundle contained his precious charms or
+medicines.</p>
+
+<p>This was while he was yet a long way off, but when he came
+nearer, within three or four hundred yards, of a sudden I caught the
+outline of his face against a good background, and knew it for that of
+Magepa.</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" I said to myself, "it is old Magepa the Buck, and the
+bundle in the mat will be his grandson, Sinala!"</p>
+
+<p>Yes, even then I felt certain that he was carrying the child upon
+his back.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>What was I to do? It was impossible for me to cross the river at
+that place, and long before I could get round by the ford all would be
+finished. I stood up on my rock and shouted to those brutes of Kaffirs
+to let the man alone. They were so excited that they did not hear
+my words; at least, they swore afterwards that they thought I was
+encouraging them to hunt him down.</p>
+
+<p>But Magepa heard me. At that moment he seemed to be failing,
+but the sight of me appeared to give him fresh strength. He gathered
+himself together and leapt forward at a really surprising speed. Now
+the river was not more than three hundred yards away from him, and
+for the first two hundred of these he quite outdistanced his pursuers,
+although they were most of them young men and comparatively fresh.
+Then once more his strength began to fail.</p>
+
+<p>Watching through the glasses I could see that his mouth was wide
+open, and that there was red foam upon his lips. The burden on his
+back was dragging him down. Once he lifted his hands as though to
+loose it; then with a wild gesture let them fall again.</p>
+
+<p>Two of the pursuers who had outpaced the others crept up to
+him&mdash;lank, lean men of not more than thirty years of age. They had
+stabbing spears in their hands, such as are used at close
+quarters, and these of course they did not throw. One of
+them gained a little on the other.</p>
+
+<p>Now Magepa was not more than fifty yards from
+the bank, with the first hunter about ten paces behind
+him and coming up rapidly. Magepa glanced over his
+shoulder and saw, then put out his last strength. For
+forty yards he went like an arrow, running straight away
+from his pursuers, until he was within a few feet of the
+bank, when he stumbled and fell.</p>
+
+<p>"He's done," I said, and, upon my word, if I had
+a rifle in my hand I think I would have stopped one or
+both of those bloodhounds and taken the consequences.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 412px;">
+<img src="images/i_091.png" width="412" height="450" alt="fire" />
+</div>
+
+<p>But, no! Just as the first man lifted his broad spear
+to stab him through
+the back on which the
+bundle lay, Magepa
+leapt up and wheeled
+round to take the thrust
+in his chest. Evidently
+he did not wish to be
+speared in the back&mdash;for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+a certain reason. He took it sure enough, for the assegai was
+wrenched out of the hand of the striker. Still, as he was reeling backwards,
+it did not go through Magepa, or perhaps it hit a bone. He
+drew out the spear and threw it at the man, wounding him. Then he
+staggered on, back and back, to the edge of the little cliff.</p>
+
+<p>It was reached at last. With a cry of "Help me, Macumazahn!"
+Magepa turned, and before the other man could spear him, leapt straight
+into deep water. He rose. Yes, the brave old fellow rose and struck
+out for the other bank, leaving a little line of red behind him.</p>
+
+<p>I rushed, or rather sprang and rolled down to the edge of the
+stream, to where a point of shingle ran out into the water. Along this
+I clambered, and beyond it up to my middle. Now Magepa was
+being swept past me. I caught his outstretched hand and pulled him
+ashore.</p>
+
+<p>"The boy!" he gasped; "the boy! Is he dead?"</p>
+
+<p>I severed the lashings of the mat that had cut right into the old
+fellow's shoulders. Inside of it was little Sinala, spluttering out water,
+but very evidently alive and unhurt, for presently he set up a yell.</p>
+
+<p>"No," I said, "he lives, and will live."</p>
+
+<p>"Then all is well, Macumazahn." (<i>A pause.</i>) "It <i>was</i> a spy in
+the bush, not a buck. He overheard our talk. The king's slayers
+came. Gita held the door of the hut while I took the child, cut a hole
+through the straw with my assegai, and crept out at the back. She was
+full of spears before she died, but I got away with the boy. Till your
+Kaffirs found me I lay hid in the bush, hoping to escape to Natal. Then
+I ran for the river, and saw you on the further bank. <i>I</i> might have got
+away, but that child is heavy." (<i>A pause.</i>) "Give him food, Macumazahn,
+he must be hungry," (<i>A pause.</i>) "Farewell. That was a
+good saying of yours&mdash;the swift runner is outrun at last. Ah! yet I
+did not run in vain." (<i>Another pause, the last.</i>) Then he lifted himself
+upon one arm and with the other saluted, first the boy Sinala and next
+me, muttering, "Remember your promise, Macumazahn."</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+
+<p>"That is how Magepa the Buck died. I never saw any one carrying
+weight who could run quite so well as he," and Quatermain turned his
+head away as though the memory of this incident affected him somewhat.</p>
+
+<p>"What became of the child Sinala?" I asked presently.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I sent him to an institution in Natal, and afterwards was
+able to get some of his property back for him. I believe that he is
+being trained as an interpreter."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 138px;">
+<img src="images/i_092.png" width="138" height="200" alt="boy reading" />
+</div>
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> For this story see the book named "Child of Storm," by H. Rider Haggard.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_093a.png" width="500" height="102" alt="Decoration" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>TRUE SPARTAN HEARTS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY<br />
+
+BEATRICE HARRADEN<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Decorations by</i> EDMUND DULAC</span></div>
+
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 102px;">
+<img src="images/i_093b.png" width="102" height="125" alt="" />
+</div><div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">n</span> times of war the Spartan women used to say to their
+husbands and sons, "Return with your shield, or on
+it," meaning that they must either conquer or die.
+There was no affection or indulgence shown towards
+the warriors who survived a defeat; for loyalty to the
+State was thought of more account than personal loss,
+and he who had not died striking his last blow for
+Sparta, was deemed unworthy of remembrance, and
+could expect no mercy from those who had loved him and sent him to
+the battlefield "to conquer or die."</div>
+
+<p>So this was how the Spartans felt about their warriors; and you
+can imagine their indignation as well as their dismay when, in the year
+371 <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, news reached Sparta that their army had been defeated at the
+battle of Leuctra by the B&oelig;otians, a rival Grecian State, and that three
+hundred men had saved their lives in flight. The news was brought at
+the moment when some great festival was being celebrated in the city.
+The <i>Ephors</i> commanded the names of the slain to be made known to
+their relatives, and the women were forbidden to mourn. But the
+mother of Eucrates could not at first hide her grief, and her neighbours
+said among themselves:</p>
+
+<p>"Why should she be sorrowful? Her son has died bravely. If
+he had disgraced himself by flight, then only would she have the right
+to mourn."</p>
+
+<p>The old man Phidon came in to see her, and found her spinning,
+busily engaged at her work, it is true, but with tears in her saddened
+eyes. He was a very stern old man, a Spartan every inch of him, and
+he spoke harshly to poor Ione.</p>
+
+<p>"Ione," he said, "not one single tear should course down your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+cheeks, not one single pang of grief should assail your heart. I it is
+who should weep. I it is who should mourn. For Callias, my grandson,
+is not amongst the slain. Unlike your brave son Eucrates, my Callias
+has not died at his post of duty. He lives, and by living he has brought
+dishonour and shame on his family. How can I meet him? What
+can I say to him? Nay, I will not look upon his face. I will not
+vouchsafe one word of greeting to him. His father was the glory of
+my life, but he is the soul of its shame. The gods have been cruel to
+me in my old age; but they have been merciful to you, Ione. For
+your son, death with honour. For my Callias, life with dishonour. His
+father won the crown of wild olive in the Olympic games, and earned
+the right of fighting by the king's side, and died there; and I was proud
+of him. But woe is me that I cannot be proud of Callias."</p>
+
+<p>And, Spartan mother as she truly was, Ione knew well that here
+was a grief far greater than her own loss of her beloved son. She
+brushed her last tear aside, and tried to comfort old Phidon, whom
+she had known all her life. Her son Eucrates and this very Callias had
+been friends together ever since they were children; and in the days
+gone by, Phidon and Ione's father had fought side by side for Sparta.</p>
+
+<p>"May be, Phidon," she said, "the gods have spared Callias and
+his comrades, so that they may yet serve Sparta, and help her to
+triumph over her enemies."</p>
+
+<p>But he shook his head, and would hear no word of comfort, though,
+as the days went by, it seemed to ease his stern spirit to sit beside her,
+and watch her at her work. And then she would speak to him of
+Callias, and urge him not to be over hard on the lad when he returned.</p>
+
+<p>"You must pardon him, Phidon," she said. "Perchance he will
+live to do great things for Sparta."</p>
+
+<p>But the old man said proudly: "Nay, Ione, never a word will I
+speak to Callias again."</p>
+
+<p>And it was in vain that Ione pleaded for the friend of Eucrates,
+always imploring the old man to believe that the gods in their wisdom
+had preserved Callias for some splendid act of service and sacrifice yet
+to come.</p>
+
+<p>Full of these thoughts, and haunted by Phidon's unyielding
+severity, she had a strange dream one night. She dreamed that King
+Agesilaus was willing to pardon all those three hundred soldiers who
+had fled from the field of Leuctra; but that Phidon interposed, and
+standing in the Public Assembly, gave his vote against the pardon.</p>
+
+<p>"My own grandson is one of the survivors," he cried. "Sparta
+may pardon him, but <i>I</i> never will."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 495px;">
+<img src="images/i_095.jpg" width="495" height="600" alt="True Spartan Hearts Painted for Princess Mary's Gift Book
+by Edmund Dulac" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The next day she told her dream to Phidon, and described to him
+how with her mind's eye she had seen Callias standing lonely and
+forsaken, the only one of the three hundred survivors who had been
+spurned and unforgiven. His loneliness stabbed her to her heart,
+more even than the loss of her son; and because there was no one else,
+she had been impelled to stand by his side, to greet him, to encourage
+him, to reassure him. And just as he lifted his head, bowed in grief and
+shame, she awoke. When Phidon had heard her dream-story, his stern
+heart was softened.</p>
+
+<p>"I will not turn from Callias," he said. "It may be that you are
+right, Ione. It may be that the gods will yet give him some great and
+glorious chance. I will steel my heart to receive him."</p>
+
+<p>So Ione triumphed at last. And truly her dream would seem to
+have been some kind of divination, for, two or three days afterwards,
+a decree was proposed by the king, and passed in the Assembly, to the
+effect that all those who had fled from the field of Leuctra were
+to be pardoned and received home without dishonour.</p>
+
+<p>Ordinarily all survivors of a defeat were subject to penalties of
+civil offence, and so this was quite an unusual proceeding; but no
+doubt it was thought dangerous to take stern measures against such
+a large number of Spartan citizens. Well, whatever the reason was,
+there were many glad hearts in Sparta that day, and old Phidon himself
+owned in secret to Ione that he longed to see Callias once more.</p>
+
+<p>"For I must needs forgive him wholeheartedly," he said, "since
+Sparta has forgiven him; but with my last breath I would tell you
+and all the world that I would far, far rather he had fallen by the side
+of the brave Eucrates. That would have been my glory."</p>
+
+<p>As soon as news had come of the defeat of the Spartan army,
+the whole remaining military force of Sparta was sent to the rescue,
+and after some time returned to Sparta, bringing back the survivors
+from the disastrous field of Leuctra.</p>
+
+<p>Then Spartan hearts were softened, and mothers, wives, and sisters
+stood waiting to greet those whom the gods had spared for further
+service. But Ione sat at home spinning. There were no tears in her
+eyes now, and her countenance was lit up by a calm pride. She had
+learnt to be glad that she had no one to meet that day.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the door opened, and Phidon came in. His manner
+was strangely excited.</p>
+
+<p>"Callias is not amongst us," he cried. "I have asked for him, and
+no one knows. Could there have been some mistake, I wonder? Is
+it possible that&mdash;&mdash;"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a><br /><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At that moment there came a loud knock at the door, and Ione
+opened it to Timotheus, a neighbour's son.</p>
+
+<p>"Greetings to the mother of Eucrates," he said, as he stood before
+Ione. "I am from Leuctra. I saw Eucrates fighting in the thickest
+of the fray. I saw him fall; and there fell another by his side, fighting
+as gallantly as he&mdash;his comrade in death as well as in life."</p>
+
+<p>"And who was it that died with my brave son?" asked Ione,
+whose hands were pressed together deep into her breast, and whose
+face was ashen, though tearless.</p>
+
+<p>"It was Callias," answered the young man. "Farewell, honoured
+mother of Eucrates. I must go and seek Phidon to tell him."</p>
+
+<p>But Phidon rose to his full height, and there was a smile of triumph
+on his face and a new life in his bearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Phidon has heard the news," he said, "and he thanks the gods for
+this crowning mercy. For though in his inmost heart he would fain
+have seen the face of his grandson once more, there was something
+dearer to him than the face of Callias&mdash;it was the honour of Callias."</p>
+
+<p>Then, turning to Ione, he said: "Now we can think of them together,
+and share our pride in them, Ione."</p>
+
+<p>For one fleeting moment Ione saw a vision of her young, fair son
+falling before the foe, but her voice never faltered as she said: "Yes, we
+can share our pride in them."</p>
+
+<p>That was the true Spartan tribute to the heroes of Leuctra.</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+
+<p>You see, the Spartans would not admit of despair in their lives;
+they believed that while there was yet strength in the body, there must
+needs be hope in the heart that the victory would be won. And so it
+was the duty of a true Spartan to fight and conquer and live, or to die,
+striving to conquer to the very last, with no thought of any possibility
+of failure.</p>
+
+<p>What do you think about this grand old Spartan code of honour?
+Do you not think that we ourselves, each in our own way, young and
+old, man and woman, boy and girl, may find something helpful in it to
+bring to the service of our country?</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<img src="images/i_098.png" width="350" height="144" alt="decoration" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i_099a.png" width="450" height="383" alt="" />
+<span class="caption">Ship</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>BIG STEAMERS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY RUDYARD KIPLING<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.</span></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'><br /><br />
+"<span class="smcap">Oh</span>, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?"</span><br />
+"We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese."</span><br />
+<br />
+"And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where shall I write you when you are away?"</span><br />
+"We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Address us at Hobart, Hong-kong, and Bombay."</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i_099b.png" width="450" height="212" alt="ships" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+"But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?"</span><br />
+"Why, you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Then I'll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For little blue billows and breezes so soft."</span><br />
+"Oh, billows and breezes don't bother Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we're iron below and steel-rigging aloft."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Then I'll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through."</span><br />
+"Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ball-room already,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?"</span><br />
+"Send out your big warships to watch your big waters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That no one may stop us from bringing you food.</span><br />
+<br />
+"<i>For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve,</span><br />
+They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if any one hinders our coming you'll starve!"</span></i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='copyright'><br />
+Copyright in the U.S.A. by Rudyard Kipling.<br /><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_100.png" width="500" height="265" alt="Steamer" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;<br /></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i_101.jpg" width="600" height="485" alt="Steamer ship painting" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;">
+<img src="images/i_103a.png" width="475" height="212" alt="Soldiers lined up" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>A TRUE STORY FROM CAMP</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY THE BISHOP OF LONDON<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.</span></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">You</span> boys and girls must picture a huge common, and four groups of
+khaki-clad soldiers standing at attention in different parts of it. They
+are about to be reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Home
+Forces.</div>
+
+<p>The men had given up a great deal to come and join the Territorial
+Forces, but it had not yet thoroughly dawned on them any more than
+on the rest of England, how great was the crisis, and none of the
+battalions had come out in sufficient strength to be sent out on foreign
+service.</p>
+
+<p>The inspection by the great General took a long time, and when
+the order came for rank after rank to lie down, they did so with obvious
+relief. At last the inspection was over, and all the battalions were
+asked to converge on one point. At this point a waggon was placed,
+and all the five thousand men lay down round it, the Generals and
+their staffs lying behind it. It was a fine sight from the waggon to see
+those five thousand fine fellows lying there in the light of the setting
+sun, but was it possible to rouse them to see the country's urgent need?</p>
+
+<p>I began by painting the beauty and the glory of England, the
+loveliest place in the world, for you may go all over the world,
+children, and you will never find anything so glorious or welcome on
+your return as the white cliffs of Dover, and the railway run through
+the hop gardens of Kent.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 302px;">
+<img src="images/i_103b.png" width="302" height="300" alt="Boy with flag" />
+</div>
+
+<p>But what touched them most was the thought of what England
+stood for in the life of the world. It always has been, and always
+will be, the <i>Home of Freedom</i>. Let a slave once reach a British
+man-of-war&mdash;he is free. Britannia's daughters are
+rallying to her now because she has given them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+<i>Freedom</i>, for they see that she is the champion in this war of the
+Freedom of the World against a universal Tyranny.</p>
+
+<p>Then I turned to what they themselves owed to England, their
+homes, their faith, their security to work, their happy friendships, and
+their love of wife, mother, and children. What they had not realised
+up to now was that <i>all this was
+in deadly peril for the first time
+for a hundred years</i>!</p>
+
+<p>One mistake of our Fleets,
+one crushing defeat in France,
+and the foe would be upon us;
+the fate of Belgium would be
+the fate of England!</p>
+
+<p>What more glorious than
+to follow the example of those
+who had fought and died for
+England?</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Who goes to join the men of Agincourt."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 395px;">
+<img src="images/i_104.png" width="395" height="500" alt="Antique soldier" />
+</div>
+
+<p>In spite of the presence of
+the Generals a great cheer broke
+from the five thousand men
+when I said, "I would rather
+die than see England a German
+province"; but finding that they
+were allowed to cheer, as deep
+a cheer followed the statement
+that, if it came to the last
+Waterloo, it was far better
+to slip across the silver streak
+and fight it on the other side
+than let an invaders foot <i>for the first time for a thousand years</i> stain
+our native land.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening all the four battalions present volunteered for
+foreign service, and as four more at the neighbouring Camp had volunteered
+the day before in answer to a similar appeal, eight battalions
+were added to the fighting strength abroad of the British Army.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE EBONY BOX</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY A. E. W. MASON<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings</i> by W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Copyright in the U.S.A. by A. E. W. Mason</i></span><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 311px;">
+<img src="images/i_105.png" width="311" height="400" alt="man in chair" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">No</span>, no," said Colonel von Altrock abruptly. "It
+is not always true."</div>
+
+<p>The conversation died away at once, and every
+one about that dinner table in the Rue St. Florentin
+looked at him expectantly. He played nervously
+with the stem of his wineglass for a few moments,
+as though the complete silence distressed him. Then he resumed with
+a more diffident air:</p>
+
+<p>"War no doubt inspires noble actions and brings out great qualities
+in men from whom you expected nothing. But there is another side
+to it which becomes apparent, not at once, but after a few months of
+campaigning. Your nerves get overstrained, fatigue and danger tell
+their tale. You lose your manners, sometimes you degenerate into a
+brute. I happen to know. Thirty years have passed since the siege
+of Paris, yet even to-day there is no part of my life which I regret so
+much as the hours between eleven and twelve o'clock of Christmas
+night in the year 'seventy. I will tell you about it if you like, although
+the story may make us late for the opera."</p>
+
+<p>"It will not matter if we are a little late," said his hostess, the
+Baroness Hammerstein, and her guests agreed with her.</p>
+
+<p>"It is permitted to smoke?" asked the Colonel. For a moment
+the flame of a match lit up and exaggerated the hollows and the lines
+upon his lean, rugged face. Then, drawing in his chair to the table,
+he told his story.</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+
+<p>I was a lieutenant of the fifth company of the second battalion of
+the 103rd Regiment, which belonged to the 23rd Infantry Division.
+It is as well to be exact. That division was part of the 12th Army
+Corps under the Crown Prince of Saxony, and in the month of
+December formed the south-eastern segment of our circle about Paris.
+On Christmas night I happened to be on duty at a forepost in advance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+of Noisy-le-Grand. The Centigrade thermometer was down to twelve
+degrees below zero, and our little wooden hut with the sloping roof,
+which served us at once as kitchen, mess-room, and dormitory, seemed
+to us all a comfortable shelter. Outside its door the country glimmered
+away into darkness, a great white silent plain of snow. Inside, the
+camp-bedsteads were neatly ranged along the wall where the roof was
+lowest. A long table covered with a white cloth&mdash;for we were luxurious
+on Christmas night&mdash;occupied the middle of the floor; in a corner stood
+a fine big barrel of Bavarian beer which had arrived that morning as a
+Christmas present from my mother at Leipzig. We were none of us
+anxious to turn out into the bitter cold, I can tell you. But we were
+not colonels in those days, and while the Hauptmann was proposing my
+mother's health the door was thrust open and an orderly muffled up to
+the eyes stood on the threshold at the salute.</p>
+
+<p>"The Herr Oberst wishes to see the Herr Lieutenant von Altrock,"
+said he, and before I had time even to grumble he turned on his heels
+and marched away.</p>
+
+<p>I took down my great-coat, drew the cape over my head, and went
+out of the hut. There was no wind, nor was the snow falling, but the
+cold was terrible, and to me who had come straight from the noise of
+my companions the night seemed unnaturally still. I plodded away
+through the darkness. Behind me in the hut the Hauptmann struck
+up a song, and the words came to me quite clearly and very plaintively
+across the snow:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Ich hatte einen Kamaraden<br />
+Einen besseren findest du nicht.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p>I wondered whether in the morning, like that comrade, I should
+be a man to be mentioned in the past tense. For more than once a
+sentinel had been found frozen dead at his post, and I foresaw
+a long night's work before me. My Colonel had acquired a
+habit of choosing me for special services, and indeed to his
+kindness in this respect I owed my commission.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 189px;">
+<img src="images/i_106.png" width="189" height="400" alt="man saluting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I found him sitting at a little table drawn close to the fire
+in a bare, dimly-lighted room. A lamp stood on the table, and
+he was peering at a crumpled scrap of paper and smoothing
+out its creases. So engrossed was he, indeed, in his scrutiny
+that it was some minutes before he raised his head and saw me
+waiting for his commands.</p>
+
+<p>"Lieutenant von Altrock," he said, "you must ride to
+Raincy."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Raincy was only five miles distant, as the crow flies. Yes, but the
+French had made a sortie on the 21st, they had pushed back our lines,
+and they now held Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche between Raincy
+and Noisy-le-Grand. I should have to make a circuit; my five miles
+became ten. I did not like the prospect at all. I liked it still less
+when the Colonel added:</p>
+
+<p>"You must be careful. More than one German soldier has of late
+been killed upon that road. There are <i>francs-tireurs</i> about. And you
+<i>must</i> reach Raincy."</p>
+
+<p>It was a verbal message which he gave me, and I was to deliver
+it in person to the commandant of the battery at Raincy.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a horse ready for you at the stables," said the Colonel,
+and with a nod he turned again to his scrap of paper. I saluted
+and walked to the door. As my hand was on the knob he called
+me back.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you make of it?" he asked, holding the paper out to
+me. "It was picked out of the Marne in a sealed wine-bottle."</p>
+
+<p>I took the paper, and saw that a single sentence was written upon
+it in a round and laborious hand with the words misspelt. The
+meaning of the sentence seemed simple enough. It was apparently a
+message from a M. Bonnet to his son in the Mobiles at Paris, and it
+stated that the big black cat had had five kittens.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you make of it?" repeated the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that M. Bonnet's black cat has kittens," said I.</p>
+
+<p>I handed the paper back. The Colonel looked at it again, shrugged
+his shoulders, and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, after all, perhaps it does mean no more than that," said he.</p>
+
+<p>But for the Colonel's suspicions I should not have given another
+thought to that misspelt scrawl. M. Bonnet was probably some little
+peasant engrossed in domestic affairs, who thought that no message
+could be more consoling to his son locked up in Paris than this great
+news about the black cat.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/i_107.png" width="325" height="400" alt="man at desk" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The wildest rumours were flying about our camp at that time, as I
+think will always happen when you have a large body of men living
+under a great strain of cold and privation and
+peril. They perplexed the seasoned officers and
+they were readily swallowed by the youngsters,
+of whom I was one. Now, this scrap of paper
+happened to fit in with the rumour which most
+of all exercised our imaginations.</p>
+
+<p>It was known that in spite of all our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+precautions news was continually leaking into Paris which we did not
+think it good for the Parisians to have. On that very Christmas Day
+they already knew that General Faidherbe, at Pont Noyelles, had
+repulsed a portion of our first army under General Manteuffel. How
+did they know? We were not satisfied that pigeons and balloons
+completely explained the mystery. No, we believed that the news
+passed somewhere through our lines on the south-east of Paris&mdash;news
+in cipher which was passed on and on to a house close to our lines,
+whence, as occasion served, it was carried into Paris.</p>
+
+<p>That was the rumour. There may have been truth in it, or it
+may have been entirely false. But, at all events, it had just the
+necessary element of fancy to appeal to the imagination of a very young
+man, and as I walked to the stables and mounted the horse which the
+Colonel had lent me, I kept wondering whether this message, so simple
+in appearance, had travelled so, and was covering its last stage between
+the undiscovered château and Paris in the sealed wine-bottle. I tried
+to make out what the black cat stood for in the cipher, and whose
+identity was concealed under the pseudonym of M. Bonnet. So I rode
+down the slope of Noisy-le-Grand.</p>
+
+<p>But at the bottom of the slope these speculations passed entirely
+from my mind. In front, hidden away in the darkness, lay the dangers
+of Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche. German soldiers had ridden along
+this path and had not returned; the <i>francs-tireurs</i> were abroad. Yet
+I must reach Raincy. Moreover, in my own mind, I was equally convinced
+that I must return. I saw the little beds against the wall of the
+hut under the sloping roof. I rode warily, determined to sleep in one
+of them that night, determined to keep my life if it could be kept.</p>
+
+<p>I crossed the Marne and turned off the road into a forest path.
+Ville Evrart with its French garrison lay now upon my left behind the
+screen of trees. Fortunately there was no moon that night and a mist
+hung in the air. The snow, too, deadened the sound of my horse's
+hoofs. But I rode, nevertheless, very gently and with every
+sense alert. Each moment I expected the challenge of a
+sentinel in French.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 321px;">
+<img src="images/i_108.png" width="321" height="400" alt="soldier on horseback" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I came to the end of the wood and rode
+on to Chesnay. Here the country was more
+open, and I had passed Ville Evrart. But I
+did not feel any greater security. I was
+possessed with a sort of rage to get my business
+done and live&mdash;yes, at all costs <i>live</i>. A
+mile beyond Chesnay I came to cross-roads,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+and within the angle which the two roads made a little cabin stood upon
+a plot of grass. I was in doubt which road to take. The cabin was all
+dark, and riding up to the door I hammered upon it with the butt of
+my pistol. It was not immediately opened. There must indeed have
+been some delay, since the inmates were evidently in bed. But I was
+not in any mood to show consideration. I wanted to get on&mdash;to get
+on and live. A little window was within my reach. I dashed the butt
+of the pistol violently through the glass.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 172px;">
+<img src="images/i_109.png" width="172" height="400" alt="woman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Will that waken you, eh?" I cried, and almost before I had
+finished I heard a shuffling footstep in the passage and the door was
+opened. A poor old peasant-woman, crippled with rheumatism, stood
+in the doorway shading a lighted candle with a gnarled, trembling hand.
+In her haste to obey she had merely thrown a petticoat over the
+shoulders of her nightdress, and there she stood with bare feet, shivering
+in the cold, an old bent woman of eighty, and apologised.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry, monsieur," she said meekly. "But I cannot move as
+quickly as I could when I was young. How can I serve monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>Not a word of reproach about her broken window. You would
+think that the hardest man must have felt some remorse. I merely
+broke in upon her apologies with a rough demand for information.</p>
+
+<p>"The road upon your right leads to Chelles, monsieur," she
+answered. "That upon your left to Raincy."</p>
+
+<p>I rode off without another word. It is not a pretty description
+which I am giving to you, but it is a true one. That is my regret, it is
+a true one. I forgot that old peasant-woman the moment I had passed
+the cabin. I thought only of the long avenues of trees which stretched
+across that flat country, and which could hide whole companies of
+<i>francs-tireurs</i>. I strained my eyes forwards. I listened for the sound
+of voices. But the first voice which I heard spoke in my own tongue.</p>
+
+<p>It was the voice of a sentry on the outposts of Raincy, and I could
+have climbed down from my saddle and hugged him to my heart.
+Instead, I sat impassively in my saddle and gave him the countersign.
+I was conducted to the quarters of the commandant of artillery and I
+delivered my message.</p>
+
+<p>"You have come quickly," he said. "What road did you take?"</p>
+
+<p>"That of Chesnay and Gagny."</p>
+
+<p>The commandant looked queerly at me.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you?" said he. "You are lucky. You will return by
+Montfermeil and Chelles, Lieutenant von Altrock, and I will send
+an escort with you. Apparently we are better informed at Raincy
+than you at Noisy-le-Grand."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I knew there was danger, sir," I
+replied.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 337px;">
+<img src="images/i_110.png" width="337" height="400" alt="soldier on horseback at window" />
+</div>
+
+<p>A regiment of dragoons was quartered
+at Raincy, and from it two privates and
+a corporal were given me for escort. In
+the company of these men I started back
+by the longer road in the rear of our lines.
+And it was a quarter to ten when I started.
+For I noticed the time of a clock in the
+commandant's quarters. I should think
+that it must have taken three-quarters of
+an hour to reach Montfermeil, for the snow
+was deep here and the mist very thick.
+Beyond Montfermeil, however, we came
+to higher ground; there were fewer drifts of snow, and the night
+began to clear, so that we made better going. We were now, of course,
+behind our lines, and the only risk we ran was that a few peasants
+armed with rifles from a battlefield or a small band of <i>francs-tireurs</i>
+might be lurking on the chance of picking off a straggler. But that
+risk was not very great now that there were four of us. I rode therefore
+with an easier mind, and the first thing which entered my thoughts
+was&mdash;what do you think? The old peasant-woman's cabin with the
+broken window? Not a bit of it. No, it was M. Bonnet's black cat.
+Had M. Bonnet's cat five kittens? Or was that intended to inform
+the people in Paris how many companies of recruits had joined one
+of the French armies still in the field&mdash;say, General Faidherbe's, at
+Bapaume, and so to keep up their spirits and prolong the siege? I
+was still puzzling over this problem when in a most solitary place I
+came suddenly upon a château with lighted windows. This was the
+Château Villetaneuse. I reined in my horse and stopped. My escort
+halted behind me. It was, after all, an astonishing sight. There
+were many châteaux about Paris then, as there are now, but not one
+that I had ever come across was inhabited by more than a caretaker.
+The owners had long since fled. Breached walls, trampled gardens,
+gaping roofs, and silence and desertion&mdash;that is what we meant when
+we spoke of a château near Paris in those days. But here was one
+with lighted windows on the first and second stories staring out calmly
+on the snow as though never a Prussian soldier had crossed the Rhine.
+A thick clump of trees sheltered it behind, and it faced the eastern
+side of the long ridge of Mont Guichet, along the foot of which I rode&mdash;the
+side farthest from Paris. From the spot where I and my escort
+had halted an open park stretched level to the door. The house had,
+no doubt, a very homelike look on that cold night. It should have
+spoken to me, no doubt, of the well-ordered family life and the gentle
+occupations of women. But I was thinking of M. Bonnet's black cat.
+Was this solitary château the undiscovered last station on the underground
+road through which the news passed into Paris? If not, why was
+it still inhabited? Why did the lights blaze out upon the snow so late?</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;">
+<img src="images/i_111.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="woman with lantern painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I commanded my escort to be silent. We rode across the park,
+and half-way to the door we came upon a wire fence and a gate. There
+we dismounted, and walked our horses. We tethered them to a tree
+about twenty yards from the house. I ordered one of my dragoons to
+go round the house, and watch any door which he might find at the
+back. I told the other two to stay where they were, and I advanced
+alone to the steps, but before I had reached them the front door was
+thrown open, and a girl with a lantern in her hand came out.</p>
+
+<p>She held the lantern high above her head and peered forward, so
+that the light fell full upon her hair, her face, and dress. She was
+a tall girl and slight of figure, with big, dark eyes, and a face pretty and
+made for laughter. It was very pale now, however, and the brows
+were drawn together in a frown. She wore a white evening frock,
+which glistened in the lantern light, and over her bare shoulders she
+had flung a heavy black military cloak. So she stood and swung the
+lantern slowly from side to side as she stared into the darkness, while
+the lights and shadows chased each other swiftly across her white frock,
+her anxious face, and the waves of her fair hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Whom do you expect at this hour, mademoiselle?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>I was quite close to her, but she had not seen me, for I stood at
+the bottom of the steps, and she was looking out over my head. Yet
+she did not start or utter any cry. Only the lantern rattled in her
+hand. Then she stood quite still for a moment or two, and afterwards
+lowered her arm until the light shone upon me.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 206px;">
+<img src="images/i_113.png" width="206" height="400" alt="woman with lantern" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"You are Prussian?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"A lieutenant of foot," I answered. "You have nothing
+to fear."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not afraid," she replied quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Whom do you expect?"</p>
+
+<p>"No one," she replied. "I thought that I heard the rattle
+of iron as though a horse moved and a stirrup rang. It is lonely
+here since our neighbours have fled. I came out to see."</p>
+
+<p>"The lantern then, was not a signal, mademoiselle?" I
+asked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a><br /><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She looked at me in perplexity, and certainly the little piece of
+acting, I thought, was very well done.</p>
+
+<p>"A signal?" she repeated. "To whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"To some man hiding in the woods of Mont Guichet, a signal to
+him that he may come and fetch the news for Paris which has lately&mdash;very
+lately&mdash;been brought to the house."</p>
+
+<p>She bent forward and peered down at me, drawing the cloak closer
+about her neck.</p>
+
+<p>"You are under some strange mistake, monsieur," she said. "No
+news for Paris has been brought to this house by any one."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed?" I answered. "And is that so?" Then I stretched
+out my hand and said triumphantly: "You will tell me perhaps that
+the cloak upon your shoulders is a woman's cloak?"</p>
+
+<p>And she laughed! It was humiliating; it is always humiliating
+to a young man not to be taken seriously, isn't it? There was I thinking
+that I had fairly cross-examined her into a trap, and she laughed
+indulgently. And she explained indulgently, too.</p>
+
+<p>"The cloak I am wearing belongs to a wounded French officer who
+was taken prisoner and released upon parole. He is now in our house."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I think I will make his acquaintance," I said, and over my
+shoulder I called to the corporal. As he advanced to my side, a look
+of alarm came into the girl's face.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not alone," she said, and suddenly her face became
+wistful and her voice began to plead. "You have not come for him?
+He has done no harm. He could not, even if he would. And he
+would not, for he has given his parole. Oh, you are not going to take
+him away?"</p>
+
+<p>"That we shall see, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 256px;">
+<img src="images/i_114.png" width="256" height="400" alt="woman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I left one dragoon at the door. I ordered the corporal to wait in the
+hall, and I followed the girl up the stairs to the first floor. All her pride
+had gone; she led the way with a submission of manner which seemed
+to me only a fresh effort to quiet my suspicions. But they were not
+quieted. I distrusted her; I believed that I had under my fingers the
+proof of that rumour which flew about our camp. She stopped at a
+door, and as she turned the handle she said:</p>
+
+<p>"This is my own room, monsieur. We all use it now, for it is
+warmer than the others, and all our servants but one have fled."</p>
+
+<p>It was a pretty room, and cheery enough to one who came into it
+from the darkness and the snow. A piano stood open in a corner with
+a rug thrown upon it to protect the strings from the cold; books lay
+upon the tables, heavy curtains were drawn close over the windows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+there were cushioned sofas and deep arm-chairs, and a good fire of logs
+blazed upon the hearth. These details I took in at once. Then I looked
+at the occupants. A young man lay stretched upon a sofa close to the fire
+with a wrap covering his legs. The wrap was raised by a cradle to keep
+off its weight. His face must have been, I think, unusually handsome
+when he had his health; at the moment it was so worn and pale, and
+the eyes were so sunk, that all its beauty had gone. The pallor was
+accentuated by a small black moustache he wore and his black hair.
+He lay with his head supported upon a pillow, and was playing a
+game of chess with an old lady who sat at a little table by his side.
+I advanced to the fire and warmed my hands at it.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_115.png" width="400" height="277" alt="man lying on chaise" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"You, sir, are the wounded officer on parole?" I said in French.
+The officer bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"And you, madame?" I asked of the old lady. The sight of my
+uniform seemed to have paralysed her with terror. "Come, come,
+madame," I exclaimed impatiently; "it is a simple question."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur, you frighten her," said the young lady. "It is my
+aunt, the Baroness Granville."</p>
+
+<p>"You tell me nothing of yourself," I said to her, and she looked at
+me in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Since you have come with an escort to this house I imagined you
+must know to whom it belonged. I am Sophie de Villetaneuse."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," I replied, as though I had known all along, and had
+merely asked the question to see whether she would speak the truth.
+"Now, mademoiselle, will you please explain to me how it is that while
+your neighbours have fled you remain at your château?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite simple," she answered. "My mother is bed-ridden.
+She could not be moved. She could not be left alone."</p>
+
+<p>"You will pardon me," said I, "if I test that statement."</p>
+
+<p>The wounded officer raised himself upon his elbow as though to protest,
+but Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse put out a hand and checked him.
+She showed me a face flushed with anger, but she spoke quite quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"I will myself take you to my mother's room."</p>
+
+<p>I laughed. I said: "That is just what I expected. You will take
+me to your mother's room and leave your friends here to make any little
+preparations in the way of burning awkward papers which they may
+think desirable. Thank you, no! I am not so easily caught."</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle Sophie was becoming irritated.</p>
+
+<p>"There are no awkward papers!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"That statement, too, I shall put to the
+test."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I went to the door, and standing so that I could still keep an eye
+upon the room, I called the corporal.</p>
+
+<p>"You will search the house thoroughly," I said, "and quickly.
+Bring me word how many people you find in it. You, mademoiselle,
+will remain in the room with us."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 223px;">
+<img src="images/i_116.png" width="223" height="400" alt="back of woman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders as I closed the door and came back into
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>"You were wounded, monsieur," I said to the Frenchman.
+"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the sortie on Le Bourget."</p>
+
+<p>"And you came here the moment you were released on your
+parole?"</p>
+
+<p>The wounded officer turned with a smile to Mademoiselle Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, for here live my best friends."</p>
+
+<p>He took her hand, and with a Frenchman's grace he raised it to
+his lips and kissed it. And I was suddenly made acquainted with the
+relationship in which these two, youth and maid, stood to one another.
+Mademoiselle Sophie had cried out on the steps against the possibility
+that I might have come to claim my prisoner. But though she spoke
+no word, she was still more explicit now. With the officer that
+caress was plainly no more than a pretty way of saying thanks; it
+had the look of a habit, it was so neatly given, and he gave it
+without carelessness, it is true, but without warmth. But she
+received it very differently. He did not see, because his head
+was bent above her hand, but I did.</p>
+
+<p>I saw the look of pain in her face, the slight contraction
+of her shoulders and arms, as if to meet a blow. The kiss hurt
+her&mdash;no, not the kiss, but the finished grace with which it was
+given, the proof, in a word, that it was a way of saying "Thanks"&mdash;and
+nothing more. Here was a woman who loved and a man who
+did not love, and the woman knew.</p>
+
+<p>I resumed my questions:</p>
+
+<p>"Your doctor, monsieur, is in the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"At this hour? No."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah. That is a pity."</p>
+
+<p>The young man lifted his head from his pillow and looked me over
+from head to foot with a stare of disdain.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not quite understand. You doubt my word, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" I asked sharply.</p>
+
+
+<p>It was quite possible that the cradle, this rug across his legs, the
+pillow, were all pretences. This young officer might very well have
+brought in a cipher message to the Château Villetaneuse. Mademoiselle
+Sophie might very well have waved her lantern at the door to summon
+a fresh messenger.</p>
+
+<p>"No; why should I not doubt your word?" I repeated.</p>
+
+<p>He turned his face to the old lady. "It is your move, Baronne,"
+he said, and she placed the piece she held upon a square of the board.
+Mademoiselle Sophie took her stand by the table between the players,
+and the game went on just as though there were no intruder in the
+room. It was uncomfortable for me. I shifted my feet. I tried to
+appear at my ease; finally I sat down in a chair. They took no notice
+of me whatever. I was very glad when at last the corporal opened the
+door. He had searched the house&mdash;he had found no one but Madame
+de Villetaneuse and an old servant who was watching by her bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said I, and the corporal returned to the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle Sophie moved away from the chess-table. She came
+and stood opposite to me, and though her face was still, her eyes were
+hard with anger.</p>
+
+<p>"And now perhaps you will tell me to what I owe your visit?"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," I returned. I fixed my eyes on her, and I said slowly,
+"I have come to ask for more news of M. Bonnet's black cat."</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle Sophie stared as if she was not sure whether I was
+mad or drunk, but was very sure I was one or the other. The young
+Frenchman started upon his couch, with the veins swelling upon his
+forehead and a flushed face.</p>
+
+<p>"This is an insult," he cried savagely, and no less savagely I
+answered him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your tongue!" I cried. "You forget too often that though
+you are on parole you are still a prisoner."</p>
+
+<p>He fell back upon the sofa with a groan of pain, and the girl hurried
+to his side.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 171px;">
+<img src="images/i_119.png" width="171" height="400" alt="Woman still with hand on a door" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Meanwhile I had been looking about the room for a box or a case
+where the cipher messages might be hid. I saw nothing of the kind.
+Of course they might be hidden between the pages of a book. I went
+from table to table, taking them by the boards and shaking the leaves.
+Not a scrap of paper tumbled out. There was another door in the room
+besides that which led on to the landing.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle, what room is that?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"My bedroom," she answered simply, and with a gesture full of
+dignity she threw open the door.</p>
+
+<p>I carried the mud and snow and the grime of a camp without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a><br /><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+scruple of remorse into that neat and pretty chamber. Mademoiselle
+Sophie followed me as I searched wardrobe and drawer and box. At
+last I came to one drawer in her dressing-table which was locked. I
+looked suddenly at the young lady. She was watching me out of the
+corners of her eyes with a peculiar intentness.</p>
+
+<p>"Open that drawer, mademoiselle," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"It contains only some private things."</p>
+
+<p>"Open that drawer or I burst it open."</p>
+
+<p>"No," she cried, as I jerked the handle. "I will open it."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 184px;">
+<img src="images/i_120.png" width="184" height="400" alt="Lady standing" />
+</div>
+
+<p>She fetched the key out of another drawer which was unlocked,
+and fitted it into the lock of the dressing-table. And all the while I
+saw that she was watching me. She meant to play me some trick,
+I was certain. So I watched, too, and I did well to watch. She
+turned the key, opened the drawer, and then snatched out something
+with extraordinary rapidity and ran as hard as she could to the door&mdash;not
+the door through which we had entered, but a second door which
+gave on to the passage. She ran very fast and she ran very lightly,
+and she did not stumble over a chair as I did in pursuit of her. But
+she had to unlatch the door and pull it open. I caught her up and
+closed my arms about her. It was a little carved ebony box which
+she held, the very thing for which I searched.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," I cried, with a laugh. "Drop the box, mademoiselle.
+Drop it on the floor!"</p>
+
+<p>The noise of our struggle had been heard in the next room.
+The Baroness rushed through the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"What has happened?" she cried. "Mon Dieu! you are
+killing her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Drop that box, mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>And as I spoke she threw it away. She threw it through the
+doorway; she tried to throw it over the banisters of the stairs, but my
+arms were about hers, and it fell in the passage just beyond the door.
+I darted from her and picked it up. When I returned with it she was
+taking a gold chain from her neck. At the end of the chain hung a
+little gold key. This she held out to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Open it here," she said in a low, eager voice.</p>
+
+<p>The sudden change only increased my suspicions, or rather my
+conviction, that I had now the proof which I needed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, if you are so eager to show me the contents, did you try
+to throw it away?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I tried to throw it down into the hall," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"My corporal would have picked it up."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what would that matter?" she exclaimed impatiently.
+"You would have opened it in the hall. That was what I wanted.
+Open it here! At all events open it here!"</p>
+
+<p>The very urgency of her pleading made me determined to refuse
+the plea.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you have some other ruse, mademoiselle," said I. "Perhaps
+you wish to gain time for your friend in the next room. No, we will
+return there and open it comfortably by the fire."</p>
+
+<p>I kept a tight hold upon the box. I shook it. To my delight I
+felt that there were papers within it. I carried it back to the fireside
+and sat down on a chair. Mademoiselle Sophie followed me close, and
+as I fixed the little gold key into the lock she laid her hand very gently
+upon my arm.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg you not to unlock that box," she said; "if you do you will
+bring upon me a great humiliation and upon yourself much remorse.
+There is nothing there which concerns you. There are just my little
+secrets. A girl may have secrets, monsieur, which are sacred to her."</p>
+
+<p>She was standing quite close to me, and her back was towards the
+French officer and her aunt. They could not see her face, and they
+could hardly have heard more than a word here and there of what she
+said. I answered her only by turning the key in the lock. She took her
+hand from my arm and laid it on the lid to hinder me from opening it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wore the key on a chain about my neck, monsieur," she
+whispered. "Does that teach you nothing? Even though you are
+young, does it teach you nothing? I said that if you unlocked that
+box you would cause me great humiliation, thinking that would be
+enough to stop you. But I see I must tell you more. Read the
+letters, monsieur, question me about them, and you will make my life
+a very lonely one. I think so. I think you will destroy my chance
+of happiness. You would not wish that, monsieur. It is true that we
+are enemies, but some day this war will end, and you would not wish
+to prolong its sufferings beyond the end. Yet you will be doing that,
+monsieur, if you open that box."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/i_121.png" width="360" height="400" alt="Woman next to seated soldier" />
+</div>
+
+<p>It seems now almost impossible to me that I could have doubted
+her sincerity: she spoke with so much simplicity,
+and so desperate an appeal looked out from her
+dark eyes. Ever since that Christmas night I can
+see her quite clearly at will, standing as she then
+stood&mdash;all the sincerity of her which I would not
+acknowledge, all the appeal which I would not
+hear; and I see her many times when for my peace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+I would rather not. She was pleading for her pride, and to do that the
+better she laid her pride aside; yet she never lost her dignity. She was
+pleading for her chance of happiness, foreseeing that it was likely to be
+destroyed, without any reason or any profit to a living being, by a
+stranger who would the next moment pass out of her life. Yet there
+was no outcry, and there were no tears. Had it been a trick&mdash;I ask
+the ladies&mdash;would there not have been tears?</p>
+
+<p>But I thought it a trick and a cheap one. She was trying to make
+me believe that there were love-letters in the box&mdash;compromising love-letters.
+Now, I <i>knew</i> that there were no love-letters in the box. I
+had seen the Frenchman's pretty way of saying thanks. I had
+noticed how the caress hurt her just through what it lacked. He was
+the friend, you see, and nothing more; she was the lover and the only
+lover of the pair.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 223px;">
+<img src="images/i_122.png" width="223" height="400" alt="woman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I opened the box accordingly. Mademoiselle Sophie turned away
+abruptly, and sitting down in a chair shaded her eyes with her hand.
+I emptied the letters out on to a table, turning the box upside down,
+and thus the first which I took up and read was the one which lay at
+the very bottom. As I read it it seemed that every suspicion I had
+formed was established. She had hinted at love-letters, she had
+spoken of secrets sacred to a girl; and the letter was not even
+addressed to her. It was addressed to Madame de Villetaneuse;
+it was a letter which, if it meant no more than what was implied
+upon the surface, would have long since found destruction in the
+waste-paper basket. For it purported to be merely the acceptance
+of an invitation to dinner at the town house of Madame de
+Villetaneuse in the Faubourg St. Germain. It was signed only
+by a Christian name, "Armand," and the few sentences which
+composed the letter explained that M. Armand was a distant
+kinsman of Madame de Villetaneuse who had just come to Paris
+to pursue his studies, and who, up till now, had no acquaintance
+with the family.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Mademoiselle Sophie sternly. "So all this
+pother was about a mere invitation to dinner! Once let it be
+known that M. Armand will dine with Madame de Villetaneuse
+in the Faubourg St. Germain, and you are humiliated, you lose
+your chance of happiness, and I, too, shall find myself in good
+time suffering the pangs of remorse," and I read the letter
+slowly aloud to her, word by word.</p>
+
+<p>She returned no answer. She sat with her hand shading her face,
+and she rocked her head backwards and forwards continually and rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+quickly, like a child with a racking headache. Of course, to my mind
+all that was part of the game. The letter was dated two years back, but
+the month was December, and, of course, to antedate would be the
+first precaution.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 316px;">
+<img src="images/i_123.png" width="316" height="400" alt="crying about news" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Come, mademoiselle," I said, changing my tone, "I invite you
+very seriously to make a clean breast of it. I wish to take no harsh
+measures with you if I can avoid them. Tell me frankly what news
+this letter, plainly translated, gives to General Trochu in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"None," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said I, and I took up the next letter. Ah, M. Armand
+writes again a week later. It was evidently a good dinner, and M.
+Armand is properly grateful.</p>
+
+<p>The gratitude, indeed, was rather excessive, rather provincial. It
+was just the effusion which a young man who had not yet learned self-possession
+might have written on his first introduction to the highest
+social life of Paris. Certainly the correspondence was very artfully
+designed. But what did it hide? I puzzled over the question; I
+took the words and the dates, and it seemed to me that I began to
+see light. So much stress was laid upon the dinner, that the word
+must signify some event of importance. The first letter spoke of a
+dinner in the future. I imagined that it had not been possible
+to pass this warning into Paris. The second letter mentioned
+with gratitude that the dinner had been successful. Well, suppose
+"dinner" stood for "engagement"! The letter would refer to the
+sortie from Paris which pushed back our lines and captured Ville
+Evrart and Maison Blanche. That seemed likely. Madame de Villetaneuse
+gave the dinner; General Trochu made the sortie. Then
+"Madame de Villetaneuse" stood for "General Trochu." Who would
+be Armand? Why, the French people outside Paris&mdash;the provincials!
+I had the explanation of that provincial expression of gratitude. Ah,
+no doubt it all seems far-fetched now that we sit quietly about this
+table. But put yourself in the thick of the war and
+take twenty years off your lives! Suppose yourselves
+young and green, eager for advancement, and just
+off your balance from want of sleep, want of food,
+want of rest, want of everything. There are very
+few things which would seem far-fetched. It seemed
+to me that I was deciphering these letters with
+absolute accuracy. I saw myself promoted to captain,
+seconded to the staff.</p>
+
+<p>I went on with the letters, hoping to find an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+explanation there. The third letter was addressed to Mademoiselle de
+Villetaneuse, who had evidently written to M. Armand on behalf of
+her mother, inviting him to her box at the opera. M. Armand regretted
+that he had not been fortunate enough to call at a time when
+mademoiselle was at home, and would look forward to the pleasure of
+seeing her at the Opera.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle," I cried, "what does the Opera stand for?"</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle Sophie laughed disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>"For music, monsieur, for art, for refinement, for many things you
+do not understand."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 382px;">
+<img src="images/i_124.png" width="382" height="400" alt="invalid soldier leaning on chairs" />
+</div>
+
+<p>I sprang up in excitement. What did it matter what she said?
+M. Armand stood for the Army of the Loire. It was that army which
+had been expected at Ville Evrart. Here was a pledge that it would
+come to the help of Paris at the next sortie. That was valuable news&mdash;it
+could not but bring recognition to the man who brought evidence of
+it into the Prussian lines. I hurriedly read through the other letters,
+quoting a passage here and there, trying to startle Mademoiselle de
+Villetaneuse into a confession. But she never changed her attitude,
+she did not answer a word.</p>
+
+<p>Her conduct was the more aggravating, for I began to get lost
+among these letters. They were all in the same handwriting; they
+were all signed "Armand," and they seemed to give a picture of the
+life of a young man in Paris during the two years which preceded the
+war. They recorded dinner-parties, visits to the theatres, examinations
+passed, prizes won and lost, receptions, rides in the Bois, and Sunday
+excursions into the country. All these phrases, these appointments,
+these meetings, might have particular meanings. But if so, how
+stupendous a cipher! Besides, how was it that none of these messages
+had been passed into Paris? Very reluctantly I began to doubt my
+own conjecture. I read some more letters, and then I suddenly turned
+back to the earlier ones. I compared them with the later notes. I
+began to be afraid the correspondence, after all, was genuine, for the
+tone of the letters changed and changed so gradually,
+and yet so clearly, that the greatest literary
+art could hardly have deliberately composed
+them. I seemed to witness the actual progress
+of M. Armand, a hobbledehoy from the provinces,
+losing his awkwardness, acquiring ease and
+polish in his contact with the refinement
+of Paris. The last letters had the postmark
+of Paris, the first that of Auvergne.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>They were genuine, then. And they were not love-letters. I
+looked at Mademoiselle Sophie with an increased perplexity. Why did
+she now sit rocking her head like a child in pain? Why had she so
+struggled to hinder me from opening them? They recorded a beginning
+of acquaintanceship and the growth of that into friendship between a
+young man and a young girl&mdash;nothing more. The friendship might
+eventually end in marriage, no doubt, if left to itself, but there was not
+a word of that in the letters. I was still wondering, when the French
+officer raised himself from his sofa and dragged himself across the room
+to Mademoiselle Sophie's chair. His left trouser leg had been slit down
+the side from the knee to the foot and laced lightly so as to make room
+for a bandage. He supported himself from chair to chair with evident
+pain, and I could not doubt that his wound was as genuine as
+the letters.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 226px;">
+<img src="images/i_125.png" width="226" height="400" alt="woman standing" />
+</div>
+
+<p>He bent down and gently took her hand away from her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Sophie," he said, "I did not dare to think that you kept this
+place for me in your thoughts. A little more courage and I should
+long since have said to you what I say now. I beg your permission to
+ask Madame de Villetaneuse to-morrow for your hand in marriage."</p>
+
+<p>My house of cards tumbled down in a second. The French officer
+was M. Armand. With the habit women have of treasuring tokens of
+the things which have happened, Mademoiselle Sophie had kept all these
+trifling notes and messages, and had even gathered to them the letters
+written to her mother, so that the story might be complete. But
+without M. Armand's knowledge; he was not to know; her pride must
+guard her secret from him. For she was the lover and he only the
+friend, and she knew it. Even in the little speech which he had just
+made, there was just too much formality, just too little sincerity of
+voice. I understood why she had tried to throw the ebony box down
+into the hall so that I might open it there&mdash;I understood that I had
+caused her great humiliation. But that was not all there was for me
+to understand.</p>
+
+<p>In answer to Armand she raised her eyes quietly, and shook
+her head.</p>
+
+<p>"You wish to spare me shame," she said, "and I thank you very
+much. But it is because of these letters that you spoke. I must think
+that. I must always think it."</p>
+
+<p>"No!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"But yes," she replied firmly. "If monsieur had not unlocked that
+box&mdash;I don't know&mdash;but some day perhaps&mdash;oh, not yet, no, not yet&mdash;but
+some day perhaps you might have come of your own accord and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+said what you have just said. And I should have been very happy.
+But now you never must. For you see I shall always think that the
+letters are prompting you."</p>
+
+<p>And M. Armand bowed.</p>
+
+<p>I had taken from her her chance of happiness. The friendship
+between them might have ended in marriage if left to itself. But I had
+not left it to itself.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle," I said, "I am very sorry."</p>
+
+<p>She turned her dark eyes on me.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur, I warned you. It is too late to be sorry." And as I
+stood shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other, in great remorse
+as she had foretold, she added, gently, "Will you not go, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>I went out of the room, called together my escort, mounted and
+rode off. It was past midnight now, and the night was clear. But I
+thought neither of the little beds under the slope of the roof nor of any
+danger on the road. There might have been a <i>franc-tireur</i> behind
+every tree. I would never have noticed it until one of them had
+brought me down. Remorse was heavy upon me. I had behaved
+without consideration, without chivalry, without any manners at all.
+I had not been able to distinguish truth when it stared me in the face,
+or to recognise honesty when it looked out from a young girl's dark
+eyes. I had behaved, in a word, like the brute six months of war had
+made of me. I wondered with a vague hope whether after all time might
+not set matters right between M. Armand and Mademoiselle Sophie.
+And I wonder now whether it has. But even if I knew that it had, I
+should always remember that Christmas night of 1870 with acute regret.
+The only incident, indeed, which I can mention with the slightest
+satisfaction is this: On the way back to Noisy-le-Grand I came to a
+point where the road from Chelles crossed the road from Montfermeil.
+I halted at a little cabin which stood upon a grass-plot within the angle
+of the roads, and tying up all the money I had on me in a pocket-handkerchief
+I dropped the handkerchief through a broken window-pane.</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+
+<p>The Colonel let the end of his cigar fall upon his plate, and pushed
+back his chair from the table. "But I see we shall be late for the
+opera," he said, as he glanced at the clock.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 455px;">
+<img src="images/i_127.png" width="455" height="200" alt="Standing on the shore" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>A SPELL FOR A FAIRY</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY ALFRED NOYES<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting and Drawings by</i> CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A. R. W. S.</span><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+<span class="smcap">Gather</span>, first, in your left hand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(This must be at fall of day)</span><br />
+Forty grains of yellow sand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where you think a mermaid lay.</span><br />
+I have heard a wizard hint<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is best to gather it sweet</span><br />
+Out of the warm and fluttered dint<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where you see her heart has beat.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Out of the dint in that sweet sand</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Gather forty grains, I say;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Yet&mdash;if it fail you&mdash;understand</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">I can show you a better way.</span><br /></i>
+<br />
+Out of that sand you melt your glass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the veils of night are drawn,</span><br />
+Whispering, till the shadows pass,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun</i>&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Then you blow your magic vial,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shape it like a crescent moon,</span><br />
+Set it up and make your trial,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singing, "<i>Fairies, ah, come soon!</i>"</span><br />
+<br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Round the cloudy crescent go,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">On the hill-top, in the dawn,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Singing softly, on tip-toe,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun.</span></i>"<br />
+<br />
+Bring the blood of a white hen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Killed about the break of day,</span><br />
+While the cock in the echoing glen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrusts his gold neck every way,</span><br />
+Over the brambles, peering, calling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,</span><br />
+Far and wide, while the dews are falling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clamouring, calling, everywhere.</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;">
+<img src="images/i_128.png" width="368" height="475" alt="under a tree" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Round the crimson vial go</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">On the hill-top, in the dawn,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Singing softly, on tip-toe,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And, if once will not suffice,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Do it thrice.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">If this fail, at break of day,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I can show you a better way.</span></i><br />
+<br />
+Bring the buds of the hazel-copse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where two lovers kissed at noon:</span><br />
+Bring the crushed red wild thyme tops<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where they walked beneath the moon;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span><br />
+Bring the four-leaved clover also,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One of the white, and one of the red,</span><br />
+Mixed with the flakes of the may that fall so<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lightly over the sky-lark's bed.</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;">
+<img src="images/i_117.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="A Spell for a fairy" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'><br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Round the fragrant vial go,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">On the hill-top, in the dawn,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Singing softly, on tip-toe,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">If this fail, at break of day,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">I can show you a better way.</span></i><br />
+<br />
+Bring an old and wizened child<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;<i>Ah, tread softly and speak low</i>&mdash;</span><br />
+Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From that under-world below;</span><br />
+Bring a withered child of seven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reeking from the City slime,</span><br />
+Out of hell into your heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Set her knee-deep in the thyme.</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 356px;">
+<img src="images/i_129.png" width="356" height="450" alt="Looking out window" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Bring her from the smoky City,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Set her on a fairy-throne.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Clothe her, feed her, of your pity.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Leave her for an hour alone.</span></i><br />
+<br />
+You shall need no spells or charms<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On that hill-top, in that dawn.</span><br />
+When she lifts her wasted arms<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You shall see a veil withdrawn.</span><br />
+There shall be no veil between them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though her head be old and wise.</span><br />
+You shall know that she has seen them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the glory in her eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Round her irons, on the hill,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Earth shall toss a fairy fire.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Watch and listen and be still,</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 9em;">Lest you baulk your own desire.</span></i><br />
+<br />
+When she sees four azure wings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light upon her claw-like hand;</span><br />
+When she lifts her head and sings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You shall hear and understand.</span><br />
+You shall hear a bugle calling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wildly over the dew-dashed down,</span><br />
+And a sound as of the falling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ramparts of a conquered town.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">You shall hear a sound like thunder,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And a veil shall be withdrawn,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">When her eyes grow wide with wonder,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9em;">On that hill-top, in that dawn.</span></i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 576px;">
+<img src="images/i_130.png" width="576" height="400" alt="dancing fairies" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Title information and illustration">
+<tr><td align="left"><div class="figleft" style="width: 442px;">
+<img src="images/i_131.png" width="442" height="400" alt="girls hiding in mother's lap" />
+</div></td><td align="left"><h2>OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH</h2>
+<div class='center'>
+<div class='big'><i><b>A TALE OF THE SCARLET<br />
+PIMPERNEL</b></i></div><br />
+<br />
+BY BARONESS ORCZY<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> A. C. MICHAEL <i>and</i></span><br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> H. M. BROCK, R.I.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i><span class='small'>Copyright, 1914, by the Baroness Orczy in the U.S.A.</span></i><br /><br /></div>
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;<br /></p>
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">We</span> were such a happy family before this terrible revolution broke
+out: we lived rather simply but very comfortably in our dear old home
+just on the borders of the forest of Compiègne. Jean and André were
+the twins; just fifteen years old they were when King Louis was
+deposed from the throne of France, which God had given him, and
+sent to prison like a common criminal, with our beautiful Queen Marie
+Antoinette and the Royal children and Madame Elizabeth, who was
+so beloved by the poor!</div>
+
+<p>Ah! that seems very, very long ago now. No doubt you know
+better than I do all that happened in our beautiful land of France and
+in lovely Paris about that time: goods and property confiscated,
+innocent men, women, and children condemned to death for acts of
+treason which they had never committed.</p>
+
+<p>It was in August last year that they came to "Mon Repos" and
+arrested papa, maman, and us four young ones and dragged us to
+Paris, where we were imprisoned in a narrow and horrible, dank vault
+in the Abbaye, where all day and night through the humid stone walls
+we heard cries and sobs and moans from poor people who no doubt
+were suffering the same sorrows and the same indignities as we were.</p>
+
+<p>I had just passed my nineteenth birthday and Marguerite was
+only thirteen. Maman was a perfect angel during that terrible time:
+she kept up our courage and our faith in God in a way that no one
+else could have done. Every night and morning we knelt round her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+knee, and papa sat close beside her, and we prayed to God for
+deliverance from our own afflictions, and for the poor people who
+were crying and moaning all the day.</p>
+
+<p>But of what went on outside our prison walls we had not an idea,
+though sometimes poor papa would brave the warder's brutalities and
+ask him questions of what was happening in Paris every day.</p>
+
+<p>"They are hanging all the aristos to the street-lamps of the city,"
+the man would reply, with a cruel laugh, "and it will be your turn
+next."</p>
+
+<p>We had been in prison for about a fortnight, then one day&mdash;oh!
+shall I ever forget it?&mdash;we heard in the distance a noise like the rumbling
+of thunder; nearer and nearer it came, and soon the sound became less
+confused. Cries and shrieks could be heard above that rumbling din,
+but so weird and menacing did those cries seem, that instinctively&mdash;though
+none of us knew what they meant&mdash;we all felt a nameless terror
+grip our hearts.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! I am not going to attempt the awful task of describing to you
+all the horrors of that never-to-be-forgotten day. People who to-day
+cannot speak without a shudder of the September massacres have not
+the remotest conception of what really happened on that truly awful
+second day of that month.</p>
+
+<p>We are all at peace and happy now, but whenever my thoughts
+fly back to that morning, whenever the ears of memory recall those
+hideous yells of fury and of hate, coupled with the equally horrible
+cries for pity which pierced through the walls behind which the six
+of us were crouching, trembling, and praying, whenever I think of it
+all my heart still beats violently with that same nameless dread which
+held it in its deathly grip then.</p>
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 228px;">
+<img src="images/i_132.png" width="228" height="400" alt="man with head in hands" />
+</div>
+<p>Hundreds of men, women, and children were
+massacred in the prisons of Paris on that day&mdash;it was
+a St. Bartholomew even more hideous than the last.</p>
+
+<p>Maman was trying in vain to keep our thoughts
+fixed upon God&mdash;papa sat on the stone bench, his
+elbows resting on his knees, his head buried in his
+hands, but maman was kneeling on the floor with her
+dear arms encircling us all, and her trembling lips
+moving in continuous prayer.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>We felt that we were facing death&mdash;and what a
+death!&mdash;O, my God!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the small grated window&mdash;high up in
+the dank wall&mdash;became obscured. I was the first to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+look up, but the cry of terror which rose from
+my heart was choked ere it reached my throat.</p>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 291px;">
+<img src="images/i_133.png" width="291" height="400" alt="man looking through window" />
+</div>
+<p>Jean and André looked up too, and they
+shrieked, and so did Marguerite, and papa jumped
+up and ran to us and stood suddenly between
+us and the window like a tiger defending its
+young.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>But we were all of us quite silent now. The
+children did not even cry, they stared wide-eyed&mdash;paralysed
+with fear.</p>
+
+<p>Only maman continued to pray, and we could
+hear papa's rapid and stertorous breathing as he
+watched what was going on in that window above.</p>
+
+<p>Heavy blows were falling against the masonry
+round the grating, and we could hear the nerve-racking
+sound of a file working on the iron bars,
+and farther away below the window those awful
+yells of human beings transformed by hate and
+fury into savage beasts.</p>
+
+<p>How long this horrible suspense lasted I
+cannot now tell you: the next thing I remember clearly is a number of
+men in horrible ragged clothing pouring into our vault-like prison from
+the window above; the next moment they rushed at us simultaneously&mdash;or
+so it seemed to me, for I was just then recommending my soul to
+God, so certain was I that in that same second I would cease to live.</p>
+
+<p>It was all like a dream, for instead of the horrible shriek of satisfied
+hate which we were all expecting to hear, a whispering voice, commanding
+and low, struck our ear and dragged us, as it were, from out the
+abyss of despair into the sudden light of hope.</p>
+
+<p>"If you will trust us," the voice whispered, "and not be afraid, you
+will be safely out of Paris within an hour."</p>
+
+<p>Papa was the first to realise what was happening: he had never lost
+his presence of mind, even during the darkest moment of this terrible
+time, and he said quite calmly and steadily now:</p>
+
+<p>"What must we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Persuade the little ones not to be afraid, not to cry, to be as still
+and silent as may be," continued the voice, which I felt must be that of
+one of God's own angels, so exquisitely kind did it sound to my ear.</p>
+
+<p>"They will be quiet and still without persuasion," said papa; "eh,
+children?"</p>
+
+<p>And Jean, André, and Marguerite murmured: "Yes!" whilst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+maman and I drew them closer to us and said everything
+we could think of to make them still more brave.</p>
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 243px;">
+<img src="images/i_134.png" width="243" height="400" alt="man being helped" />
+</div>
+
+<p>And the whispering, commanding voice went on
+after awhile:</p>
+
+<p>"Now, will you allow yourselves to be muffled
+and bound? and after that will you swear that whatever
+happens, whatever you may see or hear, you will
+neither move nor speak. Not only your own lives, but
+those of many brave men will depend upon your fulfilment
+of this oath."</p>
+
+<p>Papa made no reply, save to raise his hand and
+eyes up to where God surely was watching over us all.
+Maman said in her gentle, even voice:</p>
+
+<p>"For myself and my children, I swear to do all
+that you tell us."</p>
+
+
+<p>A great feeling of confidence had entered into her
+heart, just as it had done into mine. We looked at
+one another and knew that we were both thinking
+of the same thing: we were thinking of the brave
+Englishman and his gallant little band of heroes about whom we had
+heard many wonderful tales of how they had rescued a number of
+innocent people who were unjustly threatened with the guillotine; and
+we all knew that the tall figure disguised in horrible rags, who spoke to
+us with such a gentle yet commanding voice, was the man whom
+rumour credited with supernatural powers, and who was known by the
+mysterious name of the Scarlet Pimpernel.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had we sworn to do his bidding than his friends most
+unceremoniously threw great pieces of sacking over our heads and then
+proceeded to tie ropes round our bodies. At least I know that that is
+what one of them was doing to me, and from one or two whispered
+words of command which reached my ear I concluded that papa and
+maman and the children were being dealt with in the same summary way.</p>
+
+<p>I felt hot and stifled under that rough bit of sacking, but I would
+not have moved or even sighed for worlds. Strangely enough, as soon as
+my eyes and ears were shut off from the sounds and sights immediately
+round me, I once more became conscious of the horrible and awful din
+which was going on not only on the other side of our prison walls, but
+inside the whole of the Abbaye building and in the street beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Once more I heard those terrible howls of rage and of satisfied
+hatred uttered by the assassins who were being paid by the Government
+of our beautiful country to butcher helpless prisoners in their hundreds.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 363px;">
+<img src="images/i_135.png" width="363" height="600" alt="The Scarlet Pimpernel to the Rescue painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Suddenly I felt myself hoisted up off my feet and slung up on to a
+pair of shoulders that must have been very powerful indeed, for I am
+no light weight, and once more I heard the voice, the very sound of
+which was delight, quite close to my ear this time, giving a brief and
+comprehensive command:</p>
+
+<p>"All ready&mdash;remember your part&mdash;en avant!"</p>
+
+<p>Then it added in English; "Here, Tony, you start kicking against
+the door whilst we begin to shout!"</p>
+
+<p>I loved those few words of English, and hoped that maman had
+heard them too, for it would confirm her&mdash;as it did me&mdash;in the happy
+knowledge that God and a brave man had taken our rescue in hand.</p>
+
+<p>But from that moment we might all have been in the very antechamber
+of hell. I could hear the violent kicks against the heavy door
+of our prison, and our brave rescuers seemed suddenly to be transformed
+into a cageful of wild beasts. Their shouts and yells were as horrible as
+any that came to us from the outside, and I must say that the gentle, firm
+voice which I had learnt to love was as execrable as any I could hear.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently the door would not yield, as the blows against it
+became more and more violent, and presently, from somewhere above
+my head&mdash;the window presumably&mdash;there came a rough call and a
+raucous laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"Why! what in the name of &mdash;&mdash; is happening here?"</p>
+
+<p>And the voice near me answered back equally roughly:</p>
+
+<p>"A quarry of six&mdash;but we are caught in this trap&mdash;get the door
+open for us, citizen&mdash;we want to be rid of this booty and go in search
+for more."</p>
+
+<p>A horrible laugh was the reply from above, and the next instant
+I heard a terrific crash; the door had at last been burst open either
+from within or without, I could not tell which, and suddenly all the din,
+the cries, the groans, the hideous laughter and bibulous songs which
+had sounded muffled up to now burst upon us with all their hideousness.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 578px;">
+<img src="images/i_137.png" width="578" height="400" alt="A motley crew" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a><br /><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>That was, I think, the most awful moment of that truly fearful
+hour. I could not have moved then, even had I wished or been able
+to do so, but I knew that between us all and a horrible, yelling,
+murdering mob there was now nothing&mdash;except the hand of God and
+the heroism of a band of English gentlemen.</p>
+
+<p>Together they gave a cry&mdash;as loud, as terrifying as any that were
+uttered by the butchering crowd in the building, and with a wild rush
+they seemed to plunge with us right into the thick of the awful mêlée.</p>
+
+<p>At least that is what it all felt like to me, and afterwards I heard
+from our gallant rescuer himself that that is exactly what he and his
+friends did. There were eight of them altogether, and we four young
+ones had each been hoisted on a pair of devoted shoulders, whilst
+maman and papa were each carried by two men.</p>
+
+<p>I was lying across the finest pair of shoulders in the world, and
+close to me was beating the bravest heart on God's earth.</p>
+
+<p>Thus burdened, these eight noble English gentlemen charged right
+through an army of butchering, howling brutes, they themselves howling
+with the fiercest of them.</p>
+
+<p>All around me I heard weird and terrifying cries:</p>
+
+<p>"What ho, citizens! what have you there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Six aristos!" shouted my hero boldly as he rushed on, forcing his
+way through the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing with them?" yelled a raucous voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Food for the starving fish in the river," was the ready response.
+"Stand aside, citizen," he added, with a round curse. "I have my orders
+from citizen Danton himself about these six aristos. You hinder me at
+your peril."</p>
+
+<p>He was challenged over and over again in the same way, and so
+were his friends who were carrying papa and maman and the children,
+but they were always ready for a reply. With eyes that could not
+see one could imagine them as hideous, as vengeful, as cruel as the rest
+of the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>I think that soon I must have fainted from sheer excitement and
+terror, for I remember nothing more till I felt myself deposited on a
+hard floor, propped against the wall, and the stifling piece of sacking
+taken off my head and face.</p>
+
+<p>I looked around me dazed and bewildered; gradually the horrors
+of the past hour came back to me, and I had to close my eyes again, for
+I felt sick and giddy with the sheer memory of it all.</p>
+
+<p>But presently I felt stronger and looked around me again. Jean
+and André were squatting in a corner close by, gazing wide-eyed at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+group of men in filthy, ragged clothing who sat round a deal table in
+the centre of a small, ill-furnished room.</p>
+
+<p>Maman was lying on a horse-hair sofa at the other end of the room,
+with Marguerite beside her, and papa sat in a low chair by her side
+holding her hand.</p>
+
+<p>The voice I loved was speaking in its quaint, somewhat drawly
+cadence:</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite safe now, my dear Monsieur Lemercier," it said.
+"After Madame and the young people have had a rest some of my friends
+will find you suitable disguises, and they will escort you out of Paris, as
+they have some really genuine passports in their possession, which we
+obtain from time to time through the agency of a personage highly placed
+in this murdering Government, and with the help of English banknotes.
+Those passports are not always unchallenged, I must confess," added my
+hero, with a quaint laugh, "but to-night every one is busy murdering in
+one part of Paris, so the other parts are comparatively safe."</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to one of his friends and spoke to him in English:</p>
+
+<p>"You had better see this through, Tony," he said, "with Hastings
+and Mackenzie. Three of you will be enough: I shall have need of the
+others."</p>
+
+<p>No one seemed to question his orders. He had spoken and the
+others made ready to obey. Just then papa spoke up:</p>
+
+<p>"How are we going to thank you, sir?" he asked, speaking broken
+English, but with his habitual dignity of manner.</p>
+
+<p>"By leaving your welfare in our hands, Monsieur," replied our gallant
+rescuer quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Papa tried to speak again, but the Englishman put up his hand to
+stop any further talk.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no time now, Monsieur," he said, with gentle courtesy.
+"I must leave you, as I have much work yet to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, Blakeney?" asked one of the others.</p>
+
+<p>"Back to the Abbaye prison," he said; "there are other women and
+children to be rescued there!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 508px;">
+<img src="images/i_139.png" width="508" height="300" alt="exhausted" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 551px;">
+<img src="images/i_140a.png" width="551" height="400" alt="Boy Scout sitting down" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY JOHN OXENHAM<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> EUGENE HASTAIN <i>and Drawings by</i></span><br />
+<span class='small'>GORDON BROWNE, R.I.</span><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i><span class="smcap">What</span> can a little chap do<br />
+For his country and for you?<br />
+What</i> <span class="smcap">can</span> <i>a little chap do?</i><br />
+<br />
+He can fight like a Knight<br />
+For the Truth and the Right&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>That's one good thing he can do.</i></span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 247px;">
+<img src="images/i_140b.png" width="247" height="450" alt="knight" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;<br /><br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 402px;">
+<img src="images/i_141.jpg" width="402" height="600" alt="boy dreaming painting" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 520px;">
+<img src="images/i_143.png" width="520" height="450" alt="scout helping serior lady" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He can shun all that's mean,<br />
+He can keep himself clean,<br />
+Both without and within&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>That's another good thing he can do</i>.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">His soul he can brace</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Against everything base,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And the trace will be seen</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">All his life in his face&mdash;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 10em;"><i>That's a very fine thing he can do</i>.</span><br />
+<br />
+He can look to the Light,<br />
+He can keep his thought white,<br />
+He can fight the great fight,<br />
+He can do with his might<br />
+What is good in God's sight&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Those are excellent things he can do</i>.</span><br />
+<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 357px;">
+<img src="images/i_144a.png" width="357" height="300" alt="kneeling to pray" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'><br />
+Though his years be but few,<br />
+He can march in the queue<br />
+Of the Good and the Great,<br />
+Who battled with fate<br />
+And won through&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>That's a wonderful thing he can do</i>.</span><br />
+<br />
+And&mdash;in each little thing<br />
+He can follow The King.<br />
+Yes&mdash;in each smallest thing<br />
+He can follow The King&mdash;<br />
+He can follow The Christ, The King.<br />
+<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_144b.png" width="400" height="507" alt="Soldier walking" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_145.png" width="400" height="337" alt="Girl sulking in chair" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>BY W. PETT RIDGE<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Painting by</i> M. E. GRAY <i>and Drawings by</i> LEWIS BAUMER</span></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">I knew</span> a child who&mdash;&mdash;</div>
+
+<p>Some friends of mine have a daughter, and she&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Not very many years ago, I remember hearing&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Once upon a time&mdash;that is the proper way to begin this story&mdash;once
+upon a time there was a little girl, of about the usual age, who
+lived near to St. John's Wood Road Station, handy to Lord's cricket
+ground, and not far from the Zoological Gardens. You would think
+that any one who, in the summer, could look out of her window and see
+Mr. P. F. Warner batting, and in the winter was able to go any afternoon
+she liked, to watch the lions and tigers take high tea at four, ought
+to have been as happy as the days were long; cheerful even when the
+days were short. Yet she was not entirely satisfied; it may be said that
+her one failing was a spirit of discontent. When grown-ups are discontented,
+it is called ambition; but that is another matter.</p>
+
+<p>On a certain Tuesday evening in November it happened that she
+felt quite pleased with the world until about seven o'clock. Seven
+in the evening was the hour that frequently made her peevish.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse left her alone for a minute to see if everything was ready
+upstairs, and in that minute the little girl jumped on a chair and moved
+back the long hand. She was reading her picture-book with great
+interest when nurse returned.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 270px;">
+<img src="images/i_146.png" width="270" height="400" alt="Girl adjusting clock" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Bless my soul!" cried nurse. "Quite thought
+it wanted ten to seven, and here it is only ten past
+six. I shall find myself in Colney Hatch before I'm
+much older."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl wanted to assure Nanna there was
+no good reason to assume that mental decay had set
+in, but she did not do this at once, and afterwards it seemed
+too late. So nurse was allowed to chat on, and tell her very
+best story about the time when she was a child, and a good one
+at that, and when the clock, having been compelled to go over
+the ground twice, again gave the time as ten to seven, nurse said,</p>
+
+<p>"Now my dearie!"</p>
+
+<p>Upstairs, the little girl devoted a few minutes to instructing
+her dolly in the art of going off nicely to bye-byes.</p>
+
+<p>She was left alone, with just a mere star of gas-light
+for company shining above the dressing-table, and at the
+moment when she was about to go to sleep conscience woke
+up. Conscience became wide-awake. Conscience insisted upon
+talking, and the little girl had to listen. She was aware it is
+useless to cry when one is by oneself with nobody looking on; not
+only useless but wasteful, because you may want those tears on more
+important and more public occasions. So the little girl did not weep,
+but, oh! she felt troubled. She did feel troubled.</p>
+
+<p>"A silly, stupid world!" she cried aloud. "It ought&mdash;it
+ought to be changed. I'd very much love it to be altogether
+different."</p>
+
+<p>A knock at her door, and she answered, "Please come in, Nanna!"
+Not nurse. Certainly the tall lady with diamonds sparkling in her
+hair, and a white chiffon kind of costume, and a long silver stick in the
+right hand, was as unlike nurse as any one could be. The little girl
+said, "Oh, I beg pardon!" in her politest manner.</p>
+
+<p>"It is for me to beg yours," answered the tall lady with severity.
+"I am exceedingly sorry to disturb you."</p>
+
+<p>"Pray don't mention it."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to mention it," insisted the lady. "I claim the right to
+mention it. I decline to allow any one to dictate to me what I shall or
+what I shall not mention. I am a good fairy."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl opened her mouth with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"A good fairy, and I am here to do you a favour. When a good
+fairy wishes to do a favour, it is only necessary for a wish to be expressed,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 439px;">
+<img src="images/i_147.png" width="439" height="550" alt="surprised at the time" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;Bless my soul!&quot; cried nurse</span>
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the child nervously, "but really I would so
+much rather you did not take the trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"The trouble," replied the good fairy, striking the floor with her
+silver stick in an impatient way, "is no concern of yours. You mustn't
+haggle."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what that means," declared the other earnestly,
+"and if I did, I wouldn't do it, ma'am, I wouldn't really. Good
+evening, and, of course, thank you ever so much for calling."</p>
+
+<p>"Dress!" ordered the good fairy.</p>
+
+<p>On the instant something happened which the little girl had often
+thought about; more than once she had talked it over with nurse.
+She found herself, in the space of less time than it takes to click your
+finger and thumb, fully and completely costumed, boots laced up, hair
+taken out of curlers and properly brushed, hat set at the correct angle,
+parasol in hand, gloves buttoned, and everything ready for a walk out
+of doors. She gave a cry of delight and astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"I am about to give you the great treat of your life," said the
+fairy, "something that no one has ever yet experienced, something that
+will give you a subject to talk about for the rest of your days. Nobody
+will believe you, but that must be endured. You are about to see the
+world as nobody else has seen it. And if you ask me why you have
+been selected for this high and special honour&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, I don't!"</p>
+
+<p>"My answer is," taking no notice of the interruption, "that you
+are receiving the award for your wonderful discovery."</p>
+
+<p>"But I have discovered nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" echoed the lady, with amazement. "You call it
+nothing to have found out the secret that has puzzled clever people
+for thousands and thousands of years? How often folk have said, 'If
+only I could live some part of my life over again!' and they never have
+been able to do it. You, child, were the first."</p>
+
+<p>The staircase had always gone straight down until it neared the
+next landing, where it took a slight curve; now it was all curves and
+had nothing about it that could be called straight. It went up, it went
+down, it went to the left, it went to the right, so that wherever you put
+your foot expecting to find a step, you did not find it, and wherever you
+put your foot expecting to find nothing, you hurt your toes.</p>
+
+<p>"This is very strange, ma'am!"</p>
+
+<p>"That," replied the other, "should be its great attraction. Don't
+lag. We shall get to the end of the staircase in less than ten minutes."</p>
+
+<p>Going out of the street doorway proved one of the most difficult<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+tasks. The fairy did not seem to mind, but the child found it extremely
+odd that when you pulled at the door it opened outwards, and that
+when you pushed at it it came in. The iron gate which led to the
+pavement had another form of behaviour. Determined not to be
+bothered here, she gave a touch with her boot, and instantly the iron
+gate offered her boot a pinch; she placed her hand upon it and the gate
+gripped it, much in the way that Uncle Henry did when he said "How
+do you do?" She put her back against it, and the iron gate gave her
+a clutch around the waist, and said, in rasping tones, as it waltzed to
+the pavement,</p>
+
+<p>"Do you reverse?"</p>
+
+<p>It was then that she perceived the fairy had left her.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_149.png" width="500" height="395" alt="Visited by a fairy" />
+</div>
+
+<p>A pavement is expected to behave in a calm and demure manner;
+even when it takes you up-hill it does this in the gentlest way. But
+this pavement, so soon as the little girl set foot upon it, at once changed
+to something like a switchback, and a switchback, mark you, she enjoyed
+when seated on a trolley at Shepherd's Bush Exhibitions; it was less
+agreeable to try to walk up and down
+the uneven parts here. Other people
+did not seem to experience her difficulties,
+and this she failed to understand
+until she observed that they
+went along on their hands and toes,
+pretending to have four legs; she
+tried the same method and found it
+made her back ache; discovered, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+that she could not see so much as
+when walking in the old way.
+Thus it was that she had reached
+the end of the road, where a steep
+ascent occurred that was like the
+side of a mountain, ere she noticed
+something strange and peculiar
+about the houses.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 334px;">
+<img src="images/i_150.png" width="334" height="400" alt="pavement not behaving" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"How very foolish of them
+to build in that way!" she cried.
+"They must be out of their senses."</p>
+
+
+
+<p>It was the more eccentric in
+that her own house so far as she
+had observed had not changed;
+thinking it over, though, she could
+not be quite sure. Here at any
+rate was every house upside down
+with the front door right away at
+the top, Virginia creepers growing
+downwards; at one house the
+painters were seeing to the front and their ladders came from the roof
+(which was the basement) nearly to the basement (which was the roof).
+A neat lawn hung out over the top of each house; it made her feel
+giddy to think of the risks of playing croquet there; she could not see
+how one would be able to make even the first hoop.</p>
+
+<p>Other things claimed her attention.</p>
+
+<p>There were carts with horses pushing them&mdash;she had often heard
+her father reprove her eldest brother for doing this in argument&mdash;the
+horses stood upright and wore silk hats in a rakish sort of way, sometimes
+lifting these on meeting another horse and taking cigars out of
+mouths. She spoke to a constable, who wore a helmet on each hand,
+and put an urgent inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>"Miaow!" said the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't quite understand," remarked the little girl patiently.
+"I asked you if you would kindly tell me the way to get home to
+Wellington Road."</p>
+
+<p>"Ba, ba!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do please listen to me," she begged, "and tell me what I want
+to know. I think I've lost my way, and I'm so afraid that I'm going
+to cry."</p>
+
+<p>"Moo&mdash;oo!" said the constable.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 391px;">
+<img src="images/i_151.jpg" width="391" height="600" alt="Instructing Dolly painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Please, please," she cried, "please don't be silly. Why do you
+keep making noises like that instead of giving me a proper answer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Missy," he explained, "I'm a comic policeman. I'm not here to
+tell folk the way or to lock them up, or anything of that kind; I'm here
+to make people laugh."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not amusing me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not when I make a noise like a dog?" he asked, with surprise.
+"Why, that nearly always sends people into a good temper. You wait
+till I give you my imitation of a railway engine. Hark!"</p>
+
+<p>He set his teeth together and began to say "Isha&mdash;isha&mdash;isha,"
+but the little girl turned away. She felt so indignant that she
+determined to tell her father about it at the very first opportunity, and
+see whether something could not be done. More than once her father
+had helped to straighten out tangled matters by simply writing a letter
+to the newspapers, and signing himself "An Indignant Ratepayer."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 240px;">
+<img src="images/i_153.png" width="240" height="400" alt="policeman" />
+</div>
+
+<p>And at the very moment along came her father. He, too, walked
+on all fours as other people did, and the little girl thought it caused
+him to look particularly undignified, but she did not trouble about this,
+for, stout as he was, she was really glad to see him.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you do," he said respectfully. "Can you give me a
+penny to buy some sweeties?"</p>
+
+<p>"Daddie, dear!" she cried with distress. "Don't you begin to be
+funny, please."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"But you are my parent, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he sighed, "I'm aware of that. But under the new rules&mdash;you
+must have heard all about them&mdash;under the new rules parents have
+to be obedient to their children, and do everything their children tell
+them to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bad idea," decided the little girl, after giving it consideration.
+"I think if you don't mind I will get you to come along
+now to Finchley Road and buy for me the mechanical
+rocking-horse that has been talked about for some time."</p>
+
+<p>"Under the old arrangement," he replied readily,
+"I should have been only too pleased, but the new
+rules say that children must buy presents for their
+father and mother."</p>
+
+<p>"How can we," getting rather cross, "how in the
+world can we when we have no money?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think," he said, "that it is expected you should
+go to work and earn some."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a><br /><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Never heard such nonsense in the whole course of my life," she
+declared, using a grown-up remark. "It's perfect rubbish. Do you
+mean to say that I shall have to go to concerts and sing as mamma
+does?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the idea, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't sing. I can't sing nearly well enough to earn
+money."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said her father, after considering the matter, "what about
+going out as charwoman? You'd get two shillings a day and
+your lunch."</p>
+
+<p>She stood there for a few minutes, not daring to speak, and overcome
+with cares and responsibilities. Some one touched her on the
+shoulder, and she looked up.</p>
+
+<p>"Good fairy!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like the altogether different you asked for?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she answered, "I don't like it at all. I wish now I hadn't
+put back the hands of the clock."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean to say that that was how you did it? You dare to
+tell me it was nothing cleverer than that? Now, just to punish you,"
+said the fairy, speaking with stern decision, "I shall send you away to
+the old sort of world, and you'll simply have to make the best of it."</p>
+
+<div class='center'>*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div>
+
+<p>The bedroom door opened, and nurse came in. The little girl,
+snuggling down into her warm, comfortable bed, kept her eyes shut.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless her!" said nurse to herself. "Sleeping as sound as a top.
+That's what comes of having nothing on your mind to worry you!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/i_154.png" width="550" height="248" alt="walking on the pavement" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="title and illustration">
+<tr><td align="center"><h2>THE ESCAPE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'><i>A GIRL'S STORY FROM GALLANT BELGIUM</i><br />
+<br />
+BY ANNIE S. SWAN<br />
+<br />
+<span class='small'><i>Drawings by</i> HAROLD EARNSHAW</span><br /><br /></div>
+</td><td align="left"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 155px;">
+<img src="images/i_155.png" width="155" height="250" alt="Looking through binoculars" />
+</div>
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>Not</span> a sound broke the exquisite hush of the
+early morning.</div>
+
+
+
+<p>The old courtyard, with its tiled pavement,
+its cool fountain, and its cooing doves, the dog
+asleep in the sunshine, made a picture of perfect peace.</p>
+
+<p>The house, once the Château of a great family that had fallen on
+evil days, was grey and old, and beautiful still, though now merely
+<i>une pension de demoiselles</i>.</p>
+
+<p>It was August, when, as a rule, all the merry throng had
+scattered from the Château to their respective homes, leaving it to its
+former dignity and quiet. Mademoiselle usually went to England,
+perhaps seeking fresh pupils, or to enjoy the sea breezes on the
+Normandy coast.</p>
+
+<p>La Royat, in the village of Coutane, was inland from the sea, about
+fifteen miles from Brussels. It was a sweet spot, beloved of the understanding
+traveller, and many came to look at the fine old church,
+whose spire and windows were among the treasures known to lovers of
+the beautiful all over the world. Mademoiselle Ledru had nothing to
+complain of in her lot, with which she had been hitherto content. Success
+had flowed in upon her earnest efforts, though looking at her anxious
+face that summer morning one would have thought her oppressed by
+care. She was an elderly woman now, with the remains of beauty still
+on her face. The place where she stood that morning, before her household
+was astir, was certainly unusual, being the square tower of the
+Château, from whose low ramparts she was sweeping the horizon with a
+powerful glass. It was all very peaceful and beautiful, a wide rolling
+plateau, with fields white to harvest, not a hint of approaching desolation
+on its smiling face.</p>
+
+<p>It was very early, hardly an hour past daybreak, but already some
+of the thrifty peasants were busy in the fields. Far away on the red
+horizon there was a slight haze, regarding which Mademoiselle seemed
+more than a little curious. Again and again she focused her glass, until
+confident that the haze was not altogether stationary, but moved and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+broke and thickened again. Then with a sickening apprehension
+at her heart, she turned and fled down the stairs and went to open
+the big door of the Château. Jules, the fat and sleepy porter, was
+undoing the bolts as she got down.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/i_156.png" width="200" height="150" alt="two girls" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Some one is at the gate, an early
+visitor." He chuckled as he undid the last bolt, and threw wide
+the door. When he would have hobbled across the courtyard to
+open the gate his mistress was before him. When she undid the bolts
+the Curé, bareheaded, stood before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Mademoiselle, it is bad news," he said in a firm voice,
+though his face was tense with apprehension. "They come, the
+barbarians. I have information, now it behoves us to consult what
+we will do."</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle whitened to the lips, and drew him in and shut the
+door. She signed to Jules to depart, but the Curé intervened.</p>
+
+<p>"Let him stay. It will save a twice-told tale. I have certain
+news that they are not more than a couple of hours' march away, and for
+sure they will come this way to Brussels. What shall we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will remain at my post," answered Julie Ledru firmly. "I have
+no fear for myself, but my charges, Father&mdash;Rosalie and Biddy, with
+whom their English parents have trusted me. My spirit fails! What
+must we do with them?"</p>
+
+<p>"It will not be safe to leave them here, Mademoiselle, nor even for
+you to stay. We will take you to the crypt of the church, where, with
+a little food and drink, you will be safe until they have passed through.
+We have no treasure here in Coutane, and are simple folk. Perhaps
+we shall be beneath their notice."</p>
+
+<p>Julie Ledru clasped her hands in an ecstasy of apprehension. They
+had been without newspapers for four days, but chance travellers
+from the East had brought strange and appalling tales of the invaders'
+desolating march. They told of ruined villages and burning homes,
+and helpless people mercilessly shot down in places as simple and as
+unimportant as Coutane. Julie Ledru looked round her little domain
+with a kind of sad pride. It did not contain many treasures, it is true,
+but it was her home, enshrined by many sweet memories. It contained
+her all.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Father?" she asked feverishly. "Do you think we should
+come now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Without a moment's delay," he answered. "Go and get your
+charges roused and bring all with you; a little food also in a basket, lest
+you have to stop there several days."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You will be with us, Father?" said Julie anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"My place is in the open street with such of my people as feel
+strong and brave in their innocence and faith. But you have English
+charges. If it was known, Mademoiselle, believe me, nothing would
+save them or you. Their fury against the English is so great."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we take Jules? Besides him, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'their'">there</ins> is only our faithful
+Babette."</p>
+
+<p>Before the Curé could reply Jules intervened, scratching his old
+grey head.</p>
+
+<p>"I hide not from them, Mademoiselle; I will stay and guard the
+Château and keep them out, if I can, barbarians that they are, making
+war on women and children."</p>
+
+<p>"They will shoot you, Jules, if you are so foolish," his mistress
+reminded him. His answer was a shrug of the shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"A man dies but once&mdash;that is to say, a good man, who has faith
+in God and does his duty."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Jules went back to take up his waiting duty.</p>
+
+<p>The Curé departed the way he had come, and Julie Ledru, with
+a feeling of strange calm upon her, hurried indoors to make her few
+simple preparations. <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Barbette'">Babette</ins>, the elderly servant, one of the best of
+the old Brabant type, was cool and ready for any emergency, and in
+an incredibly short time they had packed some food and a few necessaries
+in two considerable baskets. Then Mademoiselle Ledru essayed the
+task she dreaded&mdash;that of awaking her two young charges, and preparing
+them for the ordeal through which they had to pass.</p>
+
+<p>They were still asleep, in two beds side by side, in one of the
+pleasantest rooms of the Château. Rosalie Bentham, fair and rosy, like
+an English flower, her golden hair lying on her pillow like an aureole,
+and Biddy Connaught, the dark-eyed Irish girl, whose long black lashes
+swept her cheek, while her dimpled chin was in her open palm, as she
+smiled over some passing imagery of her dream. Something caught
+Julie Ledru's throat as she regarded these two pictures of innocence and
+beauty, and reflected on the greatness of her charge. Both were only
+children, entrusted to her care in the holidays, because their parents,
+both in the exercise of duty, could not take them home. But with a
+strong effort she controlled herself and awakened them gently. It was
+a process of some length, because the sleep of youth is sound and deep,
+but at last they were sitting up, drinking in her news.</p>
+
+<p>"We have to run away and hide in the crypt until the Germans
+have marched through the village. Do you hear, Biddy?" called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
+Rosalie, as she sprang from her bed and began to get into her clothes.
+"But how ripping! What lots we shall all have to write about and to
+tell them when we get home!"</p>
+
+<p>Julie Ledru faintly, tremulously, smiled, and with her own hands she
+assisted them to make a hasty toilet. Some coffee was ready for them
+downstairs, for Babette was a methodical person, not easily upset.
+Thus fortified, they left the Château presently, leaving Babette and
+Jules in charge. Babette made the same excuse&mdash;some one must stay
+to guard the place, and surely when they found nobody but two simple
+old servants they would pass on.</p>
+
+<p>Julie had no time to argue; perhaps even she did not fully realise
+the peril to which these two faithful souls thus willingly exposed themselves.
+She looked back on their serene faces as she passed through the
+gate, and it was the last time she was to look on them in life. She
+never saw them again, nor found them. They disappeared in the ruins
+of La Royat as many had disappeared in other ruins, leaving no trace
+behind. At the church, which was but a few paces off, they found the
+Curé busy arranging shelter. It was a very tiny village, and the number
+of those willing to accept the shelter he offered and, indeed, advised was
+comparatively few. For though a simple they were a brave people,
+nor could they conceive of a wickedness and barbarity that would seek
+to destroy innocent souls who had naught to do with war. So they
+went about their ordinary avocations as usual, a trifle more apprehensively
+perhaps, but none the less bravely, and the morning wore on.</p>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 207px;">
+<img src="images/i_160.png" width="207" height="300" alt="soldier looking at sign" />
+</div>
+<p>The Curé took his charges, about twenty souls in all, down the
+narrow stairs to the crypt, where he had already provided light and such
+small comforts as he could spare from his own store.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it ripping, Biddy?" asked Rosalie, but perhaps her young voice
+had lost a little of its gallant ring. But Biddy, who had the imaginative
+temperament of her race, shivered a little, and burst into tears. It was
+strange and ominous to come in out of the warm, hopeful sunshine to
+this place of tombs, an adventure with which the child could very well
+have dispensed. The church was very old, and many
+who had been born in Coutane had never seen the crypt.
+Its very existence was unknown to a large number,
+and the entrance to it was so cunningly arranged, and
+so difficult of access, that it was of all hiding-places in
+the village the most secure.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>Then there was always the belief, founded on all
+precedent of war, that the sacred things would be
+respected, and sanctuary in God's house left undesecrated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+The hours seemed long down there and the stillness profound.
+Not a sound from the upper air penetrated to that strange hiding-place.
+Though sure of their sanctuary, it seemed natural to lower their
+voices, to move softly, and even to watch apprehensively. Even the
+two girls, usually so high-spirited, found themselves naturally becoming
+quiet. It was only the very little children, of whom there were five,
+who, unconscious of danger, crowed and laughed and babbled in their
+usual glee. These little ones provided incessant interest and occupation
+for the two girls, and Julie Ledru smiled as she watched their pretty
+efforts to amuse and keep them quiet. She had brought her watch, and
+it pointed to nine o'clock at the moment when they heard a dull thud
+several times repeated, which caused them all to start and look at one
+another in quick alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the guns," said old Monsieur Rollin, whose legs were twisted
+with rheumatism, so that they had half-carried him down the steps of
+the crypt. "They have come, and are starting their fiendish work."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_161.png" width="500" height="349" alt="soldier on the road" />
+</div>
+
+<p>No one could gainsay him, and for the next half-hour they had to
+listen to a repetition of the same sound gradually getting nearer and
+nearer. Presently their terror was increased by the deafening roar of
+artillery much nearer and the sound of falling masonry, indicating that
+the church itself, cradle and sanctuary of the life of Coutane for
+centuries, had not been respected. The two English girls, now
+thoroughly frightened, clung together fearfully, and the whole little
+company, some of them on their knees, did not exchange a word. After
+a time the firing ceased, and they were left to absolute stillness. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+none of them moved, or offered to go up to discover what had
+actually happened in the village.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 189px;">
+<img src="images/i_162.png" width="189" height="275" alt="carrying a lantern" />
+</div>
+
+<p>After what seemed an interminable interval&mdash;in reality it
+was not more than a couple of hours from the moment the din
+ceased overhead&mdash;the door of the crypt was cautiously opened,
+and the Curé looked in. He was all dishevelled, his face blackened
+with smoke, and his whole appearance that of a man who had
+seen some terrible and haunting vision.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, there you are, my children," he cried as they crowded
+round him; "I think you may come up presently, but be prepared
+to have your hearts broken. A regiment of the enemy has
+passed through, and left nothing behind. Mademoiselle, the
+Château is in flames, and the beautiful spire of the church has been
+blown to pieces, and at the Mairie the devastation is complete. But,
+above all, we mourn the death of so many helpless people&mdash;I myself
+escaped by a miracle."</p>
+
+<p>"Have they gone?" asked Mademoiselle, with a shivering breath.</p>
+
+<p>"They have, and I think that they are pursued, and that this was
+the hurried work of destruction prompted by hatred and revenge.
+Will you come up now and see for yourselves, or remain here in safety
+through the night? Alas! you will find no other refuge, Mademoiselle,
+for your home is in ruins."</p>
+
+<p>Such fear was upon them that with one accord they determined
+to remain in the crypt until the dawn of another day.</p>
+
+<p>Even the natural gaiety and high spirits of youth were not proof
+against the terror which all felt might swoop down upon them again at
+any moment.</p>
+
+<p>They had arranged themselves as comfortably as possible to
+pass the night, when they were suddenly disturbed by the grating of
+a door and the swinging of a lantern. All scrambled to their feet,
+some of them shrieking and hiding their eyes, certain that there had been
+a fresh arrival of the invaders, and that instant death would meet them.</p>
+
+<p>But once more the Curé smiled upon them reassuringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, my children! Our trouble is for the moment at an end.
+Our own brave soldiers have arrived. It is as I said&mdash;they are in pursuit,
+but part of them will camp here to-night. Alas! we have little or no
+food to offer them, for the barbarians stripped the village of everything."</p>
+
+<p>Then Julie Ledru, hurriedly throwing on her cloak, said she would
+ascend with the Curé and give what stores she could from the Château.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is no more, my daughter. You have forgotten how I told
+you yesterday that they have burned it to the ground."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But my stores are hidden in the grotto in the garden, and there is
+a secret passage to it. I think, Father, they had not time, or did not
+take it, to explore, and we shall find things there. I have been putting
+them away since the war began."</p>
+
+<p>So in the pearly dawn, a strange sight was to be seen in the
+trampled, desecrated garden of the Château behind its smoking ruins.</p>
+
+<p>Led by Julie Ledru, the Commandant of the troops that had halted
+in the village found stores sufficient to help assuage the hunger of his
+men. He was profuse in his thanks.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do for you in exchange, Mademoiselle?" he asked, as he
+stood at the salute. Instantly Mademoiselle pointed to her charges,
+who, still shivering a little with fear, yet profoundly, poignantly
+interested in the extraordinary scene of desolation, in what but a few
+hours ago was one of the fairest spots in Belgium.</p>
+
+<p>"These are my English children. Get them to their parents,
+Monsieur le Capitaine, and I shall be amply repaid."</p>
+
+<p>The officer shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Easier said than done, Madame; but leave it, and I will see what can
+be done. How is it you have been so indiscreet as to remain here? You
+ought to have removed yourself, and them, while there was still time."</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"We imagined we were of no account, and we have had no news
+for several days. We were assured that the tide of battle had flowed in
+a different direction."</p>
+
+<p>"It is everywhere, Mademoiselle&mdash;an evil flood, rolling over the
+whole of our country. But, look you, I will see what can be done."</p>
+
+<p>He was as good as his word, and that evening after dark, in an
+armoured motor-car, Julie Ledru and her charges were driven for hours
+and miles by tortuous ways which kept them out of danger, until they
+reached Ghent, where it was still possible to get a train for Ostend.</p>
+
+<p>Two days later, she landed in England with Rose and Biddy, herself
+utterly ruined, her home gone, one of the most pitiful of the refugees.</p>
+
+<p>But she was welcomed warmly and gratefully by Biddy's father,
+and in a few days' time was safe in a warm, comfortable home on the
+Irish coast, where Rose, too, was made welcome, until her own relatives
+in India could be communicated with.</p>
+
+<p>It was an experience the two girls would never forget, one which
+will remain with them through life as a very poignant personal
+experience of the Great War.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i_163.png" width="400" height="197" alt="refugees walking along road" />
+</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_164.png" width="500" height="240" alt="Fleur-de-Lis title" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='copyright'><br /><i>Copyright in the U.S.A. by the Century Company.</i><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Fleur-de-lis</span> had been christened Marie Hortense Amélie Dupont:
+Marie for her mother, Hortense and Amélie in honour of the two
+Vicomtesses de Rastignac, sole survivors of the proud old Royalist
+family in whose service Marie's mother and grandmother had lived,
+and into whose service Marie herself had been born. But when <i>la
+petite</i> Marie Hortense Amélie was a mere blossom of babyhood she
+forsook the name that the priest had given her as he touched her
+downy head with the holy water, and chose instead to be called Fleur-de-lis&mdash;a
+name, in sooth, much better suited to a noble daughter of
+the Rastignacs than to a child of Marie Dupont, maker of tissue-paper
+flowers, and Pierre Dupont, street musician.</div>
+
+<p>Fleur-de-lis had first opened her eyes in a very humble chamber,
+but it was large enough to hold a deal of sweet content, which grew
+all the sweeter when she came to share it. There were only two rooms
+for father, mother, and child, and these were in a dreary tenement
+house, for Pierre Dupont, a stranger in a strange land, was having
+a desperate struggle with poverty. On being discharged from the
+hospital, where he had passed through the dangerous illness that left
+him a maimed and broken man, he had to begin the world all over
+again, and begin it single-handed, in very truth. There were few
+things to which he could turn his one hand; one of them was the
+crank of a street-piano, and in a modest example of that modern
+instrument of torture he accordingly invested the last of his savings.
+He was much too good for it, but by regarding it distinctly as a hated
+object which should be discarded the moment something better
+appeared, he mastered his aversion, and, by wheeling it through the
+streets from morning till night, he managed to live, for there were
+always people who wanted to hear it, and others who did not, so
+that between the two classes he scraped together enough for his
+frugal needs.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Marie was young and pretty and loyal, and when affairs were
+most desperate she offered to take the baby Fleur-de-lis and accompany
+her husband, gathering the pennies in a tambourine, while he ground
+so-called music from the piano with the left arm, that grew so weary
+in the monotonous service. But there was not a trace of the mountebank
+in Pierre Dupont, nor a drop of beggar's blood in his veins. He
+was poor and crippled, but he had still the self-respecting pride of
+the peasant whose people had served noble families, and who know
+what true nobility is. He could injure the dead-and-gone Rastignacs,
+if he must, by trundling about a second-hand street-piano, but he
+could at least spare them the insult of adding a monkey or a woman
+to the procession. So Maman Marie, loving him more than ever for
+his chivalrous regard of her, took up an almost forgotten pastime
+of her girlhood, and fell to making artificial flowers, which she sold
+to an old woman who stood on the street corners and offered them
+to the passers-by.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 397px;">
+<img src="images/i_157.jpg" width="397" height="600" alt="Fleur-de-Lis painting" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The two rooms in the tenement house were as neat as care and
+thrift could make them. The windows opened only into the court, it is
+true, but Pierre and Marie did not need to look out of doors to get
+a pleasant view, for they could look at each other, and at the baby;
+besides, the glass was spotlessly clean and hung with equally spotless
+curtains. The floors were uncarpeted, but there was never a speck of
+dust on them. The little kitchen where Marie worked had a not
+unappetising fragrance from the <i>pot-au-feu</i> that simmered on the stove;
+it had also a gleam of sunshine in it for a few hours each day. Sometimes
+when Pierre left his incubus for half an hour and ran home for a
+mouthful of bread and soup, he looked at Maman Marie sitting by her
+table in the sunshine, her scissors gleaming among the paper-flower
+petals, and at Fleur-de-lis, sitting at her feet playing with the rainbow-coloured
+scraps, and then he fell on his knees beside them, and, putting
+his arm about them both, forgot that it was the only one he had, forgot
+that he was poor and crippled, and that the future was all uncertain,
+remembering only that he had home and wife and child, and that life,
+with all its hardships, was inexpressibly dear to him. For it happens,
+sometimes, that a poet's soul is lodged in a very humble tenement, and
+a love that would do honour to a knight blossoms and flourishes in the
+midst of mean and pitiful surroundings.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 64px;">
+<img src="images/i_165a.png" width="64" height="100" alt="Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Fleur-de-lis's cradle had curtains made of a bit of tricolour, and
+from the centre of the canopy there hung a medal of the Virgin swinging
+on a narrow ribbon of blue. The cradle itself was a wooden box, and
+Marie, with a maternal ingenuity that surmounted the lack of ordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+materials, had lined the inside of the hood with tissue-paper flowers;
+white and blue fleurs-de-lis to match those on the faded satin coverlet, a
+fragment of ancient grandeur where the Rastignac coat-of-arms was
+intertwined with the Bourbon lilies of France. And when the baby's
+vagrant gaze wandered to the flowery heaven above her head, and her
+pink fingers reached to touch it and to stroke the soft counterpane,
+Maman Marie would tell her the name of the posies; and so after a
+time, when she discovered that people and things possessed names,
+Marie Hortense Amélie, Mademoiselle Bébé, elected to call herself
+Fleur-de-lis. It was the first word she lisped, and she attached it to
+herself with the utmost complacency. It was appropriate enough,
+for she looked as if she might have been originally intended for a
+flower, and then somehow a soul had strayed into the flower, and it
+had fluttered down to earth as a child&mdash;a curious blossom to come from
+lowly stock, a kind of tender and beautiful miracle wrought out of
+common clay by the fashioning and refining power of love. At times,
+when Marie sat at her work and looked at Fleur-de-lis cooing and
+smiling under her tri-coloured curtains, she forgot the strange land
+outside the windows, and the Babel of strange tongues in the crowded
+tenement, and as her deft, brown fingers shaped the tissue flowers, she
+saw in fancy the poppies and the wheat and the lilies of her native
+Breton fields. She saw the sun shining on the old château, her
+mother hanging a chaplet on the baron's tomb in the little oratory,
+the aged baroness walking sadly in the pleasance. All, all were gone.
+The château was dismantled. The proud old family, rooted for
+centuries to the soil of Brittany, had gradually lost its land and its
+riches, till now there was only one frail old dame, poor and childless,
+to maintain the ancient title. All these memories, half sad, half
+sweet, flitted in and out of Marie's mind as she snipped and trimmed
+and twisted and shaped, her head on one side to view the result,
+like a little brown pheasant regarding a berry; and if Fleur-de-lis
+slept, she hummed a Breton lullaby as she twined her paper nosegays.
+What wonder, then, that there was a French air about them that
+attracted purchasers?</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;">
+<img src="images/i_166.png" width="381" height="100" alt="Three Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>So "hope clad in April green" made life worth living for father
+and mother; and, as for Fleur-de-lis, she was a child; and she had love,
+and that was enough, and it is sad when we grow so old that it does
+not suffice for us. But these days, so full of care and anxiety, of
+weariness and self-denial tinged with happiness, came to an end; for
+when Fleur-de-lis was two years old, Maman Marie, young and strong,
+passionately in love with life, desperately needed by husband and child,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+had to leave them, to journey on alone to another far country, having
+just grown wonted to this.</p>
+
+<p>Then the light went out of the two little rooms that had been
+home; indeed, it seemed to go out of the world altogether. Hard
+times and yet harder ones descended upon poor Pierre Dupont.
+Marie's earnings no longer helped to swell the slender income, and
+there were no willing woman's hands to cut and plan and save, to
+contrive and embellish. Added to this, the piano suddenly grew
+uncertain, and subject to grave musical lapses, attacks of aphasia in the
+middle of some tunes, and of asthma in the middle of others; so that
+the hoot of the stony-hearted bystander and the ruffianly small boy
+became familiar to Pierre's ears; for he could not afford to buy new
+cylinders to fit into the old instrument, and to keep it up to the
+demands of the street, which is always delighted if you "cannot sing
+the old songs," and wishes the latest melody to the exclusion of
+everything else.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 252px;">
+<img src="images/i_165b.png" width="252" height="100" alt="Two" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Fleur-de-lis had been left in the care of a woman for many weeks
+after Marie's death, but the sight of her tear-stained face at night,
+the tender frenzy with which she lifted her arms to her father when he
+came in, the sob of joy with which she buried her head in his coat, the
+sigh of content with which she stroked his cheek between every
+mouthful of bread and milk as she sat on his knee eating her meagre
+supper&mdash;all this was too much for his loving heart. He had a small
+sum of money that he had been hoarding to attach "Annie Rooney"
+and "Comrades" to his unfashionable instrument, that he might
+appease the public by the gratification of its darling wishes, and withdraw
+the Boulanger march from its sated ears. This money he took
+and went to a carpenter's shop in the neighbourhood. After many
+explanations in his broken English, and many diagrams rudely drawn
+on paper, the carpenter succeeded in building a primitive sort of baby-carriage
+on one end of the street-piano. It had two wheels of its own,
+and moved somewhat in harmony with the ancient instrument, which
+had its difficulties of locomotion nowadays, as well as its musical
+weaknesses. It had a drawer in which Fleur-de-lis's playthings were
+kept&mdash;a battered doll, and boxes of her favourite scraps of bright
+tissue-paper, the top of an old cotton umbrella, and a square of rubber
+cloth like that which covered the piano when it rained. Here Fleur-de-lis
+sat for many hours each day, happy and content. Pierre would
+often take her out, and let her toddle by his side until she was tired,
+when she would ascend her throne again. She wore a faded corduroy
+jacket and an old woollen cap, but the flower-face that smiled above the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+one, and the shower of chestnut hair that fell from beneath the other,
+made you forget the poverty of her raiment. She was always clean and
+sweet and comfortable, for Pierre, with the gentleness and patience of
+a woman, washed and even mended, in a rough sort of a way, that the
+child might not wholly miss a mother's care.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 83px;">
+<img src="images/i_168.png" width="83" height="400" alt="Two Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Matters were going on in this way, rather from bad to worse,
+when one November day father and child turned off a side-street, and
+trundled into one of the fashionable avenues of the city. Pierre did
+not often wheel his piano in front of brown-stone houses; it was too
+old and wheezy to commend itself to localities accustomed to Seidl's
+orchestra and the Hungarian band; but he scarcely knew to-day
+whither his aimless feet were carrying him. For two weeks he had
+gone out in the early morning and evening, leaving Fleur-de-lis asleep,
+and had spent an hour or two in a vain quest for employment. But
+his speech was broken, and he had only one arm&mdash;small wonder that
+he failed when hundreds of men with two arms and nimbler tongues
+were seeking the same thing and failing. People generally told him
+that he ought to have stayed at home in his own country, where he
+belonged; but that, as he had not done that, his next best plan was to
+get back there at the earliest possible moment. If they had had time
+to hear his justification for cumbering the earth of this free country,
+he might have told them that he left France a strong young man, with
+a strong young wife, and nearly fifteen hundred francs for the inevitable
+rainy day; but that the rainy day had turned out to be a continual
+downpour. He was wondering in a dull, vague sort of way, as they
+rattled along over the cobblestones, why there was not bread for the
+mouths that needed it. He wondered why, through no fault of his
+own, he should have been maimed and crippled, why the loss of wife
+should have followed the loss of limb, why there was not enough
+work in the world for the people who were willing to do it, why
+the children in the luxurious carriages that swept past him should
+be swathed in furs while Fleur-de-lis's hands were blue in her ragged
+mittens.</p>
+
+<p>The universe was a mystery to Pierre Dupont. Search it as he
+might, he could find no key to its curious distribution of miseries and
+injustices. It seemed to him that, if some people would be content to
+take a little less, there might be a little more for him; but he was by
+no means certain of the soundness of this comfortable theory. A little
+less gold plate on that harness, for instance, a yard less of lace on the
+gown of that lady just stepping into her brougham, a single diamond
+from her marquise ring&mdash;no, that superficial and snarling philosophy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+did not help Pierre; there was neither envy nor rage in his heart as yet;
+only a dull despair, a groping in the dark for a reason. Many of these
+fortunate people, he supposed, deserved their fortunes, and had earned
+them. They were cleverer than he, and had friends and opportunities
+not vouchsafed, perhaps, to him. But why, since he was not clever,
+and since he had neither friends nor opportunities, should he have been
+deprived first of his principal means of self-support, and then of his
+consolation, his courage, his other and braver self?</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 83px;">
+<img src="images/i_168.png" width="83" height="400" alt="Two Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>And now it was the anniversary of Marie's death. That made the
+day even harder to bear; for in some subtle way the remembrance of
+certain hours or moments in a dear dead past is always more bitter
+when we say to ourselves with a sigh, "It was just a year ago." Nature
+was in no buoyant mood. A cold, drizzling rain, which ought to have
+been snow, fell from time to time. The chill dampness made people
+draw their wraps closer, and look drearily at the sky. Even the
+children appeared less joyous than usual. Men turned up the bottoms
+of their trousers and the collars of their coats, and hurried past one
+another with a gruff nod that would have been a smile on a sunny day.
+The bare branches of the trees shivered in the wind, and a few snowbirds
+huddled themselves together cheerlessly here and there, as if even
+they wished themselves farther south.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre took out the rubber-cloth to cover his piano, and as he did
+so he saw two children at the second story of a fine house near by. He
+expected to be ordered away by a butler in livery at the moment he
+disclosed the limitations of his musical instrument, but one could never
+tell, the butler might be wooing the parlour-maid, so he drew up in front
+of the drive-way. Fleur-de-lis had just walked several blocks, and, on
+being lifted into her carriage, hoisted the dilapidated cotton umbrella
+and wrapped her doll in an extra bit of calico. Pierre turned the
+crank; the piano began on "Love's Young Dream." It seemed to him
+that, with every revolution of the handle, he twisted the chords of his
+aching heart, and that presently it would break, as the battered old
+cylinders threatened to do, and for the same reason; because, alas! too
+many tunes had been played upon them. When ill-fortune descends
+too thick and fast upon the human spirit, unless it can draw fresh
+accessions of strength from within, from without, from above, it sinks
+inevitably into despair. Man may be conscious that he is made in the
+image of God, fitted to endure, to conquer, all things, but for the time
+he is common human clay, he faints and dies, or falls into a cowardly
+lethargy that is worse than death. Such a moment had come to
+Pierre Dupont. In his first crushing blow he had had a wife to stand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+shoulder to shoulder with him. He had now his passionate devotion
+to his child; but in cold and weariness, in hunger and friendlessness, ill-fortune
+and despair, would love be able to keep itself pure, noble, self-denying,
+hopeful? There were ways of forgetting, of dulling one's self,
+of blotting out memory for hours together.</p>
+
+<p>His wants were comparatively simple; but, since he could not
+realise them, why not give up the struggle? He did not wish for
+a carriage or a palace; he wished to give up his vagrant life for some
+labour by which he could maintain himself and give his child a start
+towards honest womanhood. That was not extravagant, surely, and if
+God were indeed in His heaven, and all were indeed right with the
+world, it seemed to Pierre that it was none too much to ask.</p>
+
+<p>He finished "Love's Young Dream," and began the "Boulanger
+March." A young girl of eighteen or nineteen, with an open book in
+her hand, joined the children at the window. She had a beautiful,
+rather serious face, and it brightened into amusement, and then into
+earnestness, as she caught sight of the quaint vehicle, of the child under
+the faded umbrella, and of the empty sleeve of the musician. Pierre
+ground on mechanically; it was "I dreamt that I dwelt in Marble
+Halls" now, and he hoped that a dime would be flung from the window
+before he came to "Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town," for that was
+the weakest part of his repertoire. The group still stayed at the
+window, and the crisis could not be delayed. The piano jerked through
+several bars, stopped and repeated, wheezed and returned to the
+"Boulanger March," then bounded again to "Edinboro' Town," and,
+after several ineffectual attempts to finish it, made an asthmatic dash
+into "No One to Love." Pierre looked anxiously under the <i>porte-cochère</i>
+for the resentful butler; but the children shrieked with renewed
+delight, and the young girl, going away from the window, presently
+appeared, running down the drive-way, and slipping on her jacket as
+she came. She approached the edge of the side-walk, for there was no
+group about the piano, and, after a brief interview with Pierre, she left
+a piece of silver with him, and went upstairs to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>Janet Gordon was a great anxiety to her family. She was possessed
+of the most extraordinary ideas, and no one could tell whence
+they came, unless she became infected by them in some mysterious
+fashion, as one is by microbes; at all events, she had never inherited
+them in the legitimate way. At present, it is true, she had not been
+introduced to society, but unless a great change of heart should make
+itself apparent in a few months, she threatened to be no ornament to
+her set, and no source of pride to an ambitious mother.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 64px;">
+<img src="images/i_165a.png" width="64" height="100" alt="Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Please look out of the window, mama," she said, bringing a breath
+of raw air into her mother's flower-scented sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Gordon rose languidly, her tea-gown trailing behind her.
+"What is it? Anything more than an organ-grinder who has been
+rasping my nerves for five minutes? Oh, I see what you mean;
+what an extraordinary combination&mdash;a child in one end of the
+machine! Tell Héloise to give the man a dime, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"I have given him a quarter myself, and have had a little talk
+with him; he is quite different from the ordinary organ-grinder,
+mama."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Gordon good-naturedly; "all your
+geese are swans, dear; a dime was quite enough for him."</p>
+
+<p>"But he has only one arm, you see, mama."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, they never have; that is one of the tricks of the
+trade. They bind one arm down to the side, and then slip the coat
+over it. If you notice the man to-morrow he will have the left sleeve
+hanging empty, and be playing with the right arm&mdash;it is more
+effective."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure there is no deception in this case, mama."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, have it your own way, child; but pray don't take off his
+coat to investigate, or you'll be catching some dreadful disease. It
+does seem strange that poor people should always be so odiously dirty,
+when water costs nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"This man is as clean as possible, and so is the baby. Her name
+is Fleur-de-lis; is it not quaint?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just what I should expect; the dirtier and commoner they are,
+the more regal and fanciful are the names they give their children. I
+suppose your Fleur-de-lis is redolent of garlic, like the Pansies and
+Violets of her class."</p>
+
+<p>"No, she is not. She is as sweet as a rose; but her face is almost
+blue with cold."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course; what can the man expect if he trundles her about in
+this weather? But I suppose he does it to enlist public sympathy. I
+wonder why foreigners choose this particularly obnoxious way of getting
+a living; and, if they must do it, why they go about with a decrepit old
+instrument like that."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 252px;">
+<img src="images/i_165b.png" width="252" height="100" alt="Two Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Yes, his piano is very old, but he cannot afford to rent a better
+one just at present. He said, in his broken English, 'I had not the
+"Marche Boulanger," neither "Comrades," ma'mselle; it was then I
+had what you call bad luck, and now, <i>mon Dieu!</i> it is that I have not
+"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay."' And, as for the child, he does not allow her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+to take the money. I was dropping the quarter into her hand, when he
+touched his cap, and said, '<i>Pardon</i>, give it to me, ma'mselle, <i>s'il vous
+plaît</i>. You see, if ze monees keep putting in her hand she will grow up
+one leetle beggair; she does not make ze muzeek, she does not push ze
+piano&mdash;<i>bien</i>, she s'all not take zee monees."</p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinary!" murmured Mrs. Gordon satirically, as she fitted
+the cushions to her back more luxuriously; "you must repeat that
+speech to your father. I actually believe that a new order of philosophic
+mendicant is springing up to match the new charity. The new charity
+does not wish to pauperise poverty, and the new poverty does not wish
+to be pauperised; it is really very amusing."</p>
+
+<p>"He is forced to take the child with him, because she has no mother,"
+explained Janet.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course she has no mother; they make it a point to have no
+mother, or, if they have, they say they never knew who she was nor
+where she is."</p>
+
+<p>"They know where this mother is," said Janet gravely, "for she
+died a year ago to-day."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;">
+<img src="images/i_166.png" width="381" height="100" alt="Three Fleur-de-lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Really, Janet, you exasperate me beyond measure, talking with
+these low people, and allowing them to fill your mind with their falsehoods.
+What is it you wish to do? You have given the man a quarter
+already; that will quench his thirst for the present&mdash;Héloise, don't take
+Fifine out without her blanket; she has been shivering on the rug before
+the fire. Go back to your books, Janet. There will always be poor
+organ-grinders, and most of them will have lost some of their arms or
+legs, and all of them will have motherless, or worse than motherless,
+children. It's the way of the world, and if you had the wealth of the
+Indies you could never set things right&mdash;and, Héloise, come back a
+moment; tell Madame Labiche that all three gowns must be sent home
+to-morrow; and that I shall give her no more orders if she copies any
+detail of my costumes for her other customers; and don't forget the
+American Beauties, two dozen, the longest stems, and give that piano-child
+at the gate ten cents more as you pass&mdash;I know it is not right,
+Janet, but you are so insistent. The societies tell you never to bestow
+alms without first looking into the case and finding whether it is really
+deserving; but I am too weakly benevolent, and too lazy, besides, ever
+to restrain&mdash;Janet, are you mad? Close that window at once!" And
+Mrs. Gordon almost shrieked as she held down her frizzes with both
+hands to shield them from the raw wind that rushed in from outside.
+She would not have spoken so peremptorily had it not been for the
+effect of the damp air on her coiffure. When her front <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'air'">hair</ins> was crimped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+and protected from the assaults of the atmosphere she was an amiable
+woman and could discuss any subject with calmness; but, deprive her of
+twenty little gold-wire hair-pins daintily darned into her auburn frizzes,
+and the invisible hair-net that Héloise pinned on with such nicety, and
+she would not have listened to any argument in the world, even if it
+concerned the salvation of her own soul.</p>
+
+<p>"I was only going to speak a word to the man, mama," said Janet
+apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you've been reading Tolstoi," returned her mother, going
+to a mirror to repair damages. "Heavens! what a fright you've made
+me! I wish those Russians would keep their universal brotherhood
+ideas, and their cholera germs, at home."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear mama, I scarcely know who Tolstoi is, except that he wrote
+a novel about Anna somebody that you will not let me read. I do not
+know what Tolstoi thinks about the wrong in the world, or how he
+means to right it. I am not as sentimental as you and papa seem to
+fancy. I am not certain that I ought to wrap that cold little child in
+my new seal jacket, and run bare-headed by the side of the organ
+collecting pennies for the poor one-armed man. I know that if I
+should go down into the slums I should find a thousand others, and
+that if I worked from year's end to year's end, and spent papa's entire
+fortune, I could not make them all comfortable. But don't you believe,
+mama, when, once in a while, need, poverty, and sorrow seem to
+come directly in contact with plenty and riches and happiness, that
+it means something, and that we ought to stop and think out something
+special?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm sure I don't know, child; you confuse me so with your
+persistence, and I can't think of anything while he sticks fast in the
+middle of 'Edinboro' Town.' Give him half a dollar, if you like&mdash;anything
+to get rid of him, though he succeeds wonderfully in amusing
+the children."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to give him any more money, mama," said Janet,
+with a sigh. "I only feel as if I must not lose sight of the child&mdash;there
+they are going!"</p>
+
+<p>Pierre covered his piano, pinned the rubber-cloth more tightly
+round Fleur-de-lis's throat, and was preparing to move off in the
+direction of home, when Janet darted into the nursery, and, flinging
+open the window in front of the children, called impetuously in her
+clear young voice; "Bon soir, Fleur-de-lis! Bon soir, monsieur!
+Revenez bientôt, je vous prie!"</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;">
+<img src="images/i_166.png" width="381" height="100" alt="three Fleur-de-Lis" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Pierre's face lighted with surprise and pleasure, and, as he took off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+his cap he stammered excitedly, "Dis bon soir, bébé! Je vous remercis
+mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai!"</p>
+
+<p>He wheeled his piano to the shed where he kept it under cover at
+night, and carried Fleur-de-lis home on his arm. After he had
+undressed her and laid her in her crib, he took a crucifix from a drawer
+where, in a moment of bitterness, he had hidden it the day before, and,
+kissing it, restored it to its accustomed place above the head of his bed.</p>
+
+<p>And the anniversary of Marie's death did not go out in utter blackness
+after all; nor was it entirely because of the two pieces of silver that
+had unexpectedly swelled the day's receipts. He had felt the magic of
+a friendly voice; the beautiful little lady had spoken to him in his
+native tongue; she had drawn a fragment of his story from him, and
+thus relieved the weight at his heart; she had smiled on the child, and
+kissed her; she had asked him to come again. And as he fell asleep
+he whispered, "Merci, mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai."</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i_174.png" width="500" height="400" alt="Talking to man on street" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'><span class='small'><i>Published by Hodder &amp; Stoughton, St. Paul's House, Warwick Square, London, B.C., and printed in Great Britain by
+Hazell, Watson &amp; Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. Ten Colour Plates engraved and printed by Henry Stone &amp; Son, Ld.,
+Banbury and London, and four by the Bushey Colour Press.</i></span></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>
+
+<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Some of the images of the paintings were moved
+from their original locations in the text to positions where the actual stories occur.
+Below is a list of the pages that the paintings originally followed:</p>
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="original painting locations">
+<tr><td align="left">Charlie the Cox</td><td align="left">page 12</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Ant Lion</td><td align="left">page 44</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">A Spell for a Fairy&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td align="left">page 92</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">Fleur-de-Lis</td><td align="left">page 124</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<p>Page 56, "abear" changed to "bear" (I can't bear)</p>
+
+<p>Page 125, "their" changed to "there" (there is only our)</p>
+
+<p>Page 125, "Barbette" changed to "Babette" (Babette, the elderly)</p>
+
+<p>Page 138, "air" changed to "hair" (her front hair was)</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Princess Mary's Gift Book
+       All profits on sale given to the Queen's "Work for Women"
+       Fund which is acting in Conjunction with The National
+       Relief Fund
+
+Author: Various
+
+Illustrator: Various
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39592]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCESS MARY'S GIFT BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _Painted for Princess Mary's Gift Book by J. J. Shannon,
+R.A._
+
+                                                               Mary.]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BUCKINGHAM PALACE
+
+
+_I desire to express my very best thanks to the Authors and Artists who
+have so generously contributed to my Gift Book._
+
+                                                      Mary.
+
+
+
+
+PRINCESS MARY'S GIFT BOOK
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    All profits from sale are given to
+    THE QUEEN'S "WORK FOR
+    WOMEN" FUND
+    which is acting in conjunction with
+    The National Relief Fund
+
+    HODDER & STOUGHTON
+    LONDON . NEW YORK . TORONTO
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CONTENTS]
+
+
+  H.R.H. PRINCESS MARY      _Frontispiece_
+  _Painting by_ J. J. SHANNON, R.A.
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  A HOLIDAY IN BED                                 _J. M. Barrie_    1
+    Author of "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens."
+    _Painting by_ W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., _and
+    Drawings by_ C. E. BROCK
+
+  THE SPY                                      _G. A. Birmingham_    9
+    _Drawings by_ H. R. MILLAR      Author of "General John Regan."
+
+  CHARLIE THE COX                                    _Hall Caine_   17
+    _Painting by_ CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A., _and_ Author of
+        "The Manxman."
+    _Drawings by_ ARCH WEBB
+
+  CANADA'S WORD                                    _Ralph Connor_   22
+  _Drawings by_ A. J. GOUGH           Author of "The Sky Pilot."
+
+  BIMBASHI JOYCE                                _A. Conan Doyle_    23
+  Author of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.
+
+  THE ANT-LION                                      _J. H. Fabre_   31
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ E. J. DETMOLD
+        ("The Insects' Homer").
+
+  AN ANGEL OF GOD                     _Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler_   35
+  _Drawings by_ STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.       Author of "Concerning
+        Isabel Carnaby."
+
+  A MODEL SOLDIER                               _Charles Garvice_   43
+  _Drawings by_ J. H. HARTLEY          Author of "Nance."
+
+  THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND                     _Lady Sybil Grant_   57
+  Author of "The Chequer Board."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.
+
+  MAGEPA THE BUCK                              _H. Rider Haggard_   63
+  _Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.           Author of "She."
+
+  TRUE SPARTAN HEARTS                         _Beatrice Harraden_   75
+  Author of "Ships that Pass in the Night."
+  _Painting and Decorations by_ EDMUND DULAC
+
+  BIG STEAMERS                                  _Rudyard Kipling_   79
+  Author of "The Jungle Book."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.
+
+  A TRUE STORY FROM CAMP                   _The Bishop of London_   81
+  _Drawings by_ JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.
+
+  THE EBONY BOX                                  _A. E. W. Mason_   83
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.      Author of
+        "The Turnstile."
+
+  A SPELL FOR A FAIRY                              _Alfred Noyes_  101
+  Author of "A Tale of Old Japan."
+  _Painting and Drawings by_ CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A.R.W.S.
+
+  OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH: A PIMPERNEL
+  STORY                                          _Baroness Orczy_  105
+  _Painting by_ A. C. MICHAEL _and_      Author of "The Scarlet
+        Pimpernel."
+  _Drawings by_ H. M. BROCK, R.I.
+
+  WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?                       _John Oxenham_  112
+  _Painting by_ EUGENE HASTAIN _and_      Author of "Barbe of
+        Grand Bayou."
+  _Drawings by_ GORDON BROWNE, R.I.
+
+  ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT                            _W. Pett Ridge_  115
+  _Painting by_ M. E. GRAY _and_     Author of "Mord Em'ly."
+  _Drawings by_ LEWIS BAUMER
+
+  THE ESCAPE                                      _Annie S. Swan_  123
+  _Drawings by_ HAROLD EARNSHAW        Author of "Mary Garth."
+
+  FLEUR-DE-LIS                              _Kate Douglas Wiggin_  130
+  Author of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm."
+  _Painting by_ CARLTON A. SMITH, R.I., _and_
+  _Drawings by_ EDMUND J. SULLIVAN, A.R.W.S.
+
+      SPARTAN HEARTS, by Beatrice Harraden, was first
+      published in a volume entitled "Untold Tales of the
+      Past"; BIG STEAMERS, by Rudyard Kipling, in "A History
+      of England," by C. R. L. Fletcher and Rudyard Kipling;
+      BIMBASHI JOYCE, by Arthur Conan Doyle, in "The Green
+      Flag, and other Stories"; and we have to thank Messrs.
+      William Blackwood & Sons, The Oxford University Press,
+      and Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for permission to
+      include these contributions in Princess Mary's Gift
+      Book.
+
+      With these exceptions the poems and stories in this
+      book have not previously been issued in volume form.
+      The illustrations have all been specially painted and
+      drawn, and an exhibition of the work of the artists
+      who have thus contributed to Princess Mary's Gift Book
+      will be held at the Leicester Galleries, Leicester
+      Square, W.C., and the originals sold in aid of the
+      Queen's "Work for Women" Fund.
+
+
+
+
+A Holiday in Bed by J.M. Barrie
+
+[Illustration: _Painting by_ W. RUSSELL FLINT, A.R.W.S., _and Drawings
+by_ C. E. BROCK]
+
+
+PEOPLE have tried a holiday in bed before now, and found it a failure,
+but that was because they were ignorant of the rules. They went to bed
+with the open intention of staying there, say, three days, and found to
+their surprise that each morning they wanted to get up. This was a novel
+experience to them; they flung about restlessly, and probably shortened
+their holiday. The proper thing is to take your holiday in bed with a
+vague intention of getting up in another quarter of an hour. The real
+pleasure of lying in bed after you are awake is largely due to the
+feeling that you ought to get up. To take another quarter of an hour
+then becomes a luxury. You are, in short, in the position of the man who
+dined on larks. Had he seen the hundreds that were ready for him, all
+set out on one monster dish, they would have alarmed him; but getting
+them two at a time, he went on eating till all the larks were gone. His
+feeling of uncertainty as to whether these might not be his last two
+larks is your feeling that, perhaps, you will have to get up in a
+quarter of an hour. Deceive yourself in this way, and your holiday in
+bed will pass only too quickly.
+
+Sympathy is what all the world is craving for, and sympathy is what the
+ordinary holiday-maker never gets. How can we be expected to sympathise
+with you when we know you are off to Perthshire to fish? No; we say we
+wish we were you, and forget that your holiday is sure to be a hollow
+mockery; that your child will jam her finger in the railway carriage,
+and scream to the end of the journey; that you will lose your luggage;
+that the guard will notice your dog beneath the seat, and insist on its
+being paid for; that you will be caught in a Scotch mist on the top of a
+mountain, and be put on gruel for a fortnight; that your wife will fret
+herself into a fever about the way the servant, who has been left at
+home, is treating her cousins, the milkman, and the policeman; and that
+you will be had up for trespassing. Yet, when you tell us you are off
+to-morrow, we have never the sympathy to say, "Poor fellow, I hope
+you'll pull through somehow." If it is an exhibition you go to gaze at,
+we never picture you dragging your weary legs from one department to
+another, and wondering why your back aches. Should it be the seaside, we
+talk heartlessly to you about the "briny," though we must know, if we
+would stop to think, that if there is one holiday more miserable than
+all the others, it is that spent at the seaside, when you wander along
+the weary beach and fling pebbles at the sea, and wonder how long it
+will be till dinner-time. Were we to come down to see you, we should
+probably find you, not on the beach, but moving slowly through the
+village, looking in at the one milliner's window, or laboriously reading
+what the one grocer's labels say on the subject of pale ale, compressed
+beef, or vinegar. There was never an object that called aloud for
+sympathy more than you do, but you get not a jot of it. You should take
+the first train home and go to bed for three days.
+
+To enjoy your holiday in bed to the full, you should let it be vaguely
+understood that there is something amiss with you. Don't go into
+details, for they are not necessary; and, besides, you want to be dreamy
+more or less, and the dreamy state is not consistent with a definite
+ailment. The moment one takes to bed he gets sympathy. He may be
+suffering from a tearing headache or a tooth that makes him cry out; but
+if he goes about his business, or even flops in a chair, true sympathy
+is denied him. Let him take to bed with one of those illnesses of which
+he can say with accuracy that he is not quite certain what is the matter
+with him, and his wife, for instance, will want to bathe his brow. She
+must not be made too anxious. That would not only be cruel to her, but
+it would wake you from the dreamy state. She must simply see that you
+are "not yourself." Women have an idea that unless men are "not
+themselves" they will not take to bed, and as a consequence your wife is
+tenderly thoughtful of you. Every little while she will ask you if you
+are feeling any better now, and you can reply, with the old regard for
+truth, that you are "much about it." You may even (for your own
+pleasure) talk of getting up now, when she will earnestly urge you to
+stay in bed until you feel easier. You consent; indeed, you are ready to
+do anything to please her.
+
+[Illustration: And wonder how long it will be till dinner-time]
+
+The ideal holiday in bed does not require the presence of a ministering
+angel in the room all day. You frequently prefer to be alone, and point
+out to her that you cannot have her trifling with her health for your
+sake, and so she must go out for a walk. She is reluctant, but finally
+goes, protesting that you are the most unselfish of men, and only too
+good for her. This leaves a pleasant aroma behind it, for even when
+lying in bed, we like to feel that we are uncommonly fine fellows. After
+she has gone you get up cautiously, and, walking stealthily to the
+wardrobe, produce from the pocket of your greatcoat a good novel. A
+holiday in bed must be arranged for beforehand. With a gleam in your eye
+you slip back to bed, double your pillow to make it higher, and begin to
+read. You have only got to the fourth page, when you make a horrible
+discovery--namely, that the book is not cut. An experienced
+holiday-maker would have had it cut the night before, but this is your
+first real holiday, or perhaps you have been thoughtless. In any case
+you have now matter to think of. You are torn in two different ways.
+There is your coat on the floor with a knife in it, but you cannot reach
+the coat without getting up again. Ought you to get the knife or to give
+up reading? Perhaps it takes a quarter of an hour to decide this
+question, and you decide it by discovering a third course. Being a sort
+of an invalid, you have certain privileges which would be denied you if
+you were merely sitting in a chair in the agonies of neuralgia. One of
+the glorious privileges of a holiday in bed is that you are entitled to
+cut books with your fingers. So you cut the novel in this way, and read
+on.
+
+[Illustration: You are in the middle of a chapter--]
+
+Those who have never tried it may fancy that there is a lack of incident
+in a holiday in bed. There could not be a more monstrous mistake. You
+are in the middle of a chapter, when suddenly you hear a step upon the
+stairs. Your loving ears tell you that the ministering angel has
+returned, and is hastening to you. Now, what happens? The book
+disappears beneath the pillow, and when she enters the room softly you
+are lying there with your eyes shut. This is not merely incident; it is
+drama.
+
+What happens next depends on circumstances. She says, in a low voice:
+
+"Are you feeling any easier now, John?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Oh, I believe he is sleeping."
+
+Then she steals from the room, and you begin to read again.
+
+[Illustration: A Holiday in Bed
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Russell Flint, A.R.W.S._]
+
+[Illustration: --Suddenly you hear a step]
+
+During a holiday in bed one never thinks, of course, of analysing his
+actions. If you had done so in this instance, you would have seen that
+you pretended sleep because you had got to an exciting passage. You love
+your wife, but, wife or no wife, you must see how the passage ends.
+
+Possibly the little scene plays differently, as thus:
+
+"John, are you feeling any easier now?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Are you asleep?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"What a pity! I don't want to waken him, and yet the fowl will be
+spoilt."
+
+"Is that you back, Marion?"
+
+"Yes, dear; I thought you were asleep."
+
+"No, only thinking."
+
+"You think too much, dear. I have cooked a chicken for you."
+
+"I have no appetite."
+
+"I'm so sorry, but I can give it to the children."
+
+"Oh, as it's cooked, you may as well bring it up."
+
+[Illustration: You are lying there with your eyes shut]
+
+In that case the reason of your change of action is obvious. But why do
+you not let your wife know that you have been reading? This is another
+matter that you never reason about. Perhaps it is because of your
+craving for sympathy, and you fear that if you were seen enjoying a
+novel the sympathy would go. Or perhaps it is that a holiday in bed is
+never perfect without a secret. Monotony must be guarded against, and so
+long as you keep the book to yourself your holiday in bed is a healthy
+excitement. A stolen book (as we may call it) is like stolen fruit,
+sweeter than what you can devour openly. The boy enjoys his stolen apple
+because at any moment he may have to slip it down the leg of his
+trousers and pretend that he has merely climbed the tree to enjoy the
+scenery. You enjoy your book doubly because you feel that it is a
+forbidden pleasure. Or do you conceal your book from your wife lest she
+should think you are over-exerting yourself? She must not be made
+anxious on your account? Ah, that is it.
+
+People who pretend (for it must be pretence) that they enjoy their
+holiday in the country, explain that the hills or the sea give them such
+an appetite. I could never myself feel the delight of being able to
+manage an extra herring for breakfast, but it should be pointed out that
+neither mountains nor oceans give you such an appetite as a holiday in
+bed. What makes people eat more anywhere is that they have nothing else
+to do, and in bed you have lots of time for meals. As for the quality of
+the food supplied, there is no comparison. In the highlands it is ham
+and eggs all day till you sicken. At the seaside it is fish till the
+bones stick in your mouth. But in bed--oh, there you get something worth
+eating. You don't take three big meals a day, but twelve little ones,
+and each time it is something different from the last. There are
+delicacies for breakfast, for your four luncheons and your five dinners.
+You explain to your wife that you have lost your appetite, and she
+believes you, but at the same time she has the sense to hurry on your
+dinner. At the clatter of dishes (for which you have been lying
+listening) you raise your poor head, and say faintly:
+
+"Really, Marion, I can't touch food."
+
+"But this is nothing," she says, "only the wing of a partridge."
+
+You take a side glance at it, and see that there is also the other wing
+and the body and two legs. Your alarm thus dispelled, you say:
+
+"I really can't."
+
+"But, dear, it is so beautifully cooked."
+
+"Yes, but I have no appetite."
+
+"But try to take it, John, for my sake."
+
+Then for her sake you say she can leave it on the chair, and perhaps you
+will just taste it. As soon as she has gone you devour that partridge,
+and when she comes back she has the sense to say:
+
+"Why, you have scarcely eaten anything. What could you take for supper?"
+
+You say you can take nothing, but if she likes she can cook a large
+sole, only you won't be able to touch it.
+
+[Illustration: "But try to take it, John, for my sake"]
+
+"Poor dear," she says, "your appetite has completely gone," and then she
+rushes to the kitchen to cook the sole with her own hands. In half an
+hour she steals into your room with it, and then you (who have been
+wondering why she is so long) start up protesting:
+
+"I hope, Marion, this is nothing for me."
+
+"Only the least bit of a sole, dear."
+
+"But I told you I could eat nothing."
+
+"Well, this is nothing, it is so small."
+
+You look again, and see with relief that it is a large sole.
+
+"I would much rather that you took it away."
+
+"But, dear----"
+
+"I tell you I have no appetite."
+
+"Of course I know that; but how can you hope to preserve your strength
+if you eat so little? You have had nothing all day."
+
+You glance at her face to see if she is in earnest, for you can remember
+three breakfasts, four luncheons and two dinners; but evidently she is
+not jesting. Then you yield.
+
+"Oh, well, to keep my health up I may just put a fork into it."
+
+"Do, dear; it will do you good, though you have no caring for it."
+
+Take a holiday in bed, if only to discover what an angel your wife is.
+
+[Illustration: The chances are that he won't understand your case]
+
+There is one thing to guard against. Never call it a holiday. Continue
+not to feel sure what is wrong with you, and to talk vaguely of getting
+up presently. Your wife will suggest calling in the doctor, but
+pooh-pooh him. Be firm on that point. The chances are that he won't
+understand your case.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE SPY
+
+BY G. A. BIRMINGHAM
+
+_Drawings by_ H. R. MILLAR
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by G. A. Birmingham_
+
+
+OUR village used to be one of the quietest in England. We prided
+ourselves that nothing ever happened there to excite or worry us in any
+way. Colonel Challenger, of the Royal Engineers, retired, often
+congratulated the vicar, who is upwards of sixty-five years of age, on
+the unbroken peace which we enjoyed. The vicar used to remind me, once a
+fortnight or so, that we owed our happiness largely to the fact that we
+were eight miles from a railway station. When I met Hankly, a retired
+Indian judge, in the post office I invariably pointed out to him that
+our lot would be much less pleasant if we lived in a neighbourhood where
+tennis parties were rife or among people who expected us to turn out in
+the evenings after dinner to play cards. Lord Manby, who owns the
+village and all the country round it, used to pay a visit to his home
+every year and ask us each to lunch with him once. We all accepted these
+invitations, but we told each other that they were a horrible nuisance
+and a most disagreeable break in the monotony of our lives. I think we
+were all quite honest and really believed that we were perfectly happy.
+
+Then Mrs. Clegg C. Mimms rented the Manor House from Lord Manby, and all
+peace came to an end for us. She described herself on her visiting cards
+as "the Honourable Mrs. Mimms," and that disturbed us to begin with. We
+had to meet each other pretty frequently to discuss how she could be the
+Honourable Mrs. anything. She was plainly and unmistakably an American,
+and the vicar was of opinion that, since there are no titles in the
+American Republic, neither Mrs. Mimms nor her late husband could be the
+descendant of a lord. Hankly, who has seen a great deal of the world,
+told us that American ambassadors are styled the Right Honourable, and
+that Mrs. Mimms's husband might have been an ambassador. The Colonel
+maintained that ambassadors are like bishops and cannot share their
+official titles with their wives, particularly after they are dead. My
+own view was that if Mrs. Mimms wanted to be styled "the Honourable" it
+would be discourteous to deny her the title.
+
+We had hardly settled down again after deciding this point when Mrs.
+Mimms upset us still more seriously. She gave a Christmas Tree to the
+village children. At first we thought that this would not matter to any
+one except the vicar. We were mistaken about that. Mrs. Mimms made us
+all help. The Colonel and I spent a long afternoon on a step-ladder
+sticking candles on the branches. Hankly, who is a lean, yellow little
+man, was made to dress himself up as "Father Christmas." We got no
+dinner on the evening of the party, and very nearly had to dance with
+the children afterwards. The presents which Mrs. Mimms distributed to
+the children were of the most gorgeous and expensive kind. We all agreed
+that she must be enormously rich, and the Colonel said that she would
+demoralise the whole village.
+
+She certainly demoralised us. We found ourselves invited to dinner at
+the Manor House twice, sometimes three times, a week, and had a standing
+invitation to supper every Sunday night. It was no use refusing the
+invitations. I tried that twice; but Mrs. Mimms simply came round to my
+house in her motor and fetched me. The Colonel complained bitterly. He
+has been writing a book on Chhota Nagpur ever since I knew him, and he
+said that he hated being interrupted in the evenings. He only dined with
+Mrs. Mimms in order to avoid unpleasantness with his wife, who wanted to
+go. Hankly said plainly that Mrs. Mimms had a very good cook, and we all
+came in the end to accept that as our excuse for dining with her.
+
+It is, I know, scarcely credible, but last Easter she dragged us into
+private theatricals. By that time we had agreed that Mrs. Mimms, in
+spite of her annoying lack of repose, was a very kind-hearted woman, and
+we did not wish to snub her in any way. My own part in the play let me
+in for a love scene with Mrs. Challenger, the most grotesquely absurd
+thing imaginable, for the lady is sixty at least and enormously fat. I
+should never have agreed to do it, however good-hearted Mrs. Mimms might
+be, if Hankly had not been cast for the part of an heroic Christian
+curate, and I knew he would look even more foolish than I did when I
+kissed Mrs. Challenger's left ear. Hankly hated being an heroic
+Christian curate and did not do the part at all well. We got through the
+theatricals in June, and after that, except for a couple of picnics
+every week, we had a comparatively quiet time until the war broke out.
+Mrs. Mimms broke out at the same time. All festivities, even picnics,
+stopped at once, of course, and we all began to take life very
+strenuously. Mrs. Mimms outdid us easily in every form of activity.
+
+She began by erecting a flag-staff at the Manor House gates and hoisting
+an enormous American flag on it, the largest American flag I have ever
+seen. The Colonel, who had his motor decorated with a French and a
+Belgian flag as well as a Union Jack, said that Mrs. Mimms's Stars and
+Stripes were, under the circumstances, rather bad form. Hankly and I
+agreed with him, and we made the vicar speak to her about it. She
+explained to him that she had hoisted it entirely for our good. It was,
+so she told the vicar, and he told us, the only flag in the world which
+the Germans would respect, and that when the Uhlans entered our village
+we could all congregate in perfect safety under its folds. The Colonel
+was furious--we were all rather angry--at the idea that the Germans
+would ever set foot in England; but there was no denying that Mrs. Mimms
+meant to be kind when she hoisted the flag. Besides, she is a difficult
+woman to argue with, and we did not quite see how we could make her take
+the thing down.
+
+Hankly and I more or less forgave her, though, as it appeared, the
+Colonel did not, when she came forward at a meeting summoned by the
+vicar and offered to turn the Manor House into a hospital for wounded
+soldiers. The generosity of her proposal actually staggered us. She
+intended, so she said--and I quite believe it--to turn out all the
+existing furniture of the house, fit the place up with the latest
+sanitary devices, hire two surgeons and a competent staff of nurses who
+should be under her own personal supervision. We at once wired to the
+War Office and expected to be thanked gratefully. As a matter of fact we
+never got any official acknowledgment of the offer at all. What we did
+get--or rather what Mrs. Mimms got--was a letter from Lord Manby's
+solicitor pointing out that the agreement under which she had taken the
+Manor House did not allow of her getting rid of the furniture or using
+the place in any way except as an ordinary dwelling.
+
+I thought that Lord Manby was a little unsympathetic, and that the War
+Office might very well have replied to our telegram, but the Colonel
+took quite a different line. He said that Mrs. Mimms was an interfering
+old woman who deserved to be snubbed. We all hoped that after this
+set-back she would be a little subdued and allow us to manage our own
+war in our own way.
+
+[Illustration: Charlie the Cox
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Charles Napier Hemy, R.A._]
+
+For a time she kept tolerably quiet. She contented herself with making
+shirts and subscribing to various funds like any ordinary woman. She
+was, so my wife told me, an amazingly rapid worker, and could turn out
+three shirts while any other woman in the village was making two. Her
+subscriptions were very generous. Gradually the whole activities of our
+village centred in the Manor House. Mrs. Mimms put up another flag-staff
+and flew a large Red Cross from it. Working parties went on in her
+dining-room from morning to night, and hardly a day passed without a
+committee meeting. The vicar, Colonel Challenger, Hankly, and I were the
+committee, and we met whenever Mrs. Mimms summoned us. The vicar was
+supposed to preside, but it was Mrs. Mimms who suggested the things we
+did. The Colonel objected, in private, to every suggestion she made, but
+he never succeeded in carrying a point against her. Once or twice she
+got us into trouble. There was, for instance, a lot of ill feeling when
+we sealed up the village pump and set my chauffeur to keep guard over it
+with a gun, only allowing people to draw water for an hour in the
+morning and an hour in the evening. Mrs. Mimms had a theory that a
+German might come in an aeroplane and poison our water supply. That
+would have been a horrible thing: but the people in the village made a
+fuss about not being able to get at the pump. Tompkins, the innkeeper,
+who was particularly objectionable, said that he only used the water for
+washing and would rather have it poisoned than do without it.
+
+We all began to get rather tired of being rushed into doing things we
+didn't want to do; but we were none of us able to withstand Mrs. Mimms.
+The Colonel said that we ought to drive her out of the village
+altogether, but he never succeeded in suggesting any practical way of
+doing it.
+
+Fortunately she got tired of making shirts and holding committee
+meetings after about a month. Then she said she was going up to London
+to get a few families of Belgian refugees. We were all greatly pleased,
+for we felt that her energies might be turned into a channel which would
+save us from making fools of ourselves. I saw her off at the station,
+and we waited with the greatest curiosity to see what would happen. I
+suppose the Belgian Consul felt doubtful about Mrs. Mimms when he met
+her. At all events she came back without a single refugee. Most women
+would have been a little disappointed at a failure like that, but Mrs.
+Mimms was as full of energy as ever. She had, it appeared, called at
+several public offices in London and had been immensely impressed by the
+Boy Scouts whom she saw waiting about the doors.
+
+[Illustration: We sealed up the village pump and set my chauffeur to
+keep guard]
+
+"They're the cutest things I've seen in England," she said, "and their
+bare knees are just sweet. I could kiss them all day. I simply must
+have a couple to stand on guard while the working parties are going on."
+
+I talked to the vicar, Hankly, and the Colonel about this. I did not see
+how we could possibly provide Mrs. Mimms with Boy Scouts, for there were
+none in the parish. The vicar said he was sorry that he had not started
+the organisation long ago, but supposed it was too late to do so now. To
+my surprise the Colonel, who up to that time had been getting angrier
+and angrier with Mrs. Mimms, took her side and said that if she wanted
+Boy Scouts she ought to have them. He proposed that we should enrol four
+choir boys at once, and offered to buy uniforms for them himself. The
+vicar was a little doubtful, but Hankly and I backed up the Colonel. We
+were very tired of the constant committee meetings, and we hoped that if
+Mrs. Mimms got really interested in Boy Scouts she might let us alone.
+We acted promptly, and in a week had four boys ready to stand on guard
+at the doors of the Manor House.
+
+The Colonel gave them a talking to at their first parade. He impressed
+on them the fact that discipline and strict obedience to orders are the
+essence of a military manhood. He quoted Tennyson, and made the boys
+repeat the lines after him:
+
+    "Theirs not to make reply,
+     Theirs not to reason why."
+
+He succeeded in inspiring them with a tremendous sense of their own
+importance. My idea was that he was trying to prepare them for having
+their knees kissed by Mrs. Mimms.
+
+For a time everything went well. The boys got off going to school and
+were immensely pleased. Mrs. Mimms fed them with dainties at odd hours
+of the day, and always had a basket of apples in the porch from which
+they could help themselves. So far as I knew she never attempted to kiss
+either their knees or any other part of them. The Colonel kept on
+exhorting them. He paid them a visit every morning, and insisted on
+their reporting themselves at his house when they went off duty in the
+evening.
+
+About a fortnight after the boys first went on guard Mrs. Mimms
+complained to the vicar that she had found one of them concealed under
+the dining-room table while she was at luncheon. She said that she did
+not like the feeling that she might kick a boy every time she stretched
+her leg while she was at meals. The vicar, of course, promised to speak
+to the boy.
+
+The next day Mrs. Mimms made another complaint. One of the boys had
+climbed up by some creepers, and was found by her maid sitting on the
+window-sill of a bedroom early in the morning. It was not Mrs. Mimms's
+bedroom, but, as she explained, it might have been. She had no
+particular objection, so she told the vicar, to a Boy Scout in her
+bedroom at any reasonable hour, but she did not want the child to break
+his neck.
+
+Then the postmaster gave me a hint that Mrs. Mimms's letters, which were
+posted every day by one of the Scouts, showed signs of having been
+opened and closed again before they came into his hands. He said that if
+this was being done by the Colonel's orders it was all right, but he
+thought he ought to tell me about it. I met the vicar in the street
+immediately afterwards and said I thought the Scouts were getting out of
+hand and ought to be disbanded at once. He agreed with me.
+
+While we were discussing the matter Hankly came up to us and said he
+heard that Mrs. Mimms was to be arrested at once as a German spy.
+
+"Tompkins," he said, "is going about the village saying that she ought
+to be shot."
+
+Tompkins always blamed Mrs. Mimms for the sealing up of the village
+pump, and had never spoken a good word about her since. The vicar was
+greatly put out.
+
+"Tut--tut!" he said; "arrested! shot! Nonsense. Mrs. Mimms is a most
+estimable lady."
+
+"I'm not so sure about that," said Hankly. "Those boys have been
+watching her lately, and there are several things which look
+suspicious."
+
+I suppose the vicar and I showed our surprise. Hankly went on to
+explain.
+
+"She gives the boys peaches and grapes," he said, "and cakes and
+meringues. Now I put it to you--the apples of course I understand. I
+might give a boy an apple myself, but I put it to you, vicar, would
+anybody give boys like that hothouse grapes and peaches unless--well,
+unless there was something to conceal. It's not a natural thing to do."
+
+"Now I come to think of it," said the vicar, "I did meet one of them
+yesterday with a peach in his fist."
+
+"There you are," said Hankly triumphantly, "and, anyhow, the police
+inspector is coming over to-day to look into the matter."
+
+Mrs. Mimms was not actually arrested. The police inspector--acting on
+information received from the Boy Scouts, Tompkins, and indeed almost
+every one in the village--made a lot of inquiries about her. He did not
+succeed in finding out why she called herself "the Honourable," but the
+questions he asked her made her so angry that she packed up her trunks
+and left the village at once.
+
+I met the Colonel the day after she left, and told him I was afraid we
+should all miss her. The Colonel chuckled in a self-satisfied way.
+
+"I told you we ought to get rid of her," he said, "and we have."
+
+"You don't mean to say you think she was really a spy?" I said.
+
+"She was a good deal worse," said the Colonel; "she was a public
+nuisance."
+
+Later on the Colonel took a kindlier view of Mrs. Mimms.
+
+"Only for her," he said to me a week ago, "we shouldn't have had Boy
+Scouts here. We have quite a good company now. She did us that much
+good, anyhow."
+
+The Colonel did her no more than bare justice. Our Scouts, though they
+have caught no more spies, have improved the general tone of the
+village. The Colonel is their commanding officer, and, though I do not
+say so in public, they have done him a lot of good.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+CHARLIE THE COX
+
+_A LIFE POEM_
+
+BY HALL CAINE
+
+_Painting by_ CHARLES NAPIER HEMY, R.A.
+
+_Drawings by_ ARCH. WEBB
+
+
+CHARLIE was the cox of our Peel lifeboat. A braver spirit never sailed
+the sea.
+
+Years ago, in a terrific gale, a ship from Norway, the _St. George_,
+came dead on for the wildest part of our coast, the fierce headland that
+lies back of the old Castle rock. The sound signal was fired, and
+Charlie and his brave comrades went out to her. She was reeling on the
+top of a tremendous sea, and there was no coming near to her side.
+
+It was an awful task to get the crew aboard the lifeboat, but Charlie
+saved every soul, and lost not a hand of his own. When the "traveller"
+was rigged and the "breeches" were ready, and the crew of the doomed
+ship were at the bulwarks waiting to leave her, Charlie sang out over
+the clamour of the sea:
+
+"How many are you?"
+
+"Twenty-four," came back as answer.
+
+Then Charlie cried, "I can see only twenty-three."
+
+"The other man is hurt. He's dying. No use saving him," the Norseman
+shouted.
+
+"You'll bring the dying man on deck before a soul of you leaves the
+ship," cried Charlie.
+
+There was a woman among them, and when the carpenter came scudding down
+the rope he had a canvas bag on his back.
+
+"No tools here," shouted Charlie.
+
+"It's the child," said the man.
+
+The captain came next. He had left everything else behind him--his
+money, his instruments, his clothes, his ship--but out of his pocket
+there peeped the head of a baby's doll.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a thrilling rescue, but to see it in all its splendour you must
+have a drop of our Manx blood in you. Our forefathers were from Norway,
+our first Norse king was named Gorry. He landed on this island, not far
+from this spot. And on that day of the wreck of the _St. George_ his
+children's children rescued from the sea the children's children of the
+kinsmen he had left at home.
+
+Most of our men had Norse names. One of them was a Gorry, lineal
+descendant beyond doubt of the old sea king. The Norwegian Government
+felt the touch of great things in this incident. It was not merely that
+the bravery of the rescue fired their gratitude. Something called to
+them from that deep place where blood answers to the cry of blood. They
+sent medals for Charlie and his crew, and the Governor of the island
+distributed them inside the roofless walls of the old castle of the
+"Black Dog." It was like grasping hands with the past across the space
+of a thousand years.
+
+The other day we had another great wind and another brave rescue. The
+sun had gone down overnight in a sullen red, very fierce and angry in
+his setting, and out of the black north-east the storm had come up while
+we slept. In the heavy grey of the dawn the sound-signal fired its
+double shot over our little town. A Welsh schooner, which had run in for
+shelter during the dark hours, was riding to an anchor in the bay and
+flying her ensign for help.
+
+The sea was terrific--a slaty grey, streaked with white foam, like
+quartz veins. It was coming over the breakwater in sheets that hid it.
+Sometimes it was flying in clouds to the top of the round tower of the
+castle. The white sea-fowl were like dark specks darting through it, but
+no human ear could hear the cry of their thousand throats in the
+thunderous quake of the breakers on the cavernous rocks.
+
+A crowd of men answered the call, and there was no shortness of hands to
+man the lifeboat. The big, slow-legged fellows who had been idling on
+the quay the day before when the sea was calm were struggling, chafing,
+and quarrelling to go out on it now that it was in storm, for the blood
+of the old Vikings is in our Manxmen still.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was a splendid rescue. The crew of the Welshman were brought ashore.
+Then the abandoned schooner rode three hours longer in the gale, and a
+hundred men stood and watched her, talking of other winds and other
+wrecks, and of Peel boys who were out on the sea. At last the ship
+parted her cables and went rolling like a blinded porpoise dead on for
+the jagged coast.
+
+Seven men took an open fishing-boat and went after her, and we climbed
+the Head to look at them. The wind smote us there like an invisible
+wing, sometimes swirling us out of our course, often bringing us to our
+knees, and whipping our ears with our hair like rods. Sheets of spray
+were coming up to us from below and running along the cliffs like driven
+rain. The sun, which had broken in fierce brilliance from a green rent
+in the sky, made rainbows in the flying foam.
+
+From the heights we watched the seven men and the open boat. They rose
+and fell, appeared and disappeared, but they overtook the Welshman
+before she had drifted on to the coast, boarded her with difficulty, let
+go another anchor and made her tight. There was nothing else to do, for
+she was disabled, and her sails were torn to shreds. The new anchor held
+the ship an hour longer, and then there was no help left for her. She
+was within a hundred feet of the rocks, and she fell on them with the
+groan of a living creature.
+
+The instant her head was down the white lions of the sea leapt over her,
+the water swirled through her bulwarks and plunged down her hatch; her
+helm was unshipped, her sails were torn from their gaskets, and the
+floating home wherein men had sailed and sung and slept and laughed and
+jested was a broken wreck in the heavy wallowings of the waves.
+
+When it was over and we were coming back, drenched through and green
+with the drift of the sea foam caked thick on our faces, some of us
+began to think of Charlie. He had not been there that day. A year or
+more ago, in the prime of a splendid manhood, he was stricken by heart
+disease. He kept a good heart, nevertheless, and by indomitable will
+held on for some time. First a little work, then no work at all, only a
+sail now and then if the sea was calm, but of late hardly ever well
+enough to take the open air. The old hulk of his poor body had been
+anchored deep, but she was parting her cables at last.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Charlie lay dying while this second rescue was being made. He had not
+answered the signal for the lifeboat, but he had heard it in the fierce
+light of morning, and they could not keep him in bed. The soul of the
+old sea dog leapt to the call, but his ailing body held him down. He
+wanted to go out. Wasn't he cox? Had the boat ever gone out without him?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+His house is one of the little places like children's Noah's arks which
+dot the line of this hungry shore. He could hear everything and see a
+good deal. Often he could hardly keep himself from crying and shouting
+aloud. In spirit he was out on the boiling surf, dipping, rising,
+stooping, going over, righting again, clambering back, exulting,
+glorying, getting nearer the ship, standing off her, rigging the
+"traveller," and fetching men aboard in the "breeches." And then away
+from the rolling hulk, and sing ho, my lads, and haul through the white
+waves for home. But his poor dying body was down on the bed and his face
+was sickly scarlet.
+
+Charlie's volcanic soul did not go off to the deep of deeps on the big
+breakers and through the wild noises of the storm. He died later. After
+the great wind there came a great calm. The air was quiet and full of
+the odour of seaweed; banks of seaweed were on the shore, and the broken
+schooner was covered with brown wrack, like any rock of the coast; the
+sky was round as the inside of a shell, and pale pink like the shadow of
+flame; the water was smooth, and land and sea lay like a sleeping child.
+In this broad and steady weather our little town was startled by the
+double shot again. We went to the windows in surprise, and saw the red
+flag over the rocket house, which is the signal for the lifeboat.
+
+Charlie was dead. He had just breathed his last, and his rugged
+comrades, who know nothing of poetry, but are poets nevertheless to the
+deepest grain of them, had run up the flag mast-high (not half-mast) as
+signal to the Great Cox of all that here was a soul in the troubled
+waters of death waiting for the everlasting lifeboat to bear him to the
+eternal shore.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The sea takes some of our bravest and best. Charlie it did not take. Not
+so sure is it that he who lives by the sword will perish by the sword,
+as that he who baulks the sea the sea will surely have for its prey.
+Charlie had battled with the giant time and again, but he has gone to
+sleep on the land.
+
+We buried him to-day in the little cemetery looking on to the grey water
+that was more than half his element. The funeral was beautiful in its
+old simplicity. First a hymn at the door of the house in the little
+alley by the beach, "Safe in the arms of Jesus," with the coffin on the
+ground and all standing round; the sea quiet, hardly a breeze as soft as
+human breath moving its tranquil surface; the deadly rival in its
+everlasting coming and going making no triumphant clamour now the
+sea-warrior was down. Then the companions of his dangers, the crew of
+his boat, a group of stalwart fellows who have never known what it is to
+be afraid, carrying him up the hill, shoulder high, each in his red
+stocking cap and his life-belt, emblems of how they had fought the sea
+and beaten it.
+
+There were some of us whose eyes were wet, but if these brave boys wept
+at all, it was only for the helpless little ones left behind. For
+Charlie they did not weep. His spirit is not dead for them--it cannot
+die. When brave deeds have to be done, they will see its light, like a
+beacon that does not fail, over the mountains of the fiercest storm;
+they will hear its voice above the thunder of the loudest waves.
+
+A full moon is shining to-night on the place of Charlie's rest, and if
+the old Norse story is true, that while the body lies in sight of the
+sea the spirit lives in the winds above it, Charlie is not done with his
+old enemy yet. He will come back to this sea-bound land in warning
+whispers of the mighty and mysterious power that lures men to itself.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CANADA'S WORD
+
+BY RALPH CONNOR
+
+_Drawings by_ A. J. GOUGH
+
+
+    O CANADA! A voice calls through the mist and spume
+    Across the wide wet salty leagues of foam
+    For aid. Whose voice thus penetrates thy peace?
+    Whose? Thy Mother's, Canada, thy Mother's voice.
+
+    O Canada! A drum beats through the night and day,
+    Unresting, eager, strident, summoning
+    To arms. Whose drum thus throbs persistent?
+    Whose? Old England's, Canada, Old England's drum.
+
+    O Canada! A sword gleams, leaping swift to strike
+    At foes that press and leap to kill brave men
+    On guard. Whose sword thus gleams fierce death?
+    Whose? 'Tis Britain's, Canada, Great Britain's sword.
+
+    O Canada! A prayer beats hard at Heaven's gate,
+    Tearing the heart wide open to God's eye,
+    For righteousness. Whose prayer thus pierces Heaven?
+    Whose? 'Tis God's prayer, Canada, Thy Kingdom come!
+
+    O Canada! What answer make to calling voice and beating drum,
+    To sword flash and to pleading prayer of God
+    For right? What answer makes my soul?
+    "Mother, to thee! God, to Thy help! Quick! My sword!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BIMBASHI JOYCE
+
+BY A. CONAN DOYLE
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ R. TALBOT KELLY, R.I.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+IT was in the days when the tide of Mahdism, which had swept in such a
+flood from the Great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of Egypt, had at
+last come to its full, and even begun, as some hoped, to show signs of a
+turn. At its outset it had been terrible. It had engulfed Hicks's army,
+swept over Gordon and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forces as they
+retired down the river, and finally cast up a spray of raiding parties
+as far north as Assouan. Then it found other channels to east and west,
+to Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little on the side of
+Egypt. For ten years there ensued a lull, during which the frontier
+garrisons looked out upon those distant blue hills of Dongola. Behind
+the violet mists which draped them lay a land of blood and horror. From
+time to time some adventurer went south towards those haze-girt
+mountains, tempted by stories of gum and ivory, but none ever returned.
+Once a mutilated Egyptian and once a Greek woman, mad with thirst and
+fear, made their way to the lines. They were the only exports of that
+country of darkness. Sometimes the sunset would turn those distant mists
+into a bank of crimson, and the dark mountains would rise from that
+sinister reek like islands in a sea of blood. It seemed a grim symbol in
+the southern heaven when seen from the fort-capped hills by Wady Halfa.
+Ten years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silent work in Cairo, and
+then all was ready, and it was time for Civilisation to take a trip
+south once more, travelling as her wont is in an armoured train.
+Everything was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the last camel,
+and yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Government has its
+advantage. A great administrator had argued, and managed, and cajoled; a
+great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres do the work
+of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits met and clasped
+hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some business of his own. And
+just at that very time, Bimbashi Hilary Joyce, seconded from the Royal
+Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily attached to the Ninth Soudanese, made
+his first appearance in Cairo.
+
+Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great reputations
+are only to be made in the East. Here he was in the East with four tin
+cases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond's slug-throwing pistol, and
+a copy of "Green's Introduction to the Study of Arabic." With such a
+start, and the blood of youth running hot in his veins, everything
+seemed easy. He was a little frightened of the general; he had heard
+stories of his sternness to young officers, but with tact and suavity he
+hoped for the best. So, leaving his effects at "Shepherd's Hotel," he
+reported himself at headquarters. It was not the general, but the head
+of the Intelligence Department who received him, the chief being still
+absent upon that business which had called him. Hilary Joyce found
+himself in the presence of a short, thick-set officer, with a gentle
+voice and a placid expression which covered a remarkably acute and
+energetic spirit. With that quiet smile and guileless manner he had
+undercut and outwitted the most cunning of Orientals. He stood, a
+cigarette between his fingers, looking at the newcomer. "I heard that
+you had come. Sorry the chief isn't here to see you. Gone up to the
+frontier, you know."
+
+"My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should report
+myself there at once?"
+
+"No; I was to give you your orders." He led the way to a map upon the
+wall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. "You see this place.
+It's the Oasis of Kurkur--a little quiet, I am afraid, but excellent
+air. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You'll find a
+company of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will be in
+command."
+
+Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of two
+black lines without another dot upon the map for several inches around
+it. "A village, sir?"
+
+"No, a well. Not very good water, I'm afraid, but you soon get
+accustomed to natron. It's an important post, as being at the junction
+of two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but still
+you never know who _might_ come along them."
+
+"We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well, between you and me, there's really nothing to raid. You are there
+to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of course you have
+only just come out, but you probably understand already enough about the
+conditions of this country to know that there is a great deal of
+disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is likely to try and keep in
+touch with his adherents. Then, again, Senoussi lives up that way"--he
+waved his cigarette to the westward--"the Khalifa might send a messenger
+to him along that route. Anyhow, your duty is to arrest every one coming
+along, and get some account of him before you let him go. You don't talk
+Arabic, I suppose?"
+
+"I am learning, sir."
+
+"Well, well, you'll have time enough to study there. And you'll have a
+native officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English, and can
+interpret for you. Well, good-bye--I'll tell the chief that you reported
+yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two day on a
+camel in the Libyan desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and three
+baggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace. However,
+even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and at last, on the
+third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill which is called
+the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a distant clump of
+palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in the midst of the
+merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour effect that he had
+ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little camp, the guard
+had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate had greeted him in
+excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his own. It was not an
+exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There was one large,
+bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three pits of brown
+and brackish water. There, also, was the grove of palm trees beautiful
+to look upon, but exasperating in view of the fact that Nature has
+provided her least shady trees on the very spot where shade is needed
+most. A single wide-spread acacia did something to restore the balance.
+Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat, and in the cool he inspected
+his square-shouldered, spindle-shanked Soudanese, with their cheery
+black faces and their funny little pork-pie forage caps. Joyce was a
+martinet at drill, and the blacks loved being drilled, so the Bimbashi
+was soon popular among them. But one day was exactly like another. The
+weather, the view, the employment, the food--everything was the same.
+At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there for
+interminable years. And then at last there came something to break the
+monotony.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly down the
+old caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow track,
+winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for he remembered
+how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away into the unknown
+heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camels through many
+centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now, unused and deserted, it
+still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot broad, and perhaps two
+thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode how long it was
+since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south, and then he
+raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along the path. For an
+instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own men, but a second
+glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger was dressed
+in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the close-fitting khaki of a
+soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seem gigantic. He
+strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing of a man who
+knows no fear.
+
+Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown? The
+precursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen. And where could he
+have walked from? The nearest well was a long hundred miles down the
+track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford to
+receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse, galloped
+into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at his back,
+he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was still coming on in spite
+of these hostile preparations. For an instant he hesitated when first he
+saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the question, and he advanced
+with the air of a man who makes the best of a bad job. He made no
+resistance, and said nothing when the hands of two troopers clutched at
+his shoulders, but walked quietly between their horses into camp.
+Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again. There were no signs of any
+dervishes. The man was alone. A splendid trotting camel had been found
+lying dead a little way down the track. The mystery of the stranger's
+arrival was explained. But why, and whence, and whither?--these were
+questions for which a zealous officer must find an answer.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no dervishes. It would
+have been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he fought a
+little action on his own account. But even as it was, he had a rare
+chance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show his
+capacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim
+chief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack. The
+prisoner's dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. Mean men
+do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his head with cold
+water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposing official
+tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a court of
+inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would have liked his
+people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies in waiting,
+and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind a camp-table,
+and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. The man was a
+handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long black beard.
+
+"Why!" cried Joyce, "the rascal is making faces at me." A curious
+contraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly that it
+might have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of Oriental
+gravity. "Ask him who he is, and what he wants?" The native officer did
+so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the same sharp spasm
+passed once more over his face. "Well, I'm blessed!" cried Hilary Joyce.
+"Of all the impudent scoundrels! He keeps on winking at me. Who are you,
+you rascal? Give an account of yourself! D'ye hear?" But the tall Arab
+was as impervious to English as to Arabic. The Egyptian tried again and
+again. The prisoner looked at Joyce with his inscrutable eyes, and
+occasionally twitched his face at him, but never opened his mouth. The
+Bimbashi scratched his head in bewilderment.
+
+"Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this fellow.
+You say there are no papers on him?"
+
+"No, sir; we found no papers."
+
+"No clue of any kind?"
+
+"He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He has come
+from Dongola, at least."
+
+"Well, we must get him to talk."
+
+"It is possible that he is deaf and dumb."
+
+"Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life."
+
+"You might send him across to Assouan."
+
+"And give some one else the credit? No, thank you. This is my bird. But
+how are we going to get him to find his tongue?"
+
+The Egyptian's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the cook's
+fire. "Perhaps," said he, "if the Bimbashi thought fit----" He looked at
+the prisoner and then at the burning wood.
+
+"No, no; it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"A very little might do it."
+
+"No, no. It's all very well here, but it would sound just awful if ever
+it got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say," he whispered, "we might
+frighten him a bit. There's no harm in that."
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Tell them to undo the man's galabeeah. Order them to put a horseshoe in
+the fire and make it red-hot." The prisoner watched the proceedings with
+an air which had more of amusement than of uneasiness. He never winced
+as the black sergeant approached with the glowing shoe held upon two
+bayonets.
+
+"Will you speak now?" asked the Bimbashi, savagely. The prisoner smiled
+gently and stroked his beard.
+
+"Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!" cried Joyce, jumping up in a
+passion. "There's no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we won't
+do it. But I _can_ and I _will_ flog him, and you can tell him from me
+that if he hasn't found his tongue by to-morrow morning I'll take the
+skin off his back as sure as my name's Joyce. Have you said all that?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it
+give you!" He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as imperturbable as
+ever, was led away by the guard to his supper of rice and water. Hilary
+Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep was considerably
+disturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he must inflict next
+day. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash and the thongs
+might prevail over his prisoner's obstinacy. And then, again, he thought
+how shocking it would be if the man proved to be really dumb after all.
+The possibility shook him so that he had almost determined by daybreak
+that he would send the stranger on unhurt to Assouan. And yet what a
+tame conclusion it would be to the incident! He lay upon his angareeb
+still debating it when the question suddenly and effectively settled
+itself. Ali Mahomet rushed into his tent.
+
+"Sir," he cried, "the prisoner is gone!"
+
+"Gone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit cut
+in the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every track;
+scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the fugitive,
+but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared. With a
+heavy heart, Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter and
+forwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order from
+the chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst from
+the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself. And
+his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he
+reported himself one night at the general's quarters. Behind a table
+piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chief
+of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was a
+cold one.
+
+[Illustration: Bimbashi Joyce
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by R. Talbot Kelly, R.I._]
+
+"I understand, Captain Joyce," said the general, "that you have allowed
+a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers."
+
+"I am sorry, sir."
+
+"No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anything
+about him before you lost him?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"I could get nothing out of him, sir."
+
+"Did you try?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did what I could."
+
+"What did you do?"
+
+"Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He said nothing."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think."
+
+"Any way by which we could identify him?"
+
+"A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitching his
+face."
+
+"Well, Captain Joyce," said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice,
+"I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army.
+You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man.
+I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary,
+therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. It
+would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal or
+intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling
+your regimental duties again." Hilary Joyce's heart was too heavy for
+words. He was silent. "I will let you know my final decision to-morrow
+morning." Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.
+
+"You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it
+give you!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used before?
+Who was it who had used them? The general was standing erect. Both he
+and the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing. Joyce stared at the
+tall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes.
+
+"Good Lord!" he gasped.
+
+"Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!" said the general, holding out
+his hand. "You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hot
+horseshoe of yours. I've done as much for you. I don't think we can
+spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile."
+
+"But, sir; but----!"
+
+"The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must seem
+rather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish. It
+must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in my return. I
+kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with you alone."
+
+"Yes, yes. I begin to understand."
+
+"I couldn't give it away before all those blacks, or where should I have
+been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You put me in a
+very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone with your Egyptian
+officer, who managed my escape all right."
+
+"He! Mahomet Ali!"
+
+"I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you. But we
+dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I think I can do
+you a little better than you did me at Kurkur."
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ANT-LION
+
+BY J. H. FABRE
+
+("The Insects' Homer")
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ E. J. DETMOLD
+
+_Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. Copyright U.S.A., 1914, by
+Hughes Massie & Co._
+
+
+MY big and little readers, look at the picture illustrating this story
+and tell me what you see. First of all, a hideous little monster. It has
+six short legs and an enormous body--the sign of an insatiable
+appetite--and carries on its head two sharp-pointed, curved, movable
+horns, which open and shut like a savage pair of pincers. Suppose we
+were to hear that, in a desert island, a monster like that, but the size
+of a wolf, was just emerging from the thick jungle and making for a
+traveller, for some modern Robinson Crusoe, and that, in another moment,
+it would be sticking its tusks into him, how thrilling we should find
+it! We should hope that the man whose life was in danger was armed with
+the most effective weapons, which would help him to come victorious out
+of the contest: a twelve-chambered revolver at least, to say nothing of
+a breech-loading rifle and explosive bullets!
+
+But we must not take an unfair advantage of the animal's ugly appearance
+in order to provoke unnatural excitement, for what I am about to tell is
+history and not a fairy-tale: proper, genuine history. I will lose no
+time in saying that the creature is quite harmless to any of us, even
+the smallest. By this I do not mean to suggest that it has not a very
+fierce and brutal temper; only, the victims of its bloodthirsty
+instincts move in a world so tiny that we tread it under foot unnoticed.
+It is an ogre, ever hungering after fresh meat, like the famous ogre of
+your fairy-tales: you know, the one who welcomed Hop-o'-my-Thumb and his
+brothers to his house one evening, meaning to put them all in a pie like
+so many pigeons; in short, just the sort of ogre who makes your blood
+run cold.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Our little monster, then, wants its dinner, a thing not always easy to
+find in this world, especially for an ogre. Hunger is gnawing at its
+inside; it must eat or die. Its usual prey is the Ant, a good runner,
+whose nimble legs promptly take to flight and baffle the clumsy,
+corpulent hunter's attempts to attack her. You might as well tell the
+Tortoise to run and catch the Gazelle. Our ogre possesses no greater
+agility in comparison with the Ant; and moreover there is another reason
+that makes it quite impossible for him to run after anything: like the
+Crab, he can only really walk backwards, which is not exactly the way to
+overtake your quarry when it's in front of you.
+
+To be fat and heavy, to walk backwards and to be obliged to have live
+Ant for one's dinner is a difficult, a very difficult problem. What
+would you do in such a case? Come, try to find something! Rack your
+brains! You can think of nothing? Well, never mind: plenty of others,
+including myself, could not think of anything either.
+
+Everyday common-sense, expressed in proverbs, tells us over and over
+again that necessity is the mother of invention. This great truth, which
+we have learnt by personal experience, we shall learn once more from the
+Ant-hunter. But first let us give him a name, to simplify our story.
+Naturalists call him the Ant-lion, a very happy term, which reminds us
+that, like the Lion, he lives by carnage, slaughtering live prey, in
+this case Ants. Now that we have christened him we can go on.
+
+When he wants his dinner, the Ant-lion says to himself:
+
+"You're a fat little beggar, you know, short-legged and slow-moving;
+you'll never catch Ants by running after them. On the other hand, you
+can walk backwards, that's capital; you have a head flattened like a
+navvy's shovel, that's first-rate; your pincers are long and grip like a
+knife, that's perfect, absolutely perfect. We'll use that talent for
+walking backwards; we'll use those tools, the shovel and tongs; we'll
+make craft take the place of the agility which we lack; and the dinner
+will come along."
+
+No sooner said than done. In a nice dry spot, warmed by the sun and
+sheltered from the rain by an overhanging rock, the wily animal selects
+a place where Ants are incessantly moving to and fro on household
+matters. Gravely, with the mathematical accuracy of an engineer tracing
+the foundation of a well-planned building, the Ant-lion walks backwards,
+with his body dug into the sand; he turns and turns and in this way
+hollows out a groove shaped like a perfect circle. Then, still moving
+backwards and still digging deeper and deeper into the sand, he repeats
+the circuit many times over, but gradually coming nearer the centre,
+where he arrives in the end. If any obstacle, such as a large bit of
+gravel, which would spoil the work, makes its appearance, the Ant-lion
+takes it on his flat head and, with a vigorous jerk of his neck, flings
+it to a distance over the edge of the hole. We should use a shovel in
+exactly the same way to throw out the rubbish when digging.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The result of this labour is a sort of funnel, two inches wide and a
+little less in depth. For that matter, each Ant-lion scoops himself out
+one proportioned to his size: the larger ones, the giants of the family,
+produce one almost big enough to hold an orange; the younger and smaller
+ones are content with a hollow which a walnut would fill. But, whether
+great funnels or modest dents, all these cavities are constructed on one
+and the same principle: the slope is very steep and formed of extremely
+loose sand; nothing, however light, can set foot upon it without
+producing a landslip, followed by a headlong fall.
+
+When the work is finished, the scoundrel buries himself in the sand,
+right at the bottom of the funnel; his pincers alone appear outside,
+ever ready to snap, but nevertheless hidden as far as possible. And now
+the Ant-lion remains completely motionless and waits; he waits for
+hours, for days, for weeks, if necessary, for his patience is
+unequalled; he waits for his dinner to come to him, as he cannot go
+after his dinner himself.
+
+Let us do as he does and wait, very attentively. What will happen? See,
+an Ant comes trotting along, suspecting no harm, bringing a little honey
+in her crop for her mates, who are working at a distance, just as the
+goodwife, on the stroke of noon, brings the reaper his midday meal in
+the fields. In her hurry, or perhaps in her heedlessness, she has not
+seen the precipice. She steps upon it, but only just on the edge. It
+makes no difference: as soon as her foot is on the perfidious slope, the
+sand gives way and the poor thing is dragged down. If our eyes were
+sharp enough, we should see signs of fierce delight betrayed by the
+formidable jaws at the bottom.
+
+Thank goodness! A microscopic bit of straw has interfered with the
+landslide. The fall ends in the middle of the slope; and the Ant,
+recovering her balance, tries to scramble back to the top. The sand
+trickles under her feet; no matter: she goes to work with so much
+prudence, she so skilfully makes use of the smallest solid support, she
+is so careful to move sideways instead of going straight up the slope
+that it looks as though the climb ought to be achieved without fresh
+impediment. Her knees, her delicate feelers seem atremble with
+excitement. One more effort, only a little effort, and the thing is
+done. The edge is there, close by; the Ant must reach it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Alas, she does not reach it! Suddenly from the sky there falls upon the
+poor wretch, thick as hailstones, a rain of grains of sand, which, for
+the tiny Ant, is as bad as a regular rain of pebbles. Who is the brute
+that takes delight in thus stoning the distressed Ant, who clings in her
+despair now to this side, now to that, as best she may, so as not to
+roll to the bottom of the precipice? The brute is the Ant-lion, the
+ruffian, lying in ambush down in his funnel. See what he is doing. He
+takes on his flat head a load, a shovelful of sand, and flings it in the
+air towards the Ant, with a sudden, quick jerk of the neck, like the
+movement of a spring. The shovelfuls follow rapidly, one after the
+other. Whoosh! And whoosh! Do you want another? There's one! You don't
+want another? There's one all the same!
+
+What can the Ant do, I ask you, on the slope of that terrible trap,
+where the ground falls from under her in a rushing torrent, while a hail
+of pebbles dashes down from above? In vain she struggles, with all the
+pluck of despair: for each step forward she takes three back, coming
+nearer and nearer to the dreadful jaws that are waiting for her at the
+bottom of the funnel. Bruised and dazed with the stoning, she rolls over
+and over, right into the jaws. The jaws seize her and everything
+disappears under the sand; not a trace remains of the recent tragedy.
+
+Peacefully buried in the sand of his lair, the Ant-lion devours his
+astutely-captured prey. When the meal is over, there remains a dry
+carcass, which must be thrown away, for, if left in the funnel, it might
+frighten any game in future and betray the hunter in his ambush. A jerk
+of the shovel, that is to say, a toss of the flat head, flings it
+outside the hole.
+
+Then the Ant-lion repairs the damage done to his trap, removes the
+coarser grains of sand, touches up the slopes to make them ready for a
+new slide. He buries himself as I have described and awaits the coming
+of the next Ant.
+
+That is how the Ant-lion secures his dinner. And yet there are people
+who say that animals have no sense!
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+AN ANGEL OF GOD
+
+_A TRUE STORY_
+
+BY ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER
+
+_Drawings by_ STEVEN SPURRIER, R.I.
+
+
+"YOU may talk about the Germans as much as you like," remarked Mrs.
+Batterby with her customary decision; "but, for my part, I have no doubt
+that we shall beat them in the end: no doubt whatsoever!"
+
+"Still, the German hosts are very numerous, and their artillery is
+magnificent," said Mrs. Veale, who, much as she longed for the defeat of
+Germany, longed for the defeat of Mrs. Batterby still more.
+
+Little Miss Skipworth hastened, as usual, to thrust in the olive-branch.
+"Dear Mrs. Batterby is thinking of the superior courage of our brave
+English soldiers," she explained gently.
+
+But Mrs. Batterby could not stand being Bowdlerised, or even translated.
+"No, I wasn't, Matilda; at least not at that particular minute, though
+nobody admires the courage of the British Army more than I do, and
+always have done, and especially with Lord Kitchener at their head and
+in action against the enemy. I've got a very high opinion of the British
+soldier myself; none higher: much too high, in fact, to allow him to
+wear a collar to his bed-jacket like the one you are making, Matilda,
+without speaking a word in his defence."
+
+Matilda collapsed at once: she was composed of the most collapsible
+material ever provided for the manufacture of souls. "What is wrong with
+my collar, Mrs. Batterby? I thought I was exactly copying the pattern
+sent to us by the Red Cross. Anyway, I was trying to do so."
+
+"Trying and succeeding are two different things, which I should have
+thought you'd have found out by this time, Matilda, and you
+five-and-forty, if you are a day! Give me the collar, and I'll fix it
+for you, or else the wounded soldier that wears it will wish he had died
+in the trenches before he had the chance of putting it on."
+
+It was the afternoon of the Red Cross weekly working-party, held in the
+village of Summerglade, in the early stages of the Great War. The party
+was a small one, consisting of Mrs. Batterby, a farmer's wife, in whose
+parlour the meeting was held; Mrs. Veale, the wife of the village
+doctor; Mrs. Windybank, a gloomy widow; and Miss Skipworth, an ingenuous
+and tender-hearted spinster. Between Mrs. Batterby and Mrs. Veale there
+existed a bitter and abiding warfare.
+
+"May I ask what you were thinking of--if not of the bravery of our own
+dear soldiers--when you expressed your assurance of the ultimate success
+of the Allied Forces?" asked Mrs. Veale, with her needle in her fingers
+and the light of battle in her eye.
+
+"By all means," replied Mrs. Batterby; "and, a civil question demanding
+a civil answer, I don't mind telling you that I feel sure we shall win,
+because we know that God is on our side and is fighting for us."
+
+"But their numbers are so great and their guns so magnificent," repeated
+Mrs. Windybank with a lugubrious sigh. "I sometimes fear that they will
+win in the end, and we shall all be blown up by Zeppelins and trampled
+underfoot. I'm sure I pray every morning that our armies may win, but I
+tremble when I think of the forces against us."
+
+"So did the Prophet's servant till his eyes were opened and he saw the
+mountain full of horses and chariots," replied Mrs. Batterby. "But some
+folk's eyes seem made not to open, like the stained-glass windows in
+Summerglade Church."
+
+"It is right to pray, but we must beware of presumptuousness in our
+prayers," said Mrs. Veale sententiously.
+
+"We'd much better beware of want of faith," retorted the hostess.
+
+"But it is difficult to have faith when things seem going against us,"
+said Matilda Skipworth.
+
+"Stuff and nonsense, Matilda! It's when things seem going against us
+that our faith is really any compliment to the Almighty. I can't see
+anything very complimentary to Him when every morning I pray with faith,
+'Give us this day our daily bread,' knowing all the time that it's in
+the larder with a damp cloth over it. But it's when people pray that
+particular prayer, with no bread in the house and no money to pay for
+any, that their faith is any compliment to God or worthy of His
+acceptance."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I know my faith is very feeble and my prayers are unworthy," sighed
+Miss Skipworth, "but I do try to believe. Still, I cannot help envying
+the Prophet's servant who _saw_ the horses and the chariots fighting on
+his side. I wish we could _see_ the angel hosts fighting for us. I do so
+wish that we had appearances of that kind nowadays: it would make faith
+so much easier and life altogether so much more beautiful."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"But it would not be in accordance with God's teaching in these later
+times. Such assistance to faith as the appearance of saints and angels
+would not be at all in accordance with our modern religious thought, and
+I am sure that the Almighty would not permit it," said Mrs. Veale.
+
+"I am not so sure of that," retorted Mrs. Batterby. "I think that
+visions of angels are granted to-day to those that have eyes to see
+them, just as they were in Old Testament times."
+
+"Oh! Mrs. Batterby," exclaimed Matilda in excitement, "do you really
+believe that?"
+
+"I do. But I don't believe that the angels appear as you would expect
+them, Matilda--all got up in harps and crowns and flaming swords. I
+believe that when they come nowadays they look so commonplace and what
+you might call ordinary-looking, that only those folks that have the eye
+of faith can perceive them at all. They can _see_ them all right, mind
+you! But they can't recognise them as the angels of God."
+
+"How I should like to see somebody who had actually seen an angel!"
+sighed Miss Skipworth.
+
+"Did you ever come across any one who had enjoyed such an experience,
+Mrs. Batterby?" asked Mrs. Veale in a sceptical tone.
+
+"Yes, I did, Mrs. Veale--that is, if you can say that you ever came
+across yourself."
+
+"Oh, how interesting!--how very interesting!" cried Miss Skipworth. "But
+you don't look at all the sort of person that would see angels and
+spirits."
+
+Mrs. Batterby took the last remark as a compliment; as indeed it was
+intended. "That's just my point, Matilda. The real angels don't look
+like the Scripture-picture sort of angels; and they don't appear to the
+high-flown, star-gazing sort of people who are always looking for them."
+
+"Do tell us what you saw, Mrs. Batterby," besought the emotional
+Matilda.
+
+"And also what calamity it foretold," added Mrs. Windybank. "I always
+believe that supernatural appearances precede some terrible misfortune."
+
+"Well, my experience, or whatever you call it, happened five-and-thirty
+years ago, and no calamity has happened to me since. On the contrary, it
+taught me that no calamity _could_ happen to me as long as I lay safe in
+my Heavenly Father's Hand. That's just the lesson that I learnt from
+it."
+
+"Do tell us the story," urged Miss Skipworth.
+
+"I will, Matilda, if you'll get on with your bed-jacket, and not leave
+off your sewing whenever anybody speaks, as if your hearing lay in your
+fingers, and you couldn't sew and listen at the same time.
+
+"Well, when I was a young woman I lived with an aunt in Merchester who
+kept a stationer's shop; and every Sunday I used to walk over to see my
+mother who lived at a village about three miles off, she being a widow
+and keeping the post-office there and my two little sisters as well.
+
+"It was one Sunday in September--one of those deceitful sort of days
+that look like summer, and then take you all of a heap by getting dark
+before you can say _Jack Robinson_--and I had been spending the day with
+my mother as usual; I stayed for the evening service, it being the
+Sunday-school Anniversary and a special preacher for the occasion; quite
+a young man, but one of the finest preachers I ever heard. Though it was
+five-and-thirty years ago, I remember that sermon as if I'd heard it
+last Sunday."
+
+"What was it about?" asked Mrs. Windybank. "For my part, I always enjoy
+funeral-sermons the most; but I've heard some very sweet ones in times
+of war, and on the last Sundays in the Old Year."
+
+"It was on the very subject that Matilda was speaking about--in fact, it
+was her conversation that recalled the whole incident to my mind. The
+text was, 'Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him'; and
+the preacher said--what I've just being saying to you--that the angels
+of God meet us far oftener than we think; only we are so busy looking
+out for them to come in our own particular way that we don't recognise
+them. Unless they are in their flowing robes with their harps and halos
+and fiery swords, we don't know that they are angels at all: which is
+just as stupid of us as if we didn't believe we'd seen the Queen, unless
+we'd seen her with her crown on. I remember that this impressed us very
+much: Queen Victoria had just been to Merchester to lay the
+foundation-stone of some public building or other (I forget what), and
+we had all cried at seeing her in a widow's bonnet; it seemed to make
+her so much more real and human than if she'd had her crown on. I'm sure
+that black bonnet brought her nearer to our hearts than all the Crown
+Jewels out of the Tower of London could have done; and taught us to love
+and reverence her as a woman as well as obey and serve her as a Queen.
+And so, as the young minister said, it ought to be with the angels;
+because when the Lord came among us, He came as One of ourselves, and
+led us by the paths that we were used to.
+
+"Well, the sermon was so grand, and the hymn after the sermon so
+beautiful--I remember it was a six-lines-eight, sung to the tune called
+_Stella_, and mother and I swayed to it till we kept bumping against
+each other--that by the time we got out of chapel it was quite dark--so
+dark that mother didn't like the idea of my walking to Merchester alone,
+as it was three miles at the least, and along a very lonely road. But
+there was nobody to go with me, and I was bound to get back to aunt's
+that night, for some special reason that I forget now; so--like it or
+not like it--I had to go, though I was very timid."
+
+"Oh, how dreadful! I should have been terrified," groaned Miss
+Skipworth. "I don't wonder that you were frightened."
+
+"I shouldn't have minded if I'd been your age, Matilda: surely a woman
+of five-and-forty is old enough to go anywhere by herself! But I was
+only eighteen, and that makes all the difference."
+
+Matilda returned a soft answer--or, to be more accurate, a soft
+question.
+
+"Then did you venture, Mrs. Batterby?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Of course I did: there was nothing else to do; and I didn't want mother
+to know I was frightened for fear of worrying her. But I didn't like it,
+I can tell you; and I started with my heart in my mouth, ready to jump
+at my own shadow. And then it came into my mind (I remember it as if it
+had happened last night) that I was a poor sort of Christian to enjoy a
+sermon and then make no sort of effort to put it into practice; in fact,
+that I was only a hearer of the Word, and not a doer, letting God's
+message go in at one ear and out at the other, leaving nothing behind
+it. So I set to to pray that as I went on my way the angels of God might
+meet me, as they met Jacob, and save me from all harm. And what with the
+excitement of the sermon, and my own fears, and the darkness of the
+road, I got worked up to such a pitch that I shouldn't have been
+surprised if a white-robed angel with shining wings had flown over the
+hedge and perched beside me."
+
+"Which, of course, no angel did," interrupted Mrs. Veale.
+
+"That is as may be," retorted Mrs. Batterby darkly. "In the middle of my
+prayer I heard a rustle in the hedge on the side of the road, which, of
+course, I thought was a thief lying in wait to waylay me and murder me,
+and I prayed harder and harder. But then, in the fading light, I
+perceived that it was no thief, but a huge yellow collie dog, such as
+they have for minding sheep."
+
+"Oh dear!" said Miss Skipworth; "I should have been as much afraid of a
+strange dog as of a strange man, if I'd been you."
+
+"Fortunately, however, you weren't me, nor ever likely to be, which
+seems fortunate for all parties concerned," replied her hostess dryly.
+"And as for being afraid of a dog--why! I'd been accustomed to dogs from
+a child, though I'm not the one to deny that collies are uncertain in
+temper and apt to snap at strangers unawares. So I spoke kindly to this
+one, in case it should take me for a thief come after its master's
+sheep; though where the sheep were I hadn't a notion, there being
+nothing but cornfields ready for cutting on both sides of the road, the
+harvest being very late that year."
+
+"It was rather foolish, to my thinking, to speak to it at all," remarked
+Mrs. Windybank. "I had a friend once who spoke to a strange collie; and
+it bit her thimble finger so badly that she was never able to sew
+properly again."
+
+"Then she must have said the wrong thing to it," replied Mrs. Batterby;
+"and it served her right. I know when folks say the wrong thing to me,
+I'd give anything to be able to bite their thimble finger, and dogs feel
+the same as we do. But to get on with my story. The dog came up to me
+quite friendly-like, and didn't attempt to snap or anything; but though
+it came close to me, it wouldn't let me touch or pet it. It shied away
+the moment I put out my hand to fondle it. So--being accustomed to dogs
+and their ways--I treated it as it evidently wished to be treated, and
+just talked to it pleasantly as it trotted along by my side."
+
+[Illustration: "For my part, I believe it was one of the angels of
+God"]
+
+"Then it followed you?" asked Miss Skipworth.
+
+"Yes; all the way to Merchester, just as if it had been my own dog. When
+there was nobody in sight, it ran backwards and forwards and scampered
+about by itself; but whenever we met anybody--and we met some
+nasty-looking tramps, I can tell you, that I should have been terrified
+to meet alone--it came close to me, looking that big and fierce that the
+tramps kept well to the other side of the road, as far away from us as
+they could; and it stalked by me till they were out of sight, as is the
+way of collies when they scent danger ahead. I can't tell you how
+delighted I was to have found such a splendid pet; and I made up my mind
+to take it home with me and keep it, unless some one claimed it; as aunt
+and I had long wanted a house-dog to take care of the shop at nights.
+And, besides, I thought it would be such a nice companion for me on all
+the long country-walks which I was so fond of taking out of shop-hours."
+
+"And did any one ever come and claim it?" asked Miss Skipworth with
+breathless interest.
+
+"No; never. It followed me all the way to Merchester, wagging its tail
+whenever I spoke to it, and looking up at me with its soft brown eyes as
+friendly as never was; but it never let me touch it, though I tried to
+pat it once or twice."
+
+"And you took it home with you, the dear creature?"
+
+Mrs. Batterby shook her head. "It followed me right into Merchester; but
+when I was safe in the town among all the gas-lamps and the people and
+the traffic, it turned round and scampered back along the road by which
+we had come. I whistled to it to come back, but it took no notice; and
+the last I saw of it was its yellow coat disappearing into the
+darkness."
+
+Miss Skipworth gave a deep sigh. "And you never saw it again?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"And you never found out who it belonged to?"
+
+A look came into Mrs. Batterby's eyes that was new to Miss Skipworth. "I
+wouldn't say that. As a matter of fact, I believe I did find out Who it
+belonged to."
+
+"I suppose it was the sheep-dog of one of the neighbouring farmers,"
+suggested Mrs. Veale.
+
+"Some might suppose so; but I don't," replied Mrs. Batterby, still with
+that wonderful smile in her sharp grey eyes. "For my part, I believe it
+was one of the angels of God."
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A MODEL SOLDIER[1]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BY CHARLES GARVICE
+
+_Author of "Nance," etc._
+
+_Drawings by_ J. H. HARTLEY
+
+
+KITTY came into the studio and, dropping on to a stool, said, as she
+drew the pins from her hat:
+
+"Dad, I've had an adventure."
+
+She made the assertion with seeming gravity, but her father glanced at
+her dancing eyes with a mixture of interest and a suspicion of being
+spoofed; for past experiences of his light-hearted, mischief-loving
+daughter had taught him to be wary; so he said nothing, but continued to
+chalk in the rough sketch on the easel.
+
+"Behold in me a heroine of romance!" said Kitty, striking an attitude
+and regarding the toes of her dainty boots with her head on one side;
+and her father, as he glanced at her again, noted vaguely her pose and
+expression for future use; for Kitty served frequently as a model, and
+her pretty face and svelte figure had appeared in numerous magazines as
+the heroine of all sorts of stories.
+
+"Father, I have saved a fellow creature's life," she went on. "Told in
+the language of popular fiction it would run thus: 'A young girl of
+pleasing appearance was seen going down one of our leading
+thoroughfares. She was of meek and modest demeanour----'"
+
+"I thought you said the adventure happened to you, Kitty," said Mr.
+Thorold.
+
+"'The road was crowded with the carriages and motor-cars of the wealthy
+and noble,'" continued Kitty, disregarding the mild sarcasm; "'the young
+girl, lost "in maiden meditation, fancy-free," was startled suddenly by
+a cry of anguished terror. Raising her downcast eyes, she saw a pretty
+young thing running across the road right in front of an approaching
+motor-car, from the occupant of which, a lady of mature age and buxom
+form, the cry had arisen. Without a thought of her own fair young life,
+the maiden rushed forward, seized the young thing in her arms and
+carried it in safety to the pavement. The magnificent 2,000-h.p.
+motor-car pulled up beside her, and the richly dressed lady, with a gasp
+of relief and admiration, expressed her appreciation of the young girl's
+heroism, demanded her name and address, and, handing her a card, desired
+the rescuer to call. The heroine, murmuring something inaudible, blushed
+sweetly and, making her way through the small but loudly cheering crowd
+which had collected, modestly disappeared.'"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"All very well," grumbled Mr. Thorold; "but you'll be brought home on a
+stretcher some day, Kit. You're too venturesome by far. What became of
+the child?"
+
+"Oh, it wasn't a child; it was a collie pup."
+
+"I thought you said 'fellow-creature,'" remarked her father plaintively.
+
+"All dogs are my fellow-creatures," declared Kitty simply.
+
+"I am a credulous as well as a sinfully indulgent parent," said Mr.
+Thorold, stepping back to view his sketch; "but I don't believe a word
+of your story."
+
+"'Documentary evidence was instantly forthcoming,'" retorted Kitty,
+extending a tiny paw with a card inserted delicately between her
+fingers.
+
+Her father took it, read aloud: "Lady Hawborough, 209, Belgrave Square,"
+and then emitted a low whistle.
+
+"My word, Kitty, you've gone and done it!" he said. "If this is _the_
+Lady Hawborough--and Nature, with all her audacity, cannot have made two
+of them--you've run up against a celebrity of the deepest dye."
+
+"Oh?" said Kitty. "Never heard of her. What's she celebrated for?"
+
+"For good works--which means, in most cases, a disposition and a
+capacity for interfering in the affairs of other people. And her
+ladyship is one of the biggest and most incorrigible interferers in this
+crank of a world of ours. She is immensely rich; she is also 'powerful,'
+as the novelists say; she is a tyrant to her relations, a terror to her
+friends, and a well-meaning, charitable bugbear to the world in
+general."
+
+"Oh!" said Kitty, somewhat dismayed. "But how is it you are so
+intimately acquainted with the history and characteristics of this lady
+of lofty rank and goodly oof?"
+
+"My dear Kitty, 'oof' is not nearly such a good word as 'wealth.'"
+
+[Illustration: The Ant Lion
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by E. J. Detmold_]
+
+"Maybe, but it's easier to pronounce," retorted Kitty.
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Mr. Thorold, as if he were weary of the
+subject. "Heard some one at the Club talking about her; seen her name in
+the papers. Take my advice and don't call. She'll enlist you in one of
+her gangs of workers, hustle you into a hospital as a nurse, make you
+into a district visitor, or turn you a lecturer on vegetarianism or some
+other fad."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Oh no, she won't," said Kitty, with sublime confidence; "not that I
+should object to being a nurse--that is, if I hadn't already to look
+after an aged and infirm parent. Yes; much as I value your advice, Dad,
+I think I'll call. I'll go to-morrow; and if I come back, say, in a
+Salvation Army kit, and banging a tambourine--and, mind you! I might do
+worse: I've a whole-hearted admiration for the S.A. and the uniform is
+distinctly fetching--you can indulge in the exquisite pleasure of
+exclaiming, 'I told you so!' What are you on this morning, Dad?" she
+asked, going to him, putting her arm round his neck, and giving him a
+little hug.
+
+"Sketch for an illustration for the _Long Acre Magazine_," he said, with
+a kind of resignation; for your most gifted artist has to do pot-boilers
+nowadays: and generally he does them well.
+
+"The girl's all right, anyhow," said Kitty. "Where's the man?"
+
+"Oh, I'm going to stick him in directly," said Mr. Thorold. "He's to be
+a soldier, and I've got a young fellow coming as a model presently. Ran
+against him in a rather extraordinary way. He called on me yesterday
+with an introduction from Bloxham: said he had never sat as model
+before; but that he was hard up, and would do his best. Fine young
+fellow, and a nice taking sort of chap altogether."
+
+"Burglar in disguise, coming to inspect the premises, no doubt,"
+surmised Kitty cheerfully.
+
+"Well, he's welcome to anything he takes a fancy to," remarked Mr.
+Thorold.
+
+"Oh, well!" she said. "I'm off to consult Selinar-Ann as to whether it's
+to be bread-and-butter pudding or a baked roly-poly; expect me back, or
+what remains of me, in an hour."
+
+Carefully rumpling her father's already disordered hair, she screwed up
+his patient face between her hands, kissed him and ran out, singing as
+she went.
+
+In less than an hour she re-entered the studio, still singing; but the
+song snapped off suddenly, and she stood just within the doorway,
+staring with wide-open eyes at a young soldier in khaki who stood on the
+model's dais, one arm in a sling, the other extended with a sword in the
+hand, in the kind of attitude beloved by the populace, and forming the
+picture which bears inevitably the legend, "Charge!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The young man turned his eyes--he dared not move anything else--and, at
+sight of the stricken maiden, his tanned face grew the colour of a
+healthy beetroot.
+
+"Getting on famously, Kit," remarked Mr. Thorold in a preoccupied
+manner. "Arm a little higher, if you please, Captain----Pardon, didn't
+catch your name."
+
+"Barnard," said the model, in a small voice quite inconsistent with his
+fine and manly proportions.
+
+"Ah, thank you! Could you--er--put on something of a scowl? You're
+wounded, you know, and you're leading a forlorn hope, or something of
+the sort."
+
+The young man's good-looking face assumed as much of a scowl as it was
+capable of doing, and Mr. Thorold dashed it on the paper.
+
+"Capital! Now you can rest a minute. I've got to go and get some more
+ochre. Perhaps you'd like a drink?"
+
+"Thank you; I should," confessed the young man, with a slight huskiness.
+
+"All right; I'll bring it," said Mr. Thorold; and, as he was leaving the
+room, he said over his shoulder, "My daughter; Captain Barnard."
+
+Kitty closed the door carefully; then, seating herself on the divan, she
+rested her chin in her hand and, regarding the young man severely, she
+demanded sternly:
+
+"Perhaps you'll be kind enough to inform me of the--the meaning of
+this?"
+
+He had seated himself on the edge of the dais and was wiping his face,
+as if he were just going through a dangerous action, with the enemy
+pressing on all sides.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" he faltered, with meekness in his voice, mien, and
+eye.
+
+"I asked you why you are masquerading here?" she said, uncompromisingly.
+
+"Well, come to that, I'm not masquerading. This is my own kit; I'm a
+soldier, as you know. This is a genuine wound, not a fake; and I'm
+really hard up: had a run of bad luck lately. No harm in earning an
+honest shilling."
+
+"But why come to my father, this particular studio, to earn it?"
+demanded Kitty, cutting short his feeble attempts at plausible
+explanation.
+
+"Oh, well," he replied desperately: "you see, when I met you at the
+Thomsons' the other night, and asked you if I might have the honour of
+calling on you, you said that your father was a very busy man and that
+you yourself had no time for receiving visitors."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well?" demanded Kitty, as icily as before.
+
+"Well," he resumed, looking down and then up at her, as if he could not
+keep his eyes from her face, stern and almost ferocious as it was,
+"well, I asked the Thomsons who your father was, and when they told me,
+I thought--I thought----Well, don't you know, it seemed to me that he
+might want a model. War pictures are all the go now, aren't they? And
+so----" He broke down, made a little gesture with his unwounded arm, and
+blurted out, "Of course you know why I've come. I wanted to see you
+again. I told you so the other night; like my cheek, of course, but--I
+don't know how it is--I feel as if I'd _got_ to see you, to know you.
+Look here, Miss Kitty--I beg your pardon, all the Thomsons call you
+that--I hope you won't mind my saying that I've fallen in love with
+you?"
+
+"Excuse me; I mind it very much," Kitty informed him with distressing
+promptitude; but her eyes wavered and the colour came into her face and
+made it, in the unfortunate young man's opinion, more maddeningly
+fascinating than ever.
+
+"Oh, well, I'm sorry," he said, but without much penitence in his tone;
+"but the truth should always be told, shouldn't it? And it is the
+truth."
+
+"Is it?" queried Kitty. "You've seen me only once before, and then only
+for an hour or two."
+
+"Two hours and three-quarters," he said, as if he were a stickler for
+accuracy; "and I fell in love with you after the first quarter of an
+hour. That being the case--as it certainly is--what was I to do? I shall
+have to go back to the regiment as soon as this old arm of mine is
+right; and it's getting right quickly; and I felt that I couldn't go
+without at any rate telling you what--what was the matter with me."
+
+"You speak as if--as if love were a disease," said Kitty, with an
+attempt at mockery which was an abject failure.
+
+"So it is," he declared, "and I've got it bad--very bad indeed. I'll ask
+you to believe me, Miss Kitty--I mean Miss Thorold--that I haven't had
+you out of my mind for one moment since we parted."
+
+"It's a pity you haven't something better to think of," said Kitty.
+
+"There I disagree with you," observed the young man stoutly. "I couldn't
+have anything better to think of, and I don't want to. I shall think of
+you for the rest of my natural life. One moment, Miss Kitty, before you
+refuse me. I ought to tell you that I'm a poor young captain, in a
+marching regiment, with no prospects."
+
+"The allurement is irresistible----" began Kitty, with admirable
+gravity.
+
+"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "So you accept me?"
+
+"The politeness of a soldier should have compelled you to hear me out. I
+was going to add, that it would be irresistible if I were in love with
+you; but----"
+
+"Don't go on, I beg of you!" he implored. "I'm not such a fat-headed
+idiot as to suppose that you _are_ in love with me. What I wanted to ask
+you was to give me a show. You see, I've arranged with Mr. Thorold to
+stand, not only for this picture, but for an oil-painting, which I
+suppose--don't know much about art--will take some time."
+
+"You have? Well, of all the----!"
+
+"Quite so," he said meekly. "You see, it will give me a chance of trying
+to explain to you that, if you refuse me, it will be--oh, worse than a
+conical bullet in a particularly vital spot. All I ask is that you will
+look in now and again, and--and give me an opportunity of--of----"
+
+"Bothering me to death," finished Kitty for him.
+
+"No; bothering you into an engagement--which is sometimes a serious
+affair, but not always fatal," he said frankly. "Come, Miss Kitty, don't
+be hard on me! It's not much to ask----"
+
+"Oh, isn't it?" interjected Kitty with fine irony. "Thank you. Captain
+Barnard."
+
+"If you were in love with me--absurd idea, of course! but I'm just
+putting the case--I'd come and sit with you and give you any amount of
+chances."
+
+Kitty heard her father's returning footsteps, and she stood up and
+looked from side to side, and then at this meekly audacious young man,
+with a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment--and something else I
+cannot define--in her really wonderful eyes.
+
+"Well, of all the cool----" she said again. But he cut her short.
+
+"That's all right," he said breathlessly; "thank you ever so much. Your
+father's coming. I'm to be here at eleven o'clock every morning."
+
+"And you think," said Kitty, as hurriedly, "that, by simply sitting here
+and regarding you in that absurd attitude, I shall fall in----?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Oh, no; not at all. Fortune will have pity on me and give me an
+opportunity for seeing you for a minute or two alone. Besides,
+perhaps--I only say perhaps, mind!--you might be induced to lunch at an
+A.B.C. shop," he jerked out in a rapid whisper, as the innocent parent
+returned with his yellow ochre.
+
+Kitty went up to her room, flung herself into a chair in her favourite
+attitude, with her chin in her hands, and stared at nothing--no, not
+nothing, but at the handsome face and manly form of a wounded soldier.
+
+Of course, she would not go near the studio while he was there.
+Consequently, the next morning, at half-past eleven, she entered with
+refreshment on a tray; and, with downcast eyes and a blush, informed her
+father that she had left his soda-and-milk in the dining-room because a
+change of scene and air would be good for him.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She was still rosy with shame when the model sprang from the dais,
+caught her hand, and declared fervently that she was an angel.
+
+"No, I am a sly and deceitful, not to say forward, girl," said Kitty.
+"But I've only made an opportunity to tell you that I'm not coming into
+the studio again while you're here."
+
+"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about this
+time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get some
+lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner--I should like
+you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary to
+refuse me. I think that's only fair to you."
+
+"And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the
+concentrated cheek--I am sorry there is no stronger word--of the whole
+British Army; and I decline your invitation."
+
+She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of an hour.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square, and
+was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and
+spacious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair,
+knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly
+disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian
+tracts, and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received
+Kitty with more than graciousness; for her ladyship, notwithstanding her
+crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are
+led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes--a "good
+heart."
+
+Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired genuinely
+the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the rescue of
+the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent member of the
+S.P.C.A.
+
+She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and proceeded to
+put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and, before tea was
+over, had obtained sufficient information respecting Kitty's life to
+convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her ladyship's
+benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty caught a glimpse
+of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladyship displayed in her
+favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who came in contact
+with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to recognise the
+presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the old lady with
+the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of tyranny.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her return
+home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that; but she
+can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation--I was going to say 'Thank
+goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to see some of
+your pictures some day."
+
+"Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true artist, had a
+loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art patron.
+
+The drawing for the _Long Acre Magazine_ being duly finished, Mr.
+Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.
+
+"I think I'm going to make a hit with this, Kitty," he said to his
+daughter one morning, as he was preparing for the arrival of his
+admirably punctual and singularly patient model. "You see, I've got a
+splendid young chap to stand for it. He's the real thing, instead of a
+coster dressed up in an officer's uniform. And he's a pleasant chap,
+too," he continued meditatively. "A modest, well-mannered young fellow:
+no swank or swagger; in fact, a gentleman. By the way, Kitty, you might
+remember that little fact, and not be quite so short and sharp with him
+when he speaks to you."
+
+"Oh, it won't hurt him," retorted Kitty, turning her back quickly. "From
+what I have seen of him, I should say that Captain Barnard would not be
+easily snubbed."
+
+"And you try pretty hard," remarked her father. "For instance, yesterday
+there was no occasion for you to tell him to shut up when he observed
+that it was a fine day."
+
+"All I said was that a model was much more effective when he kept his
+mouth closed," said Kitty.
+
+"That strikes me as being pretty much the same thing," said her father.
+"He looked quite crushed."
+
+"Do him good," murmured Kitty. "Besides, he can talk the hind leg off an
+army mule when he likes."
+
+"How do you know?" asked her parent, with mild surprise.
+
+"Oh, I'm only drawing inferences from--from his general appearance,"
+said Kitty, looking a trifle confused.
+
+"Going out to lunch again to-day?" demanded her father, repiningly, as,
+clad in outdoor things, she passed him in the passage a couple of hours
+later.
+
+"Sorry, dear; got a pressing engagement. Besides, you never eat
+anything. There! did it miss its nurse? Never mind! I'll be in all the
+evening." She scrunched up his face, gave him what she called her
+"screw" kiss, and departed to the A.B.C. shop.
+
+By this time, it must be confessed, the fortress besieged by Captain
+Barnard with such ingenuous strategy, but manly courage, had
+surrendered; and to-day the wounded soldier had brought a pretty but
+inexpensive ring with him.
+
+"It's all I can afford, dearest," he said, as he slipped it on the
+finger.
+
+"It's a perfect duck," she returned, touching the ring with her lips--a
+wicked and maddening thing to do; for you can't kiss a girl in an A.B.C.
+shop, however much in love with her you may be.
+
+"And to-morrow I'll tell your father. What--what do you think he'll say,
+darling?"
+
+"I know what he'll say, but I couldn't repeat it, because I've been
+properly brought up," replied Kitty.
+
+"But he won't refuse his consent, won't chuck me out?" cried her lover,
+aghast.
+
+"No; because, strange as it may seem, he's really fond of me. Oh, I
+don't deserve it; for he's the dearest dad that ever had a hussy and a
+minx for a daughter. No, he won't throw you out, at any rate until the
+picture's finished. And perhaps you'll be tired of me--I mean, I shall
+be tired of you--we shall be tired of each other, before that time."
+
+"I'll risk that," he said confidently, pressing her hand under the
+table.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That afternoon Kitty, in a state of perfect bliss, paid one of her
+frequent visits to Lady Hawborough, with whom she had now become great
+friends; in fact, the old lady had grown quite fond of the girl; and the
+extent of this affection was proved that afternoon to Kitty by an
+extraordinary mischance. The footman had shown her into a small
+ante-room, which Lady Hawborough called her "study"; the adjoining
+apartment was divided from that in which Kitty was waiting by a pair of
+folding doors, and, one of these being partly open, Kitty heard the
+rustling of dresses, followed by Lady Hawborough's clear and very
+distinct voice saying:
+
+"Must you go, dear? I'm so sorry, because I wanted you to see her. She's
+quite a nice girl--in fact, a really sweet little soul. Oh, yes, of
+course, I've plans for her," she continued, as if in response to a
+remark by the other lady. "I'm afraid she has not many opportunities;
+the father is a struggling artist and they don't move in society, of
+course. I'm thinking of--in fact, I've made up my mind to marry her to
+Archibald."
+
+"Lucky Archibald!" observed the other lady.
+
+"Yes; I think he will be," assented Lady Hawborough, with a complacency
+she always exhibited when disposing of the fate of those belonging to
+her. "He is a good boy, a little wild, perhaps, but really no harm in
+him; and it's time he was married. I'm a little anxious about him,
+because he's so--so impetuous, like all the Hawboroughs." Her ladyship's
+"dearest friend" could not have accused her of impetuosity; and Kitty
+could almost see the other lady smile. "He is the sort of boy who might
+fall in love with a barmaid or a ballet girl and marry her."
+
+"Then this young lady doesn't come within the category of undesirables?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no," said Lady Hawborough. "She's quite a lady and will suit
+Archibald very nicely. I am very pleased with him; he has been doing so
+well lately: quite distinguished himself; you've heard, of course? It
+was in the papers. I am going to look after him."
+
+Kitty had been listening with burning face and twitching lips. She had
+been so astonished as to be incapable of carrying out her desire to
+spring to the door and declare her presence, and escape from the
+position of an eavesdropper; but she recovered sufficiently to rise and
+confront Lady Hawborough as, on having said farewell to her visitor, she
+entered the room.
+
+"Why, my dear!" said her ladyship, almost embarrassed, "I didn't know
+that you were here: have you been waiting long?"
+
+"Long enough to hear what you said," replied Kitty bluntly, her face
+pale now, her eyes flashing. "I couldn't help listening. I'm sorry. Yet
+it's just as well, because, Lady Hawborough, I don't think you have any
+right to--to dispose of me in the way you intended doing.--I don't know
+who 'Archibald' is."
+
+"Archibald is my nephew," said Lady Hawborough stiffly; and when Lady
+Hawborough was stiff, the common or kitchen poker compared with her was
+a soft and flexible article. "My nephew and heir. He is a very good and
+brave young man."
+
+"He may be a saint for all I care," said Kitty; "but I don't want to
+marry him, and I won't. In fact, I'm----" She was going to say
+"engaged," but she was really too angry to confide in Lady Hawborough
+"--I'm resolved not to do so. I am afraid you will think me very
+ungrateful, and that--well, that this is the end of our friendship."
+
+"I think you are stating the situation very accurately," said Lady
+Hawborough, whose face was exceeding red.
+
+"I'm sorry," said Kitty, rather wistfully and sadly, her resentment
+waning; for the old lady had been very kind to her, and Kitty saw that
+even this absurd intention of hers sprang from a benevolent desire to
+benefit her protegee. "I want to thank you for all your goodness to me,
+and----Good-bye, Lady Hawborough."
+
+She held out her hand, but Lady Hawborough appeared not to see it, and
+Kitty got outside the "stately and desirable mansion" and hastened home
+to enjoy a good cry.
+
+When she made her appearance in the studio next morning, she found her
+father seated on his stool in an attitude of profound dismay, his long
+figure bowed, his rumpled hair clutched in his hands, his painting-brush
+between his teeth.
+
+On the dais stood the wounded soldier, his face flushed, an expression
+of keen discomfort all over him.
+
+"Here, look here, Kitty!" wailed her distracted parent. "Just listen to
+what this young man's been telling me? He says that you and he have got
+engaged! Heavens!"
+
+"Quite true, father," said Kitty calmly, but with a blush.
+
+"Oh, my goodness! And he tells me that he's poor, and has nothing to
+live on excepting his pay and a small allowance."
+
+"That's true also, I believe, father," said Kitty. "I'm sorry; but it
+can't be helped. You'll have to paint me as 'The Mendicant's Bride.'"
+
+"Don't joke about it, you foolish, abandoned girl!" groaned Mr. Thorold.
+
+"But you don't want me to cry about it, Dad dear," said Kitty, going to
+him, taking the brush from between his teeth, and putting her arm round
+his neck. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" she asked,
+addressing the discomfited young man.
+
+"Not a word," he returned. "Said all I've got to say. And look at the
+effect of it!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Yes," she retorted. "You've broken the heart of an affectionate and
+devoted parent. You're a wicked young man.--Oh, dad dear, do get up and
+go on with your work! You know as well as I do that you're not going to
+make us unhappy? Say, 'Bless you, my children!' like a good father, and
+let's all go up and mingle our tears over a lunch at the Floriani."
+
+"Ripping idea!" cried the infatuated lover, who would have said the same
+if Kitty had proposed they should lunch in the moon.
+
+"Oh, well," said Mr. Thorold, a trifle more cheerfully, and with a shrug
+of resignation. "But I shall not go unavenged. Young man, you do not
+know what lies before you. She will make a slave of you, as she has made
+a slave of me; this girl is a tyrant of the most outrageous kind. You
+will not possess a soul of your own; you will----"
+
+"Bravo, Dad!" interrupted Kitty. "But it will be quite time enough to
+give me away when we get to the church. There's your hat, on the bust
+there."
+
+"And now we'll go on the bust ourselves," said the young man joyously.
+"I say, how jolly it all is! Would you mind my kissing her, sir?"
+
+He was in the middle of the somewhat lengthy act, when the door opened,
+and Selinar-Ann announced in awe-stricken tones:
+
+"Lidy 'Awborough!" And her ladyship swept in.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+With his arm still round Kitty, her lover stared at the portly dame as
+if she were a gorgon. Kitty, with a stifled exclamation of astonishment,
+freed herself with difficulty from the young man's grasp, and, with
+blushing face, hastened to greet the august visitor, whom Mr. Thorold
+was regarding with an air of patient resignation.
+
+But Lady Hawborough put out one hand to keep Kitty back, and, fixing her
+lover with a stony stare, exclaimed sepulchrally:
+
+"Archibald!"
+
+There was a profound silence for a moment; then Kitty, staring in her
+turn at her lover, echoed the objectionable word; for it was a name she
+detested.
+
+"Archibald! His name's Harry!"
+
+"His name is _Archibald_," said Lady Hawborough sternly. "I ought to
+know; for he is my nephew."
+
+"Your nephew!" gasped Kitty.
+
+The young man, having recovered from a fright which no shrapnel built by
+Krupp could have caused him, now came forward with hand extended.
+
+"How are you, Aunt?--yes, it's my aunt, right enough. Didn't I tell you?
+Must have forgotten to mention it: ought to be ashamed of myself, for
+Aunt Philippa's been awfully good to me. Aunt, this young lady is----"
+
+"I know quite well enough who she is, Archibald," broke in Lady
+Hawborough severely. "What I want to know is--What does this mean?"
+
+"Oh, I see!" he stammered. "Oh, well, it means--of course, you saw when
+you came in? It means that Kitty here--Miss Thorold, allow me to
+introduce you to my aunt. Mr. Thorold, my aunt, Lady Hawborough. Aunt
+Philippa, Mr. Thorold: he is the father of this young lady, Kitty here,
+who has done me the very great honour of promising to marry me. Sounds
+impossible; but it's true!"
+
+Lady Hawborough stalked to the nearest chair and, with stately dignity
+seated herself on it, very much as a judge might take his place on the
+dreadful bench.
+
+"Girl," she said, in her deepest tones, "why have you tricked, deceived
+me?"
+
+Then, suddenly, as if influenced by a peculiar expression in Kitty's
+eyes, an expression which conveyed a kind of warning, her ladyship
+faltered, opened her lips once or twice, then said, in quite a different
+tone, indeed, almost meekly:
+
+"This--this is quite a surprise. You will forgive me if I am a little
+upset. I think I ought to have been prepared. However, as you young
+people have taken the matter into your own hands----"
+
+"Just what we have done, haven't we, Kitty?" exclaimed her lover, as if
+he were proclaiming the supernal wisdom of his relative.
+
+"--there is no more to be said," concluded Lady Hawborough rather
+lamely. "At least, I should like to have a word or two with Miss--Miss
+Thorold--I mean, Kitty----"
+
+"Outside, Eliza!" cried Harry, otherwise Archibald, joyously, as,
+catching the bewildered Mr. Thorold by the arm, he walked, almost
+danced, him out.
+
+Kitty did not wait for any question.
+
+"You see," she said, explaining the significance of her warning look,
+"it was just as well not to tell these foolish men everything. It might
+happen that if Harry--I mean Archibald--knew that you had meant to
+insist upon his marrying me--well, men get huffy so quickly, don't
+they?--he might refuse to do so now."
+
+"Well, he might, but I don't think it's very likely, my dear," said Lady
+Hawborough; and she patted the little hand that lay on her knee. "But I
+think you are right. We will not say anything about--yesterday. You're a
+clever little thing," she added, kissing her.
+
+"Can we come in?" demanded Harry, a few minutes later. "Aunt, we're all
+going up to the Floriani to get some lunch. Come with us, like a good
+soul!"
+
+"The--Flo--Floriani! _What_ is it?" asked her ladyship fearsomely.
+
+"It's a restaurant in Soho, where you get a thorough blow-out--I mean a
+Continental lunch--for one-and-nine," her nephew informed her. "Come on,
+Aunt Philippa!"
+
+Lady Hawborough shuddered. "I should be delighted, Archibald dear,
+but--but I think you'd better all go round to Belgrave Square with me.
+It--it would be safer."
+
+It was after lunch, when the two young and silly lovers were in the very
+ante-room where Kitty had overheard Lady Hawborough's fell designs, that
+Kitty, holding his head back from her for a moment, asked:
+
+"But why does she call you Archibald?"
+
+"Because it's my name, or one of 'em," he replied. "Harry Archibald
+Stephen Fitzwilliam----"
+
+"Oh, stop, stop! I shall feel as if I were marrying half a dozen men.
+But you haven't told me _why_ she calls you Archibald; and has thus
+caused all this confusion!"
+
+"Oh, because a lawyer chap who bolted with a lot of her money was called
+Henry; and, moreover, a bishop we've got in the family, and a chap my
+aunt's very proud of, is called Archibald."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"She'll have to drop that name, Harry," said Kitty firmly. "I can't bear
+it. Do you think she will?"
+
+"I'm perfectly certain she will, if you've made up your mind she shall,"
+he returned, with an air of profound conviction; "for it's plain to me
+you've captured the aunt as well as the nephew. Yes, it's a fair cop."
+"She's a dear," murmured Kitty, very close to his ear.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[1] Copyright in Great Britain, the Colonies, and the United States of
+America by Charles Garvice, 1914. Dramatic and other rights reserved.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND
+
+BY LADY SYBIL GRANT
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.
+
+
+I.--LET'SPRETEND
+
+    THIS country is not on the map,
+    But sometimes, curled on Mother's lap,
+    Or sitting in my bedtime bath,
+    I wish that I could find the path.
+
+    THERE no one's ever called a dunce,
+    And you eat jam and cake at once,
+    Or chocolate and lemon squash,
+    While nobody need ever wash.
+
+    MOTHERS have nothing else to do
+    Except to kiss and cuddle you;
+    And fathers need not "earn their bread,"
+    But stay and romp with you instead.
+
+    THERE are no girls: just men and boys
+    And mothers; _all_ the shops sell toys;
+    Just _every one_ plays Hide and Seek,
+    And Christmas happens twice a week.
+
+    WHILE everybody has a car,
+    Also a yacht, like Grandpapa,
+    And lives in wigwams, tents, or huts,
+    And owns a knife that really cuts.
+
+    BUT some things you can never find,
+    However tired you make your mind;
+    Like other things you never know
+    For sure--if you try ever so.
+
+    JUST as: how God turns on the rain,
+    So nobody can quite explain
+    Exactly where the rainbows end.
+    And so it is with Let'spretend.
+
+    MY Father says that all his life
+    With my Mamma (who is his wife)
+    They've looked; and they are _very_ old.
+    My father's thirty, I've been told!
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "And they are _very_ old.
+    My father's thirty, I've been told!"]
+
+
+II.--SUPPOSING
+
+    SUPPOSING one had been
+      Shut up in Noah's Ark
+    (During the flood, I mean)--
+      It would have been a lark!
+
+    THE animals, you know,
+      Were not as they are now;
+    _Quite_ different long ago--
+      Just see this purple cow!
+
+    THE lion, it seems, was pink,
+      The bears and tigers too,
+    While zebras had, I _think_,
+      Most lovely stripes of blue.
+
+    BUT really, I forget,
+      For now the stripes are faint,
+    In my own Noah's Ark set
+      I once licked off the paint.
+
+    AT least, so I am told
+      (A stupid thing to do!
+    But I was not so old
+      Then--only half-past two).
+
+    NOAH'S sons--just look at Ham,
+      Japhet, of course, and Shem!
+    I think I really am
+      Glad I don't look like them!
+
+[Illustration: JAPHET
+
+    JUST LOOK
+    _at Ham_
+
+    OF COURSE
+
+    AND
+    _Shem_!]
+
+    THEY all stand on green rings
+      Of grass. Perhaps at night
+    The cows and sheep and things
+      Prowled round to steal a bite.
+
+    HORRID for Shem to feel
+      Tickling around his toes,
+    Hoping to snatch a meal,
+      Two hungry buffaloes!
+
+    BUT think what lovely pets
+      Noah had all for his own;
+    Each one in double sets,
+      And mostly quite unknown.
+
+    EVEN a tame baboon!--
+      See, he is painted red--
+    Would get to know you soon
+      And sleep upon your bed.
+
+    THE kangaroo that jumps,
+      Camels that learn to kneel
+    And let you ride their bumps,
+      Or follow you to heel.
+
+    THE pets that I keep now
+      Are guinea-pigs and such;
+    My parents won't allow
+      The ones I want so much.
+
+    A baby crocodile
+      Or _really_ tame giraffe,
+    I wonder why you smile;
+      They, too, say "no" and laugh.
+
+    [Illustration: NOAH]
+
+    I WOULD have loved it so
+      To travel in the Ark,
+    With all the Zoo, you know--
+      Except when it was dark
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "So nobody can quite explain
+    Exactly where the rainbows end."
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Arthur Rackham. R.W.S._]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "The animals, you know,
+    Were not as they are now"]
+
+
+III.--WHEN JIM IS QUITE GROWN UP
+
+    WHEN Jim is quite grown up,
+    And has a bulldog pup,
+    And sits up very late
+    _Always_ till half-past eight,
+    Then, when he is a man,
+    He means to marry Ann.
+
+    HER age is twenty-two,
+    But he _thinks_ she will do;
+    He has not told her yet,
+    Or she might be upset
+    At having got to wait
+    Until this distant date.
+
+    THE life that he will lead
+    Sounds very fine indeed:
+    Adventures, wounds, and fights,
+    And hunting raids of nights;
+    Murders and blug and fun
+    With sword and axe and gun.
+
+    AIRSHIPS and hydroplanes,
+    Mustangs and prairie flames!
+    Deserts and jungles vast,
+    And, when quite tired at last
+    With being on the roam,
+    Of course, he would come home.
+
+    AND, after miles of tramp,
+    Reel, wounded, into camp,
+    Bound with a handkerchief,
+    And munching bully-beef;
+    While Ann at the camp fire
+    Would listen and admire.
+
+    WHAT fun he will have, too!
+    Nothing he will not do.
+    He often says to me
+    (Excepting the V.C.)
+    Medals he would decline--
+    They are not in his line.
+
+    BUT he would soar to fame
+    And win a glorious name.
+    And Ann? How odd you are!
+    Why, just like his Mamma,
+    Would sit at home and sew,
+    Like women do, you know.
+
+[Illustration: NOT IN HIS LINE
+
+
+
+
+
+MAGEPA THE BUCK
+
+BY H. RIDER HAGGARD
+
+_Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by H. Rider Haggard_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+IN a preface to the story of the early life of the late Allan
+Quatermain, known in Africa as Macumazahn, which has recently been
+published under the name of "Marie," Mr. Curtis, the brother of Sir
+Henry Curtis, tells of how he found a number of manuscripts that were
+left by Mr. Quatermain in his house in Yorkshire. Of these "Marie" was
+one, but in addition to it and sundry other completed stories, I, the
+Editor to whom it was directed that these manuscripts should be handed
+for publication, have found a quantity of unclassified notes and papers.
+
+One of these notes--it is contained in a book, much soiled and worn,
+that evidently its owner had carried about with him for years--reminds
+me of a conversation I had with Mr. Quatermain long ago when I was his
+guest in Yorkshire. The note itself is short; I think that he must have
+jotted it down within an hour or two of the event to which it refers. It
+runs thus:
+
+"I wonder whether in the 'Land Beyond' any recognition is granted for
+acts of great courage and unselfish devotion--a kind of spiritual
+Victoria Cross. If so I think it ought to be accorded to that poor old
+savage, Magepa, at least it would be if I had any voice in the matter.
+Upon my word he has made me feel proud of humanity. And yet he was
+nothing but a 'nigger,' as so many call the Kaffirs."
+
+For a while I, the Editor, wondered to what this entry could allude.
+Then of a sudden it all came back to me. I saw myself, as a young man,
+seated in the hall of Quatermain's house one evening after dinner. With
+me were Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. We were smoking, and the
+conversation had turned upon deeds of heroism. Each of us detailed such
+acts as he could remember which had made the most impression on him.
+When we had finished, old Allan said:
+
+"With your leave I'll tell you a story of what I think was one of the
+bravest things I ever saw. It happened at the beginning of the Zulu war,
+when the troops were marching into Zululand. Now at that time, as you
+know, I was turning an honest penny transport-riding for Government, or
+rather for the military authorities. I hired them three wagons with the
+necessary voorloopers and drivers, sixteen good salted oxen to each
+wagon, and myself in charge of the lot. They paid me--well, never mind
+how much--I am rather ashamed to mention the amount. I asked a good
+price for my wagons, or rather for the hire of them, of a very well
+satisfied young gentleman in uniform who had been exactly three weeks in
+the country, and, to my surprise, got it. But when I went to those in
+command and warned them what would happen if they persisted in their way
+of advance, then in their pride they would not listen to the old hunter
+and transport-rider, but politely bowed me out. If they had, there would
+have been no Isandhlwana disaster."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He brooded awhile, for, as I knew, this was a sore subject with him, one
+of which he would rarely talk. Although he escaped himself, Quatermain
+had lost friends on that fatal field. He went on:
+
+To return to old Magepa. I had known him for many years. The first time
+we met was in the battle of the Tugela. I was fighting for the king's
+son, Umbelazi the Handsome, in the ranks of the Amawombe regiment--I
+mean to write all that story, for it should not be lost.[2] Well, as I
+have told you before, the Amawombe were wiped out; of the three thousand
+or so of them I think only about fifty remained alive after they had
+annihilated the three of Cetewayo's regiments that set upon them. But
+Magepa was one who survived.
+
+I met him afterwards at old King Panda's kraal and recognised him as
+having fought by my side. Whilst I was talking with him the Prince
+Cetewayo came by; to me he was civil enough, for he knew how I chanced
+to be in the battle, but he glared at Magepa, and said:
+
+"Why, Macumazahn, is not this man one of the dogs with which you tried
+to bite me by the Tugela not long ago? He must be a cunning dog also,
+one who can run fast, for how comes it that he lives to snarl when so
+many will never bark again? _Ow!_ if I had my way I would find a strip
+of hide to fit his neck."
+
+"Not so," I answered; "he has the king's peace and he is a brave
+man--braver than I am, anyway, Prince, seeing that I ran from the ranks
+of the Amawombe, while he stood where he was."
+
+"You mean that your horse ran, Macumazahn. Well, since you like this
+dog, I will not hurt him"; and with a shrug he went his way.
+
+"Yet soon or late he will hurt me," said Magepa, when the Prince had
+gone. "U'Cetewayo has a memory long as the shadow thrown by a tree at
+sunset. Moreover, as he knows well, it is true that I ran, Macumazahn,
+though not till all was finished and I could do no more by standing
+still. You remember how, after we had eaten up the first of Cetewayo's
+regiments, the second charged us and we ate that up also. Well, in that
+fight I got a tap on the head from a kerry. It struck me on my man's
+ring which I had just put on, for I think I was the youngest soldier in
+that regiment of veterans. The ring saved me; still, for a while I lost
+my mind and lay like one dead. When I found it again the fight was over
+and Cetewayo's people were searching for our wounded that they might
+kill them. Presently they found me and saw that there was no hurt on me.
+
+"'Here is one who shams dead like a stink-cat,' said a big fellow,
+lifting his spear.
+
+"Then it was that I sprang up and ran, I who was but just married and
+desired to live. He struck at me, but I jumped over the spear, and the
+others that they threw missed me. Then they began to hunt me, but,
+Macumazahn, I, who am named 'The Buck' because I am swifter of foot than
+any man in Zululand, outpaced them all and got away safe."
+
+"Well done, Magepa," I said. "Still, remember the saying of your people,
+'At last the strong swimmer goes with the stream and the swift runner is
+run down.'"
+
+"I know it, Macumazahn," he answered, with a nod, "and perhaps in a day
+to come I shall know it better."
+
+I took little heed of his words at the time, but more than thirty years
+afterwards I remembered them.
+
+Such was my first acquaintance with Magepa. Now, friends, I will tell
+you how it was renewed at the time of the Zulu war.
+
+As you know, I was attached to the centre column that advanced into
+Zululand by Rorke's Drift on the Buffalo River. Before war was declared,
+or at any rate before the advance began, while it might have been and
+many thought it would be averted, I was employed transport-riding goods
+to the little Rorke's Drift station, that which became so famous
+afterwards, and incidentally in collecting what information I could of
+Cetewayo's intentions. Hearing that there was a kraal a mile or so the
+other side of the river, of which the people were said to be very
+friendly to the English, I determined to visit it. You may think this
+was rash, but I was so well known in Zululand, where for many years, by
+special leave of the king, I was allowed to go whither I would quite
+unmolested, that I felt no fear for myself so long as I went alone.
+
+Accordingly one evening I crossed the drift and headed for a kloof in
+which I was told the kraal stood. Ten minutes' ride brought me in sight
+of it. It was not a large kraal; there may have been six or eight huts
+and a cattle enclosure surrounded by the usual fence. The situation,
+however, was very pretty, a knoll of rising ground backed by the wooded
+slopes of the kloof. As I approached I saw women and children running to
+the kraal to hide, and when I reached the gateway for some time no one
+would come out to meet me. At length a small boy appeared who informed
+me that the kraal was "empty as a gourd."
+
+"Quite so," I answered; "still, go and tell the headman that Macumazahn
+wishes to speak with him."
+
+The boy departed, and presently I saw a face that seemed familiar to me
+peeping round the gateway. After a careful inspection its owner emerged.
+
+He was a tall, thin man of indefinite age, perhaps between sixty and
+seventy, with a finely-cut face, a little grey beard, kind eyes and very
+well shaped hands and feet, the fingers, which twitched incessantly,
+being remarkably long.
+
+"Greeting, Macumazahn," he said. "I see you do not remember me. Well,
+think of the battle of the Tugela, and of the last stand of the
+Amawombe, and of a certain talk at the kraal of our Father-who-is-dead"
+(that is, King Panda), "and of how he who sits in his place" (he meant
+Cetewayo) "told you that if he had his way he would find a hide rope to
+fit the neck of a certain one."
+
+"Ah!" I said, "I know you now; you are Magepa the Buck. So the Runner
+has not yet been run down."
+
+"No, Macumazahn, not yet; but there is still time. I think that many
+swift feet will be at work ere long."
+
+"How have you prospered?" I asked him.
+
+"Well enough, Macumazahn, in all ways except one. I have three wives,
+but my children have been few and are dead, except one daughter, who is
+married and lives with me, for her husband, too, is dead. He was killed
+by a buffalo, and she has not yet married again. But enter and see."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+So I went in and saw Magepa's wives, old women all of them. Also, at his
+bidding, his daughter, whose name was Gita, brought me some _maas_, or
+curdled milk, to drink. She was a well-formed woman, very like her
+father, but sad-faced, perhaps with a prescience of evil to come.
+Clinging to her finger was a beautiful boy of something under two years
+of age, who, when he saw Magepa, ran to him and threw his little arms
+about his legs. The old man lifted the child and kissed him tenderly,
+saying:
+
+"It is well that this toddler and I should love one another, Macumazahn,
+seeing that he is the last of my race. All the other children here are
+those of the people who have come to live in my shadow."
+
+"Where are their fathers?" I asked, patting the little boy (who, his
+mother told me, was named Sinala) upon the cheek, an attention that he
+resented.
+
+"They have been called away on duty," answered Magepa shortly; and I
+changed the subject.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then we began to talk about old times, and I asked him if he had any
+oxen to sell, saying that this was my reason for visiting his kraal.
+
+"Nay, Macumazahn," he answered, in a meaning voice. "This year all the
+cattle are the king's."
+
+I nodded and replied that, as it was so, I had better be going; whereon,
+as I half expected, Magepa announced that he would see me safe to the
+drift. So I bade farewell to the wives and the widowed daughter, and we
+started.
+
+As soon as we were clear of the kraal Magepa began to open his heart to
+me.
+
+"Macumazahn," he said, looking up at me earnestly, for I was mounted and
+he walked beside my horse, "there is to be war. Cetewayo will not
+consent to the demands of the great White Chief from the Cape"--he meant
+Sir Bartle Frere. "He will fight with the English; only he will let them
+begin the fighting. He will draw them on into Zululand and then
+overwhelm them with his _impis_ and stamp them flat, and eat them up;
+and I, who love the English, am very sorry. Yes, it makes my heart
+bleed. If it were the Boers now, I should be glad, for we Zulus hate the
+Boers; but the English we do not hate; even Cetewayo likes them; still
+he will eat them up if they attack him."
+
+"Indeed," I answered; and then, as in duty bound, I proceeded to get
+what I could out of him, and that was not a little. Of course, however,
+I did not swallow it all, since I suspected that Magepa was feeding me
+with news that he had been ordered to disseminate.
+
+Presently we came to the mouth of the kloof in which the kraal stood,
+and here, for greater convenience of conversation, we halted, for I
+thought it as well that we should not be seen in close talk on the open
+plain beyond. The path here, I should add, ran past a clump of green
+bushes; I remember they bore a white flower that smelt sweet, and were
+backed by some tall grass, elephant-grass I think it was, among which
+grew mimosa trees.
+
+"Magepa," I said, "if in truth there is to be fighting, why don't you
+move over the river one night with your people and cattle, and get into
+Natal?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I would if I could, Macumazahn, who have no stomach for this war
+against the English. But there I should not be safe, since presently the
+king will come into Natal too, or send thirty thousand assegais as his
+messengers. Then what will happen to those who have left him?"
+
+"Oh, if you think that," I answered, "you had better stay where you
+are."
+
+"Also, Macumazahn, the husbands of those women at my kraal have been
+called up to their regiments, and if their wives fled to the English
+they would be killed. Again, the king has sent for nearly all our
+cattle, 'to keep it safe.' He fears lest we Border Zulus might join our
+people in Natal, and that is why he is keeping our cattle 'safe.'"
+
+"Life is more than cattle, Magepa. At least you might come."
+
+"What! And leave my people to be killed? Macumazahn, you did not use to
+talk so. Still, hearken. Macumazahn, will you do me a service? I will
+pay you well for it. I would get my daughter Gita and my little grandson
+Sinala into safety. If I and my wives are wiped out it does not matter,
+for we are old. But her I would save, and the boy I would save, so that
+one may live who will remember my name. Now, if I were to send them
+across the drift, say at the dawn, not to-morrow, and not the next day,
+but the day after, would you receive them into your wagon and deliver
+them safe to some place in Natal? I have money hidden, fifty pieces of
+gold, and you may take half of these and also half of the cattle if ever
+I live to get them back out of the keeping of the king."
+
+"Never mind about the money, and we will speak of the cattle
+afterwards," I said. "I understand that you wish to send your daughter
+and your little grandson out of danger, and I think you wise, very wise.
+When once the advance begins, if there is an advance, who knows what may
+happen? War is a rough game, Magepa. It is not the custom of you black
+people to spare women and children, and there will be Zulus fighting on
+our side as well as on yours; do you understand?"
+
+"_Ow!_ I understand, Macumazahn. I have known the face of war and seen
+many a little one like my grandson Sinala assegaied upon his mother's
+back."
+
+"Very good. But if I do this for you, you must do something for me. Say,
+Magepa, does Cetewayo _really_ mean to fight, and if so, how? Oh yes, I
+know all you have been telling me, but I want not words, but truth from
+the heart."
+
+"You ask secrets," said the old fellow, peering about him into the
+gathering gloom. "Still, 'a spear for a spear and a shield for a
+shield,' as our saying runs. I have spoken no lie. The king _does_ mean
+to fight, not because he wants to, but because the regiments swear that
+they will wash their assegais, they who have never seen blood since that
+battle of the Tugela in which we two played a part; and if he will not
+suffer it, well, there are more of his race! Also he means to fight
+thus," and he gave me some very useful information; that is, information
+which would have been useful if those in authority had deigned to pay
+any attention to it when I passed it on.
+
+Just as he finished speaking I thought that I heard a sound in the dense
+green bush behind us. It reminded me of the noise a man makes when he
+tries to stifle a cough, and frightened me. For if we had been overheard
+by a spy, Magepa was as good as dead, and the sooner I was across the
+river the better.
+
+"What's that?" I asked.
+
+"A bush buck, Macumazahn. There are lots of them about here."
+
+Not being satisfied, though it is true that buck do cough like this, I
+turned my horse to the bush, seeking an opening. Thereon something
+crashed away and vanished into the long grass. In those shadows, of
+course, I could not see what it was, but such light as remained glinted
+on what might have been the polished tip of the horn of an antelope
+or--an assegai.
+
+"I told you it was a buck, Macumazahn," said Magepa. "Still, if you
+smell danger, let us come away from the bush, though the orders are that
+no white man is to be touched as yet."
+
+Then, while we walked on towards the ford, he set out with great detail,
+as Kaffirs do, the exact arrangements that he proposed to make for the
+handing over of his daughter and her child into my care. I remember that
+I asked him why he would not send her on the following morning, instead
+of two mornings later. He answered because he expected an outpost of
+scouts from one of the regiments at his kraal that night, who would
+probably remain there over the morrow and perhaps longer. While they
+were in the place it would be difficult for him to send away Gita and
+her son without exciting suspicion.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Near the drift we parted, and I returned to our provisional camp and
+wrote a beautiful report of all that I had learned, of which report, I
+may add, no one took the slightest notice.
+
+I think it was the morning before that whereon I had arranged to meet
+Gita and the little boy at the drift that just about dawn I went down to
+the river for a wash. Having taken my dip I climbed on to a flat rock to
+dress myself, and looked at the billows of beautiful, pearly mist which
+hid the face of the water, and considered--I almost said listened
+to--the great silence, for as yet no live thing was stirring.
+
+Ah! if I had known of the hideous sights and sounds that were destined
+to be heard ere long in this same haunt of perfect peace! Indeed, at
+that moment there came a kind of hint or premonition of them, since
+suddenly through the utter quiet broke the blood-curdling wail of a
+woman. It was followed by other wails and shouts, distant and yet
+distinct. Then the silence fell again.
+
+Now, thought I to myself, that noise might very well have come from old
+Magepa's kraal; luckily, however, sounds are deceptive in mist.
+
+Well, the end of it was that I waited there till the sun rose. The first
+thing on which its bright beams struck was a mighty column of smoke
+rising to heaven from where Magepa's kraal had stood!
+
+I went back to my wagons very sad, so sad that I could scarcely eat my
+breakfast. While I walked I wondered hard whether the light had glinted
+upon the tip of a buck's horn in that patch of green bush with the
+sweet-smelling white flowers a night or two ago. Or had it perchance
+fallen upon the point of the assegai of some spy who was watching my
+movements! In that event yonder column of smoke and the horrible cries
+which preceded it were easy to explain. For had not Magepa and I talked
+secrets together, and in Zulu.
+
+On the following morning at the dawn I attended at the drift in the
+faint hope that Gita and her boy might arrive there as arranged. But
+nobody came, which was not wonderful, seeing that Gita lay dead, stabbed
+through and through, as I saw afterwards (she made a good fight for the
+child), and that her spirit had gone to wherever go the souls of the
+brave-hearted, be they white or black. Only on the farther bank of the
+river I saw some Zulu scouts who seemed to know my errand, for they
+called to me, asking mockingly where was the pretty woman I had come to
+meet?
+
+After that I tried to put the matter out of my head, which indeed was
+full enough of other things, since now definite orders had arrived as to
+the advance, and with these many troops and officers.
+
+[Illustration: "Then he lifted himself upon one arm, and with the other
+saluted"]
+
+It was just then that the Zulus began to fire across the river at such
+of our people as they saw upon the bank. At these they took aim, and, as
+a result, hit nobody. A raw Kaffir with a rifle, in my experience, is
+only dangerous when he aims at nothing, for then the bullet looks after
+itself, and may catch you. To put a stop to this nuisance a regiment of
+the friendly natives--there may have been several hundred of them--was
+directed to cross the river and clear the kloofs and rocks of the Zulu
+skirmishers who were hidden among them. I watched them go off in fine
+style.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Towards evening some one told me that our _impi_, as he grandiloquently
+called it, was returning victorious. Having at the moment nothing else
+to do, I walked down to the river at a point where the water was deep
+and the banks were high. Here I climbed to the top of a pile of
+boulders, whence with my field-glasses I could sweep a great extent of
+plain which stretched away on the Zululand side till at length it merged
+into hills and bush.
+
+Presently I saw some of our natives marching homewards in a scattered
+and disorganised fashion, but evidently very proud of themselves, for
+they were waving their assegais and singing scraps of war-songs. A few
+minutes later, a mile or more away, I caught sight of a man running.
+
+Watching him through the glasses I noted three things: first, that he
+was tall; secondly, that he ran with extraordinary swiftness; and,
+thirdly, that he had something tied upon his back. It was evident,
+further, that he had good reason to run, since he was being hunted by a
+number of our Kaffirs, of whom more and more continually joined in the
+chase. From every side they poured down upon him, trying to cut him off
+and kill him, for as they got nearer I could see the assegais which they
+threw at him flash in the sunlight.
+
+Very soon I understood that the man was running with a definite object
+and to a definite point; he was trying to reach the river. I thought the
+sight very pitiful, this one poor creature being hunted to death by so
+many. Also I wondered why he did not free himself from the bundle on his
+back, and came to the conclusion that he must be a witch-doctor, and
+that the bundle contained his precious charms or medicines.
+
+This was while he was yet a long way off, but when he came nearer,
+within three or four hundred yards, of a sudden I caught the outline of
+his face against a good background, and knew it for that of Magepa.
+
+"My God!" I said to myself, "it is old Magepa the Buck, and the bundle
+in the mat will be his grandson, Sinala!"
+
+Yes, even then I felt certain that he was carrying the child upon his
+back.
+
+What was I to do? It was impossible for me to cross the river at that
+place, and long before I could get round by the ford all would be
+finished. I stood up on my rock and shouted to those brutes of Kaffirs
+to let the man alone. They were so excited that they did not hear my
+words; at least, they swore afterwards that they thought I was
+encouraging them to hunt him down.
+
+But Magepa heard me. At that moment he seemed to be failing, but the
+sight of me appeared to give him fresh strength. He gathered himself
+together and leapt forward at a really surprising speed. Now the river
+was not more than three hundred yards away from him, and for the first
+two hundred of these he quite outdistanced his pursuers, although they
+were most of them young men and comparatively fresh. Then once more his
+strength began to fail.
+
+Watching through the glasses I could see that his mouth was wide open,
+and that there was red foam upon his lips. The burden on his back was
+dragging him down. Once he lifted his hands as though to loose it; then
+with a wild gesture let them fall again.
+
+Two of the pursuers who had outpaced the others crept up to him--lank,
+lean men of not more than thirty years of age. They had stabbing spears
+in their hands, such as are used at close quarters, and these of course
+they did not throw. One of them gained a little on the other.
+
+Now Magepa was not more than fifty yards from the bank, with the first
+hunter about ten paces behind him and coming up rapidly. Magepa glanced
+over his shoulder and saw, then put out his last strength. For forty
+yards he went like an arrow, running straight away from his pursuers,
+until he was within a few feet of the bank, when he stumbled and fell.
+
+"He's done," I said, and, upon my word, if I had a rifle in my hand I
+think I would have stopped one or both of those bloodhounds and taken
+the consequences.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But, no! Just as the first man lifted his broad spear to stab him
+through the back on which the bundle lay, Magepa leapt up and wheeled
+round to take the thrust in his chest. Evidently he did not wish to be
+speared in the back--for a certain reason. He took it sure enough, for
+the assegai was wrenched out of the hand of the striker. Still, as he
+was reeling backwards, it did not go through Magepa, or perhaps it hit a
+bone. He drew out the spear and threw it at the man, wounding him. Then
+he staggered on, back and back, to the edge of the little cliff.
+
+It was reached at last. With a cry of "Help me, Macumazahn!" Magepa
+turned, and before the other man could spear him, leapt straight into
+deep water. He rose. Yes, the brave old fellow rose and struck out for
+the other bank, leaving a little line of red behind him.
+
+I rushed, or rather sprang and rolled down to the edge of the stream, to
+where a point of shingle ran out into the water. Along this I clambered,
+and beyond it up to my middle. Now Magepa was being swept past me. I
+caught his outstretched hand and pulled him ashore.
+
+"The boy!" he gasped; "the boy! Is he dead?"
+
+I severed the lashings of the mat that had cut right into the old
+fellow's shoulders. Inside of it was little Sinala, spluttering out
+water, but very evidently alive and unhurt, for presently he set up a
+yell.
+
+"No," I said, "he lives, and will live."
+
+"Then all is well, Macumazahn." (_A pause._) "It _was_ a spy in the
+bush, not a buck. He overheard our talk. The king's slayers came. Gita
+held the door of the hut while I took the child, cut a hole through the
+straw with my assegai, and crept out at the back. She was full of spears
+before she died, but I got away with the boy. Till your Kaffirs found me
+I lay hid in the bush, hoping to escape to Natal. Then I ran for the
+river, and saw you on the further bank. _I_ might have got away, but
+that child is heavy." (_A pause._) "Give him food, Macumazahn, he must
+be hungry," (_A pause._) "Farewell. That was a good saying of yours--the
+swift runner is outrun at last. Ah! yet I did not run in vain."
+(_Another pause, the last._) Then he lifted himself upon one arm and
+with the other saluted, first the boy Sinala and next me, muttering,
+"Remember your promise, Macumazahn."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"That is how Magepa the Buck died. I never saw any one carrying weight
+who could run quite so well as he," and Quatermain turned his head away
+as though the memory of this incident affected him somewhat.
+
+"What became of the child Sinala?" I asked presently.
+
+"Oh, I sent him to an institution in Natal, and afterwards was able to
+get some of his property back for him. I believe that he is being
+trained as an interpreter."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[2] For this story see the book named "Child of Storm," by H. Rider
+Haggard.
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TRUE SPARTAN HEARTS
+
+BY
+
+BEATRICE HARRADEN
+
+_Painting and Decorations by_ EDMUND DULAC
+
+
+IN times of war the Spartan women used to say to their husbands and
+sons, "Return with your shield, or on it," meaning that they must either
+conquer or die. There was no affection or indulgence shown towards the
+warriors who survived a defeat; for loyalty to the State was thought of
+more account than personal loss, and he who had not died striking his
+last blow for Sparta, was deemed unworthy of remembrance, and could
+expect no mercy from those who had loved him and sent him to the
+battlefield "to conquer or die."
+
+So this was how the Spartans felt about their warriors; and you can
+imagine their indignation as well as their dismay when, in the year 371
+B.C., news reached Sparta that their army had been defeated at the
+battle of Leuctra by the Boeotians, a rival Grecian State, and that
+three hundred men had saved their lives in flight. The news was brought
+at the moment when some great festival was being celebrated in the city.
+The _Ephors_ commanded the names of the slain to be made known to their
+relatives, and the women were forbidden to mourn. But the mother of
+Eucrates could not at first hide her grief, and her neighbours said
+among themselves:
+
+"Why should she be sorrowful? Her son has died bravely. If he had
+disgraced himself by flight, then only would she have the right to
+mourn."
+
+The old man Phidon came in to see her, and found her spinning, busily
+engaged at her work, it is true, but with tears in her saddened eyes. He
+was a very stern old man, a Spartan every inch of him, and he spoke
+harshly to poor Ione.
+
+"Ione," he said, "not one single tear should course down your cheeks,
+not one single pang of grief should assail your heart. I it is who
+should weep. I it is who should mourn. For Callias, my grandson, is not
+amongst the slain. Unlike your brave son Eucrates, my Callias has not
+died at his post of duty. He lives, and by living he has brought
+dishonour and shame on his family. How can I meet him? What can I say to
+him? Nay, I will not look upon his face. I will not vouchsafe one word
+of greeting to him. His father was the glory of my life, but he is the
+soul of its shame. The gods have been cruel to me in my old age; but
+they have been merciful to you, Ione. For your son, death with honour.
+For my Callias, life with dishonour. His father won the crown of wild
+olive in the Olympic games, and earned the right of fighting by the
+king's side, and died there; and I was proud of him. But woe is me that
+I cannot be proud of Callias."
+
+And, Spartan mother as she truly was, Ione knew well that here was a
+grief far greater than her own loss of her beloved son. She brushed her
+last tear aside, and tried to comfort old Phidon, whom she had known all
+her life. Her son Eucrates and this very Callias had been friends
+together ever since they were children; and in the days gone by, Phidon
+and Ione's father had fought side by side for Sparta.
+
+"May be, Phidon," she said, "the gods have spared Callias and his
+comrades, so that they may yet serve Sparta, and help her to triumph
+over her enemies."
+
+But he shook his head, and would hear no word of comfort, though, as the
+days went by, it seemed to ease his stern spirit to sit beside her, and
+watch her at her work. And then she would speak to him of Callias, and
+urge him not to be over hard on the lad when he returned.
+
+"You must pardon him, Phidon," she said. "Perchance he will live to do
+great things for Sparta."
+
+But the old man said proudly: "Nay, Ione, never a word will I speak to
+Callias again."
+
+And it was in vain that Ione pleaded for the friend of Eucrates, always
+imploring the old man to believe that the gods in their wisdom had
+preserved Callias for some splendid act of service and sacrifice yet to
+come.
+
+Full of these thoughts, and haunted by Phidon's unyielding severity, she
+had a strange dream one night. She dreamed that King Agesilaus was
+willing to pardon all those three hundred soldiers who had fled from the
+field of Leuctra; but that Phidon interposed, and standing in the Public
+Assembly, gave his vote against the pardon.
+
+"My own grandson is one of the survivors," he cried. "Sparta may pardon
+him, but _I_ never will."
+
+[Illustration: True Spartan Hearts
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Edmund Dulac_]
+
+The next day she told her dream to Phidon, and described to him how with
+her mind's eye she had seen Callias standing lonely and forsaken, the
+only one of the three hundred survivors who had been spurned and
+unforgiven. His loneliness stabbed her to her heart, more even than the
+loss of her son; and because there was no one else, she had been
+impelled to stand by his side, to greet him, to encourage him, to
+reassure him. And just as he lifted his head, bowed in grief and shame,
+she awoke. When Phidon had heard her dream-story, his stern heart was
+softened.
+
+"I will not turn from Callias," he said. "It may be that you are right,
+Ione. It may be that the gods will yet give him some great and glorious
+chance. I will steel my heart to receive him."
+
+So Ione triumphed at last. And truly her dream would seem to have been
+some kind of divination, for, two or three days afterwards, a decree was
+proposed by the king, and passed in the Assembly, to the effect that all
+those who had fled from the field of Leuctra were to be pardoned and
+received home without dishonour.
+
+Ordinarily all survivors of a defeat were subject to penalties of civil
+offence, and so this was quite an unusual proceeding; but no doubt it
+was thought dangerous to take stern measures against such a large number
+of Spartan citizens. Well, whatever the reason was, there were many glad
+hearts in Sparta that day, and old Phidon himself owned in secret to
+Ione that he longed to see Callias once more.
+
+"For I must needs forgive him wholeheartedly," he said, "since Sparta
+has forgiven him; but with my last breath I would tell you and all the
+world that I would far, far rather he had fallen by the side of the
+brave Eucrates. That would have been my glory."
+
+As soon as news had come of the defeat of the Spartan army, the whole
+remaining military force of Sparta was sent to the rescue, and after
+some time returned to Sparta, bringing back the survivors from the
+disastrous field of Leuctra.
+
+Then Spartan hearts were softened, and mothers, wives, and sisters stood
+waiting to greet those whom the gods had spared for further service. But
+Ione sat at home spinning. There were no tears in her eyes now, and her
+countenance was lit up by a calm pride. She had learnt to be glad that
+she had no one to meet that day.
+
+Suddenly the door opened, and Phidon came in. His manner was strangely
+excited.
+
+"Callias is not amongst us," he cried. "I have asked for him, and no one
+knows. Could there have been some mistake, I wonder? Is it possible
+that----"
+
+At that moment there came a loud knock at the door, and Ione opened it
+to Timotheus, a neighbour's son.
+
+"Greetings to the mother of Eucrates," he said, as he stood before Ione.
+"I am from Leuctra. I saw Eucrates fighting in the thickest of the fray.
+I saw him fall; and there fell another by his side, fighting as
+gallantly as he--his comrade in death as well as in life."
+
+"And who was it that died with my brave son?" asked Ione, whose hands
+were pressed together deep into her breast, and whose face was ashen,
+though tearless.
+
+"It was Callias," answered the young man. "Farewell, honoured mother of
+Eucrates. I must go and seek Phidon to tell him."
+
+But Phidon rose to his full height, and there was a smile of triumph on
+his face and a new life in his bearing.
+
+"Phidon has heard the news," he said, "and he thanks the gods for this
+crowning mercy. For though in his inmost heart he would fain have seen
+the face of his grandson once more, there was something dearer to him
+than the face of Callias--it was the honour of Callias."
+
+Then, turning to Ione, he said: "Now we can think of them together, and
+share our pride in them, Ione."
+
+For one fleeting moment Ione saw a vision of her young, fair son falling
+before the foe, but her voice never faltered as she said: "Yes, we can
+share our pride in them."
+
+That was the true Spartan tribute to the heroes of Leuctra.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You see, the Spartans would not admit of despair in their lives; they
+believed that while there was yet strength in the body, there must needs
+be hope in the heart that the victory would be won. And so it was the
+duty of a true Spartan to fight and conquer and live, or to die,
+striving to conquer to the very last, with no thought of any possibility
+of failure.
+
+What do you think about this grand old Spartan code of honour? Do you
+not think that we ourselves, each in our own way, young and old, man and
+woman, boy and girl, may find something helpful in it to bring to the
+service of our country?
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BIG STEAMERS
+
+BY RUDYARD KIPLING
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ NORMAN WILKINSON, R.I.
+
+
+    "OH, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers,
+      With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?"
+    "We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter,
+      Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese."
+
+    "And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers,
+      And where shall I write you when you are away?"
+    "We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver,
+      Address us at Hobart, Hong-kong, and Bombay."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    "But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers,
+      And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?"
+    "Why, you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast,
+      And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea."
+
+    "Then I'll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers,
+      For little blue billows and breezes so soft."
+    "Oh, billows and breezes don't bother Big Steamers,
+      For we're iron below and steel-rigging aloft."
+
+    "Then I'll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers,
+      With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through."
+    "Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ball-room already,
+      And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe."
+
+    "Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers,
+      Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?"
+    "Send out your big warships to watch your big waters,
+      That no one may stop us from bringing you food.
+
+    "_For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble,
+      The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve,
+    They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers,
+      And if any one hinders our coming you'll starve!_"
+
+    Copyright in the U.S.A. by Rudyard Kipling.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Big Steamers
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Norman Wilkinson, R.I._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A TRUE STORY FROM CAMP
+
+BY THE BISHOP OF LONDON
+
+_Drawings by_ JOSEPH SIMPSON, R.B.A.
+
+
+YOU boys and girls must picture a huge common, and four groups of
+khaki-clad soldiers standing at attention in different parts of it. They
+are about to be reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Home Forces.
+
+The men had given up a great deal to come and join the Territorial
+Forces, but it had not yet thoroughly dawned on them any more than on
+the rest of England, how great was the crisis, and none of the
+battalions had come out in sufficient strength to be sent out on foreign
+service.
+
+The inspection by the great General took a long time, and when the order
+came for rank after rank to lie down, they did so with obvious relief.
+At last the inspection was over, and all the battalions were asked to
+converge on one point. At this point a waggon was placed, and all the
+five thousand men lay down round it, the Generals and their staffs lying
+behind it. It was a fine sight from the waggon to see those five
+thousand fine fellows lying there in the light of the setting sun, but
+was it possible to rouse them to see the country's urgent need?
+
+I began by painting the beauty and the glory of England, the loveliest
+place in the world, for you may go all over the world, children, and you
+will never find anything so glorious or welcome on your return as the
+white cliffs of Dover, and the railway run through the hop gardens of
+Kent.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But what touched them most was the thought of what England stood for in
+the life of the world. It always has been, and always will be, the _Home
+of Freedom_. Let a slave once reach a British man-of-war--he is free.
+Britannia's daughters are rallying to her now because she has given
+them _Freedom_, for they see that she is the champion in this war of
+the Freedom of the World against a universal Tyranny.
+
+Then I turned to what they themselves owed to England, their homes,
+their faith, their security to work, their happy friendships, and their
+love of wife, mother, and children. What they had not realised up to now
+was that _all this was in deadly peril for the first time for a hundred
+years_!
+
+One mistake of our Fleets, one crushing defeat in France, and the foe
+would be upon us; the fate of Belgium would be the fate of England!
+
+What more glorious than to follow the example of those who had fought
+and died for England?
+
+    "Nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence
+     Who goes to join the men of Agincourt."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+In spite of the presence of the Generals a great cheer broke from the
+five thousand men when I said, "I would rather die than see England a
+German province"; but finding that they were allowed to cheer, as deep a
+cheer followed the statement that, if it came to the last Waterloo, it
+was far better to slip across the silver streak and fight it on the
+other side than let an invaders foot _for the first time for a thousand
+years_ stain our native land.
+
+In the evening all the four battalions present volunteered for foreign
+service, and as four more at the neighbouring Camp had volunteered the
+day before in answer to a similar appeal, eight battalions were added to
+the fighting strength abroad of the British Army.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE EBONY BOX
+
+BY A. E. W. MASON
+
+_Painting and Drawings_ by W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by A. E. W. Mason_
+
+
+"NO, no," said Colonel von Altrock abruptly. "It is not always true."
+
+The conversation died away at once, and every one about that dinner
+table in the Rue St. Florentin looked at him expectantly. He played
+nervously with the stem of his wineglass for a few moments, as though
+the complete silence distressed him. Then he resumed with a more
+diffident air:
+
+"War no doubt inspires noble actions and brings out great qualities in
+men from whom you expected nothing. But there is another side to it
+which becomes apparent, not at once, but after a few months of
+campaigning. Your nerves get overstrained, fatigue and danger tell their
+tale. You lose your manners, sometimes you degenerate into a brute. I
+happen to know. Thirty years have passed since the siege of Paris, yet
+even to-day there is no part of my life which I regret so much as the
+hours between eleven and twelve o'clock of Christmas night in the year
+'seventy. I will tell you about it if you like, although the story may
+make us late for the opera."
+
+"It will not matter if we are a little late," said his hostess, the
+Baroness Hammerstein, and her guests agreed with her.
+
+"It is permitted to smoke?" asked the Colonel. For a moment the flame of
+a match lit up and exaggerated the hollows and the lines upon his lean,
+rugged face. Then, drawing in his chair to the table, he told his story.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I was a lieutenant of the fifth company of the second battalion of the
+103rd Regiment, which belonged to the 23rd Infantry Division. It is as
+well to be exact. That division was part of the 12th Army Corps under
+the Crown Prince of Saxony, and in the month of December formed the
+south-eastern segment of our circle about Paris. On Christmas night I
+happened to be on duty at a forepost in advance of Noisy-le-Grand. The
+Centigrade thermometer was down to twelve degrees below zero, and our
+little wooden hut with the sloping roof, which served us at once as
+kitchen, mess-room, and dormitory, seemed to us all a comfortable
+shelter. Outside its door the country glimmered away into darkness, a
+great white silent plain of snow. Inside, the camp-bedsteads were neatly
+ranged along the wall where the roof was lowest. A long table covered
+with a white cloth--for we were luxurious on Christmas night--occupied
+the middle of the floor; in a corner stood a fine big barrel of Bavarian
+beer which had arrived that morning as a Christmas present from my
+mother at Leipzig. We were none of us anxious to turn out into the
+bitter cold, I can tell you. But we were not colonels in those days, and
+while the Hauptmann was proposing my mother's health the door was thrust
+open and an orderly muffled up to the eyes stood on the threshold at the
+salute.
+
+"The Herr Oberst wishes to see the Herr Lieutenant von Altrock," said
+he, and before I had time even to grumble he turned on his heels and
+marched away.
+
+I took down my great-coat, drew the cape over my head, and went out of
+the hut. There was no wind, nor was the snow falling, but the cold was
+terrible, and to me who had come straight from the noise of my
+companions the night seemed unnaturally still. I plodded away through
+the darkness. Behind me in the hut the Hauptmann struck up a song, and
+the words came to me quite clearly and very plaintively across the snow:
+
+    Ich hatte einen Kamaraden
+    Einen besseren findest du nicht.
+
+I wondered whether in the morning, like that comrade, I should be a man
+to be mentioned in the past tense. For more than once a sentinel had
+been found frozen dead at his post, and I foresaw a long night's work
+before me. My Colonel had acquired a habit of choosing me for special
+services, and indeed to his kindness in this respect I owed my
+commission.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I found him sitting at a little table drawn close to the fire in a bare,
+dimly-lighted room. A lamp stood on the table, and he was peering at a
+crumpled scrap of paper and smoothing out its creases. So engrossed was
+he, indeed, in his scrutiny that it was some minutes before he raised
+his head and saw me waiting for his commands.
+
+"Lieutenant von Altrock," he said, "you must ride to Raincy."
+
+Raincy was only five miles distant, as the crow flies. Yes, but the
+French had made a sortie on the 21st, they had pushed back our lines,
+and they now held Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche between Raincy and
+Noisy-le-Grand. I should have to make a circuit; my five miles became
+ten. I did not like the prospect at all. I liked it still less when the
+Colonel added:
+
+"You must be careful. More than one German soldier has of late been
+killed upon that road. There are _francs-tireurs_ about. And you _must_
+reach Raincy."
+
+It was a verbal message which he gave me, and I was to deliver it in
+person to the commandant of the battery at Raincy.
+
+"There is a horse ready for you at the stables," said the Colonel, and
+with a nod he turned again to his scrap of paper. I saluted and walked
+to the door. As my hand was on the knob he called me back.
+
+"What do you make of it?" he asked, holding the paper out to me. "It was
+picked out of the Marne in a sealed wine-bottle."
+
+I took the paper, and saw that a single sentence was written upon it in
+a round and laborious hand with the words misspelt. The meaning of the
+sentence seemed simple enough. It was apparently a message from a M.
+Bonnet to his son in the Mobiles at Paris, and it stated that the big
+black cat had had five kittens.
+
+"What do you make of it?" repeated the Colonel.
+
+"Why, that M. Bonnet's black cat has kittens," said I.
+
+I handed the paper back. The Colonel looked at it again, shrugged his
+shoulders, and laughed.
+
+"Well, after all, perhaps it does mean no more than that," said he.
+
+But for the Colonel's suspicions I should not have given another thought
+to that misspelt scrawl. M. Bonnet was probably some little peasant
+engrossed in domestic affairs, who thought that no message could be more
+consoling to his son locked up in Paris than this great news about the
+black cat.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The wildest rumours were flying about our camp at that time, as I think
+will always happen when you have a large body of men living under a
+great strain of cold and privation and peril. They perplexed the
+seasoned officers and they were readily swallowed by the youngsters, of
+whom I was one. Now, this scrap of paper happened to fit in with the
+rumour which most of all exercised our imaginations.
+
+It was known that in spite of all our precautions news was continually
+leaking into Paris which we did not think it good for the Parisians to
+have. On that very Christmas Day they already knew that General
+Faidherbe, at Pont Noyelles, had repulsed a portion of our first army
+under General Manteuffel. How did they know? We were not satisfied that
+pigeons and balloons completely explained the mystery. No, we believed
+that the news passed somewhere through our lines on the south-east of
+Paris--news in cipher which was passed on and on to a house close to our
+lines, whence, as occasion served, it was carried into Paris.
+
+That was the rumour. There may have been truth in it, or it may have
+been entirely false. But, at all events, it had just the necessary
+element of fancy to appeal to the imagination of a very young man, and
+as I walked to the stables and mounted the horse which the Colonel had
+lent me, I kept wondering whether this message, so simple in appearance,
+had travelled so, and was covering its last stage between the
+undiscovered chateau and Paris in the sealed wine-bottle. I tried to
+make out what the black cat stood for in the cipher, and whose identity
+was concealed under the pseudonym of M. Bonnet. So I rode down the slope
+of Noisy-le-Grand.
+
+But at the bottom of the slope these speculations passed entirely from
+my mind. In front, hidden away in the darkness, lay the dangers of Ville
+Evrart and Maison Blanche. German soldiers had ridden along this path
+and had not returned; the _francs-tireurs_ were abroad. Yet I must reach
+Raincy. Moreover, in my own mind, I was equally convinced that I must
+return. I saw the little beds against the wall of the hut under the
+sloping roof. I rode warily, determined to sleep in one of them that
+night, determined to keep my life if it could be kept.
+
+I crossed the Marne and turned off the road into a forest path. Ville
+Evrart with its French garrison lay now upon my left behind the screen
+of trees. Fortunately there was no moon that night and a mist hung in
+the air. The snow, too, deadened the sound of my horse's hoofs. But I
+rode, nevertheless, very gently and with every sense alert. Each moment
+I expected the challenge of a sentinel in French.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I came to the end of the wood and rode on to Chesnay. Here the country
+was more open, and I had passed Ville Evrart. But I did not feel any
+greater security. I was possessed with a sort of rage to get my business
+done and live--yes, at all costs _live_. A mile beyond Chesnay I came to
+cross-roads, and within the angle which the two roads made a little
+cabin stood upon a plot of grass. I was in doubt which road to take. The
+cabin was all dark, and riding up to the door I hammered upon it with
+the butt of my pistol. It was not immediately opened. There must indeed
+have been some delay, since the inmates were evidently in bed. But I was
+not in any mood to show consideration. I wanted to get on--to get on and
+live. A little window was within my reach. I dashed the butt of the
+pistol violently through the glass.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Will that waken you, eh?" I cried, and almost before I had finished I
+heard a shuffling footstep in the passage and the door was opened. A
+poor old peasant-woman, crippled with rheumatism, stood in the doorway
+shading a lighted candle with a gnarled, trembling hand. In her haste to
+obey she had merely thrown a petticoat over the shoulders of her
+nightdress, and there she stood with bare feet, shivering in the cold,
+an old bent woman of eighty, and apologised.
+
+"I am sorry, monsieur," she said meekly. "But I cannot move as quickly
+as I could when I was young. How can I serve monsieur?"
+
+Not a word of reproach about her broken window. You would think that the
+hardest man must have felt some remorse. I merely broke in upon her
+apologies with a rough demand for information.
+
+"The road upon your right leads to Chelles, monsieur," she answered.
+"That upon your left to Raincy."
+
+I rode off without another word. It is not a pretty description which I
+am giving to you, but it is a true one. That is my regret, it is a true
+one. I forgot that old peasant-woman the moment I had passed the cabin.
+I thought only of the long avenues of trees which stretched across that
+flat country, and which could hide whole companies of _francs-tireurs_.
+I strained my eyes forwards. I listened for the sound of voices. But the
+first voice which I heard spoke in my own tongue.
+
+It was the voice of a sentry on the outposts of Raincy, and I could have
+climbed down from my saddle and hugged him to my heart. Instead, I sat
+impassively in my saddle and gave him the countersign. I was conducted
+to the quarters of the commandant of artillery and I delivered my
+message.
+
+"You have come quickly," he said. "What road did you take?"
+
+"That of Chesnay and Gagny."
+
+The commandant looked queerly at me.
+
+"Did you?" said he. "You are lucky. You will return by Montfermeil and
+Chelles, Lieutenant von Altrock, and I will send an escort with you.
+Apparently we are better informed at Raincy than you at
+Noisy-le-Grand."
+
+"I knew there was danger, sir," I replied.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A regiment of dragoons was quartered at Raincy, and from it two privates
+and a corporal were given me for escort. In the company of these men I
+started back by the longer road in the rear of our lines. And it was a
+quarter to ten when I started. For I noticed the time of a clock in the
+commandant's quarters. I should think that it must have taken
+three-quarters of an hour to reach Montfermeil, for the snow was deep
+here and the mist very thick. Beyond Montfermeil, however, we came to
+higher ground; there were fewer drifts of snow, and the night began to
+clear, so that we made better going. We were now, of course, behind our
+lines, and the only risk we ran was that a few peasants armed with
+rifles from a battlefield or a small band of _francs-tireurs_ might be
+lurking on the chance of picking off a straggler. But that risk was not
+very great now that there were four of us. I rode therefore with an
+easier mind, and the first thing which entered my thoughts was--what do
+you think? The old peasant-woman's cabin with the broken window? Not a
+bit of it. No, it was M. Bonnet's black cat. Had M. Bonnet's cat five
+kittens? Or was that intended to inform the people in Paris how many
+companies of recruits had joined one of the French armies still in the
+field--say, General Faidherbe's, at Bapaume, and so to keep up their
+spirits and prolong the siege? I was still puzzling over this problem
+when in a most solitary place I came suddenly upon a chateau with
+lighted windows. This was the Chateau Villetaneuse. I reined in my horse
+and stopped. My escort halted behind me. It was, after all, an
+astonishing sight. There were many chateaux about Paris then, as there
+are now, but not one that I had ever come across was inhabited by more
+than a caretaker. The owners had long since fled. Breached walls,
+trampled gardens, gaping roofs, and silence and desertion--that is what
+we meant when we spoke of a chateau near Paris in those days. But here
+was one with lighted windows on the first and second stories staring out
+calmly on the snow as though never a Prussian soldier had crossed the
+Rhine. A thick clump of trees sheltered it behind, and it faced the
+eastern side of the long ridge of Mont Guichet, along the foot of which
+I rode--the side farthest from Paris. From the spot where I and my
+escort had halted an open park stretched level to the door. The house
+had, no doubt, a very homelike look on that cold night. It should have
+spoken to me, no doubt, of the well-ordered family life and the gentle
+occupations of women. But I was thinking of M. Bonnet's black cat. Was
+this solitary chateau the undiscovered last station on the underground
+road through which the news passed into Paris? If not, why was it still
+inhabited? Why did the lights blaze out upon the snow so late?
+
+[Illustration: She stood and swung the lantern slowly from side to side.
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by W. B. Wollen, R.I._]
+
+I commanded my escort to be silent. We rode across the park, and
+half-way to the door we came upon a wire fence and a gate. There we
+dismounted, and walked our horses. We tethered them to a tree about
+twenty yards from the house. I ordered one of my dragoons to go round
+the house, and watch any door which he might find at the back. I told
+the other two to stay where they were, and I advanced alone to the
+steps, but before I had reached them the front door was thrown open, and
+a girl with a lantern in her hand came out.
+
+She held the lantern high above her head and peered forward, so that the
+light fell full upon her hair, her face, and dress. She was a tall girl
+and slight of figure, with big, dark eyes, and a face pretty and made
+for laughter. It was very pale now, however, and the brows were drawn
+together in a frown. She wore a white evening frock, which glistened in
+the lantern light, and over her bare shoulders she had flung a heavy
+black military cloak. So she stood and swung the lantern slowly from
+side to side as she stared into the darkness, while the lights and
+shadows chased each other swiftly across her white frock, her anxious
+face, and the waves of her fair hair.
+
+"Whom do you expect at this hour, mademoiselle?" I asked.
+
+I was quite close to her, but she had not seen me, for I stood at the
+bottom of the steps, and she was looking out over my head. Yet she did
+not start or utter any cry. Only the lantern rattled in her hand. Then
+she stood quite still for a moment or two, and afterwards lowered her
+arm until the light shone upon me.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"You are Prussian?" she said.
+
+"A lieutenant of foot," I answered. "You have nothing to fear."
+
+"I am not afraid," she replied quietly.
+
+"Whom do you expect?"
+
+"No one," she replied. "I thought that I heard the rattle of iron as
+though a horse moved and a stirrup rang. It is lonely here since our
+neighbours have fled. I came out to see."
+
+"The lantern then, was not a signal, mademoiselle?" I asked.
+
+She looked at me in perplexity, and certainly the little piece of
+acting, I thought, was very well done.
+
+"A signal?" she repeated. "To whom?"
+
+"To some man hiding in the woods of Mont Guichet, a signal to him that
+he may come and fetch the news for Paris which has lately--very
+lately--been brought to the house."
+
+She bent forward and peered down at me, drawing the cloak closer about
+her neck.
+
+"You are under some strange mistake, monsieur," she said. "No news for
+Paris has been brought to this house by any one."
+
+"Indeed?" I answered. "And is that so?" Then I stretched out my hand and
+said triumphantly: "You will tell me perhaps that the cloak upon your
+shoulders is a woman's cloak?"
+
+And she laughed! It was humiliating; it is always humiliating to a young
+man not to be taken seriously, isn't it? There was I thinking that I had
+fairly cross-examined her into a trap, and she laughed indulgently. And
+she explained indulgently, too.
+
+"The cloak I am wearing belongs to a wounded French officer who was
+taken prisoner and released upon parole. He is now in our house."
+
+"Then I think I will make his acquaintance," I said, and over my
+shoulder I called to the corporal. As he advanced to my side, a look of
+alarm came into the girl's face.
+
+"You are not alone," she said, and suddenly her face became wistful and
+her voice began to plead. "You have not come for him? He has done no
+harm. He could not, even if he would. And he would not, for he has given
+his parole. Oh, you are not going to take him away?"
+
+"That we shall see, mademoiselle."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I left one dragoon at the door. I ordered the corporal to wait in the
+hall, and I followed the girl up the stairs to the first floor. All her
+pride had gone; she led the way with a submission of manner which seemed
+to me only a fresh effort to quiet my suspicions. But they were not
+quieted. I distrusted her; I believed that I had under my fingers the
+proof of that rumour which flew about our camp. She stopped at a door,
+and as she turned the handle she said:
+
+"This is my own room, monsieur. We all use it now, for it is warmer than
+the others, and all our servants but one have fled."
+
+It was a pretty room, and cheery enough to one who came into it from the
+darkness and the snow. A piano stood open in a corner with a rug thrown
+upon it to protect the strings from the cold; books lay upon the tables,
+heavy curtains were drawn close over the windows, there were cushioned
+sofas and deep arm-chairs, and a good fire of logs blazed upon the
+hearth. These details I took in at once. Then I looked at the occupants.
+A young man lay stretched upon a sofa close to the fire with a wrap
+covering his legs. The wrap was raised by a cradle to keep off its
+weight. His face must have been, I think, unusually handsome when he had
+his health; at the moment it was so worn and pale, and the eyes were so
+sunk, that all its beauty had gone. The pallor was accentuated by a
+small black moustache he wore and his black hair. He lay with his head
+supported upon a pillow, and was playing a game of chess with an old
+lady who sat at a little table by his side. I advanced to the fire and
+warmed my hands at it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"You, sir, are the wounded officer on parole?" I said in French. The
+officer bowed.
+
+"And you, madame?" I asked of the old lady. The sight of my uniform
+seemed to have paralysed her with terror. "Come, come, madame," I
+exclaimed impatiently; "it is a simple question."
+
+"Monsieur, you frighten her," said the young lady. "It is my aunt, the
+Baroness Granville."
+
+"You tell me nothing of yourself," I said to her, and she looked at me
+in surprise.
+
+"Since you have come with an escort to this house I imagined you must
+know to whom it belonged. I am Sophie de Villetaneuse."
+
+"Exactly," I replied, as though I had known all along, and had merely
+asked the question to see whether she would speak the truth. "Now,
+mademoiselle, will you please explain to me how it is that while your
+neighbours have fled you remain at your chateau?"
+
+"It is quite simple," she answered. "My mother is bed-ridden. She could
+not be moved. She could not be left alone."
+
+"You will pardon me," said I, "if I test that statement."
+
+The wounded officer raised himself upon his elbow as though to protest,
+but Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse put out a hand and checked him. She
+showed me a face flushed with anger, but she spoke quite quietly.
+
+"I will myself take you to my mother's room."
+
+I laughed. I said: "That is just what I expected. You will take me to
+your mother's room and leave your friends here to make any little
+preparations in the way of burning awkward papers which they may think
+desirable. Thank you, no! I am not so easily caught."
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie was becoming irritated.
+
+"There are no awkward papers!" she exclaimed.
+
+"That statement, too, I shall put to the test."
+
+I went to the door, and standing so that I could still keep an eye upon
+the room, I called the corporal.
+
+"You will search the house thoroughly," I said, "and quickly. Bring me
+word how many people you find in it. You, mademoiselle, will remain in
+the room with us."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She shrugged her shoulders as I closed the door and came back into the
+room.
+
+"You were wounded, monsieur," I said to the Frenchman. "Where?"
+
+"In the sortie on Le Bourget."
+
+"And you came here the moment you were released on your parole?"
+
+The wounded officer turned with a smile to Mademoiselle Sophie.
+
+"Yes, for here live my best friends."
+
+He took her hand, and with a Frenchman's grace he raised it to his lips
+and kissed it. And I was suddenly made acquainted with the relationship
+in which these two, youth and maid, stood to one another. Mademoiselle
+Sophie had cried out on the steps against the possibility that I might
+have come to claim my prisoner. But though she spoke no word, she was
+still more explicit now. With the officer that caress was plainly no
+more than a pretty way of saying thanks; it had the look of a habit, it
+was so neatly given, and he gave it without carelessness, it is true,
+but without warmth. But she received it very differently. He did not
+see, because his head was bent above her hand, but I did.
+
+I saw the look of pain in her face, the slight contraction of her
+shoulders and arms, as if to meet a blow. The kiss hurt her--no, not the
+kiss, but the finished grace with which it was given, the proof, in a
+word, that it was a way of saying "Thanks"--and nothing more. Here was a
+woman who loved and a man who did not love, and the woman knew.
+
+I resumed my questions:
+
+"Your doctor, monsieur, is in the house?"
+
+"At this hour? No."
+
+"Ah. That is a pity."
+
+The young man lifted his head from his pillow and looked me over from
+head to foot with a stare of disdain.
+
+"I do not quite understand. You doubt my word, monsieur!"
+
+"Why not?" I asked sharply.
+
+[Illustration: A Spell for a Fairy
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Claude A. Shepperson, A.R.W.S._]
+
+It was quite possible that the cradle, this rug across his legs, the
+pillow, were all pretences. This young officer might very well have
+brought in a cipher message to the Chateau Villetaneuse. Mademoiselle
+Sophie might very well have waved her lantern at the door to summon a
+fresh messenger.
+
+"No; why should I not doubt your word?" I repeated.
+
+He turned his face to the old lady. "It is your move, Baronne," he said,
+and she placed the piece she held upon a square of the board.
+Mademoiselle Sophie took her stand by the table between the players, and
+the game went on just as though there were no intruder in the room. It
+was uncomfortable for me. I shifted my feet. I tried to appear at my
+ease; finally I sat down in a chair. They took no notice of me whatever.
+I was very glad when at last the corporal opened the door. He had
+searched the house--he had found no one but Madame de Villetaneuse and
+an old servant who was watching by her bed.
+
+"Very well," said I, and the corporal returned to the hall.
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie moved away from the chess-table. She came and stood
+opposite to me, and though her face was still, her eyes were hard with
+anger.
+
+"And now perhaps you will tell me to what I owe your visit?" she said.
+
+"Certainly," I returned. I fixed my eyes on her, and I said slowly, "I
+have come to ask for more news of M. Bonnet's black cat."
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie stared as if she was not sure whether I was mad or
+drunk, but was very sure I was one or the other. The young Frenchman
+started upon his couch, with the veins swelling upon his forehead and a
+flushed face.
+
+"This is an insult," he cried savagely, and no less savagely I answered
+him.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" I cried. "You forget too often that though you are
+on parole you are still a prisoner."
+
+He fell back upon the sofa with a groan of pain, and the girl hurried to
+his side.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Meanwhile I had been looking about the room for a box or a case where
+the cipher messages might be hid. I saw nothing of the kind. Of course
+they might be hidden between the pages of a book. I went from table to
+table, taking them by the boards and shaking the leaves. Not a scrap of
+paper tumbled out. There was another door in the room besides that which
+led on to the landing.
+
+"Mademoiselle, what room is that?" I asked.
+
+"My bedroom," she answered simply, and with a gesture full of dignity
+she threw open the door.
+
+I carried the mud and snow and the grime of a camp without a scruple of
+remorse into that neat and pretty chamber. Mademoiselle Sophie followed
+me as I searched wardrobe and drawer and box. At last I came to one
+drawer in her dressing-table which was locked. I looked suddenly at the
+young lady. She was watching me out of the corners of her eyes with a
+peculiar intentness.
+
+"Open that drawer, mademoiselle," I said.
+
+"It contains only some private things."
+
+"Open that drawer or I burst it open."
+
+"No," she cried, as I jerked the handle. "I will open it."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+She fetched the key out of another drawer which was unlocked, and fitted
+it into the lock of the dressing-table. And all the while I saw that she
+was watching me. She meant to play me some trick, I was certain. So I
+watched, too, and I did well to watch. She turned the key, opened the
+drawer, and then snatched out something with extraordinary rapidity and
+ran as hard as she could to the door--not the door through which we had
+entered, but a second door which gave on to the passage. She ran very
+fast and she ran very lightly, and she did not stumble over a chair as I
+did in pursuit of her. But she had to unlatch the door and pull it open.
+I caught her up and closed my arms about her. It was a little carved
+ebony box which she held, the very thing for which I searched.
+
+"I thought so," I cried, with a laugh. "Drop the box, mademoiselle. Drop
+it on the floor!"
+
+The noise of our struggle had been heard in the next room. The Baroness
+rushed through the doorway.
+
+"What has happened?" she cried. "Mon Dieu! you are killing her!"
+
+"Drop that box, mademoiselle!"
+
+And as I spoke she threw it away. She threw it through the doorway; she
+tried to throw it over the banisters of the stairs, but my arms were
+about hers, and it fell in the passage just beyond the door. I darted
+from her and picked it up. When I returned with it she was taking a gold
+chain from her neck. At the end of the chain hung a little gold key.
+This she held out to me.
+
+"Open it here," she said in a low, eager voice.
+
+The sudden change only increased my suspicions, or rather my conviction,
+that I had now the proof which I needed.
+
+"Why, if you are so eager to show me the contents, did you try to throw
+it away?" I asked.
+
+"I tried to throw it down into the hall," she answered.
+
+"My corporal would have picked it up."
+
+"Oh, what would that matter?" she exclaimed impatiently. "You would have
+opened it in the hall. That was what I wanted. Open it here! At all
+events open it here!"
+
+The very urgency of her pleading made me determined to refuse the plea.
+
+"No, you have some other ruse, mademoiselle," said I. "Perhaps you wish
+to gain time for your friend in the next room. No, we will return there
+and open it comfortably by the fire."
+
+I kept a tight hold upon the box. I shook it. To my delight I felt that
+there were papers within it. I carried it back to the fireside and sat
+down on a chair. Mademoiselle Sophie followed me close, and as I fixed
+the little gold key into the lock she laid her hand very gently upon my
+arm.
+
+"I beg you not to unlock that box," she said; "if you do you will bring
+upon me a great humiliation and upon yourself much remorse. There is
+nothing there which concerns you. There are just my little secrets. A
+girl may have secrets, monsieur, which are sacred to her."
+
+She was standing quite close to me, and her back was towards the French
+officer and her aunt. They could not see her face, and they could hardly
+have heard more than a word here and there of what she said. I answered
+her only by turning the key in the lock. She took her hand from my arm
+and laid it on the lid to hinder me from opening it.
+
+"I wore the key on a chain about my neck, monsieur," she whispered.
+"Does that teach you nothing? Even though you are young, does it teach
+you nothing? I said that if you unlocked that box you would cause me
+great humiliation, thinking that would be enough to stop you. But I see
+I must tell you more. Read the letters, monsieur, question me about
+them, and you will make my life a very lonely one. I think so. I think
+you will destroy my chance of happiness. You would not wish that,
+monsieur. It is true that we are enemies, but some day this war will
+end, and you would not wish to prolong its sufferings beyond the end.
+Yet you will be doing that, monsieur, if you open that box."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It seems now almost impossible to me that I could have doubted her
+sincerity: she spoke with so much simplicity, and so desperate an appeal
+looked out from her dark eyes. Ever since that Christmas night I can see
+her quite clearly at will, standing as she then stood--all the sincerity
+of her which I would not acknowledge, all the appeal which I would not
+hear; and I see her many times when for my peace I would rather not.
+She was pleading for her pride, and to do that the better she laid her
+pride aside; yet she never lost her dignity. She was pleading for her
+chance of happiness, foreseeing that it was likely to be destroyed,
+without any reason or any profit to a living being, by a stranger who
+would the next moment pass out of her life. Yet there was no outcry, and
+there were no tears. Had it been a trick--I ask the ladies--would there
+not have been tears?
+
+But I thought it a trick and a cheap one. She was trying to make me
+believe that there were love-letters in the box--compromising
+love-letters. Now, I _knew_ that there were no love-letters in the box.
+I had seen the Frenchman's pretty way of saying thanks. I had noticed
+how the caress hurt her just through what it lacked. He was the friend,
+you see, and nothing more; she was the lover and the only lover of the
+pair.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I opened the box accordingly. Mademoiselle Sophie turned away abruptly,
+and sitting down in a chair shaded her eyes with her hand. I emptied the
+letters out on to a table, turning the box upside down, and thus the
+first which I took up and read was the one which lay at the very bottom.
+As I read it it seemed that every suspicion I had formed was
+established. She had hinted at love-letters, she had spoken of secrets
+sacred to a girl; and the letter was not even addressed to her. It was
+addressed to Madame de Villetaneuse; it was a letter which, if it meant
+no more than what was implied upon the surface, would have long since
+found destruction in the waste-paper basket. For it purported to be
+merely the acceptance of an invitation to dinner at the town house of
+Madame de Villetaneuse in the Faubourg St. Germain. It was signed only
+by a Christian name, "Armand," and the few sentences which composed the
+letter explained that M. Armand was a distant kinsman of Madame de
+Villetaneuse who had just come to Paris to pursue his studies, and who,
+up till now, had no acquaintance with the family.
+
+I looked at Mademoiselle Sophie sternly. "So all this pother was about a
+mere invitation to dinner! Once let it be known that M. Armand will dine
+with Madame de Villetaneuse in the Faubourg St. Germain, and you are
+humiliated, you lose your chance of happiness, and I, too, shall find
+myself in good time suffering the pangs of remorse," and I read the
+letter slowly aloud to her, word by word.
+
+She returned no answer. She sat with her hand shading her face, and she
+rocked her head backwards and forwards continually and rather quickly,
+like a child with a racking headache. Of course, to my mind all that was
+part of the game. The letter was dated two years back, but the month was
+December, and, of course, to antedate would be the first precaution.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Come, mademoiselle," I said, changing my tone, "I invite you very
+seriously to make a clean breast of it. I wish to take no harsh measures
+with you if I can avoid them. Tell me frankly what news this letter,
+plainly translated, gives to General Trochu in Paris."
+
+"None," she answered.
+
+"Very well," said I, and I took up the next letter. Ah, M. Armand writes
+again a week later. It was evidently a good dinner, and M. Armand is
+properly grateful.
+
+The gratitude, indeed, was rather excessive, rather provincial. It was
+just the effusion which a young man who had not yet learned
+self-possession might have written on his first introduction to the
+highest social life of Paris. Certainly the correspondence was very
+artfully designed. But what did it hide? I puzzled over the question; I
+took the words and the dates, and it seemed to me that I began to see
+light. So much stress was laid upon the dinner, that the word must
+signify some event of importance. The first letter spoke of a dinner in
+the future. I imagined that it had not been possible to pass this
+warning into Paris. The second letter mentioned with gratitude that the
+dinner had been successful. Well, suppose "dinner" stood for
+"engagement"! The letter would refer to the sortie from Paris which
+pushed back our lines and captured Ville Evrart and Maison Blanche. That
+seemed likely. Madame de Villetaneuse gave the dinner; General Trochu
+made the sortie. Then "Madame de Villetaneuse" stood for "General
+Trochu." Who would be Armand? Why, the French people outside Paris--the
+provincials! I had the explanation of that provincial expression of
+gratitude. Ah, no doubt it all seems far-fetched now that we sit quietly
+about this table. But put yourself in the thick of the war and take
+twenty years off your lives! Suppose yourselves young and green, eager
+for advancement, and just off your balance from want of sleep, want of
+food, want of rest, want of everything. There are very few things which
+would seem far-fetched. It seemed to me that I was deciphering these
+letters with absolute accuracy. I saw myself promoted to captain,
+seconded to the staff.
+
+I went on with the letters, hoping to find an explanation there. The
+third letter was addressed to Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse, who had
+evidently written to M. Armand on behalf of her mother, inviting him to
+her box at the opera. M. Armand regretted that he had not been fortunate
+enough to call at a time when mademoiselle was at home, and would look
+forward to the pleasure of seeing her at the Opera.
+
+"Mademoiselle," I cried, "what does the Opera stand for?"
+
+Mademoiselle Sophie laughed disdainfully.
+
+"For music, monsieur, for art, for refinement, for many things you do
+not understand."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I sprang up in excitement. What did it matter what she said? M. Armand
+stood for the Army of the Loire. It was that army which had been
+expected at Ville Evrart. Here was a pledge that it would come to the
+help of Paris at the next sortie. That was valuable news--it could not
+but bring recognition to the man who brought evidence of it into the
+Prussian lines. I hurriedly read through the other letters, quoting a
+passage here and there, trying to startle Mademoiselle de Villetaneuse
+into a confession. But she never changed her attitude, she did not
+answer a word.
+
+Her conduct was the more aggravating, for I began to get lost among
+these letters. They were all in the same handwriting; they were all
+signed "Armand," and they seemed to give a picture of the life of a
+young man in Paris during the two years which preceded the war. They
+recorded dinner-parties, visits to the theatres, examinations passed,
+prizes won and lost, receptions, rides in the Bois, and Sunday
+excursions into the country. All these phrases, these appointments,
+these meetings, might have particular meanings. But if so, how
+stupendous a cipher! Besides, how was it that none of these messages had
+been passed into Paris? Very reluctantly I began to doubt my own
+conjecture. I read some more letters, and then I suddenly turned back to
+the earlier ones. I compared them with the later notes. I began to be
+afraid the correspondence, after all, was genuine, for the tone of the
+letters changed and changed so gradually, and yet so clearly, that the
+greatest literary art could hardly have deliberately composed them. I
+seemed to witness the actual progress of M. Armand, a hobbledehoy from
+the provinces, losing his awkwardness, acquiring ease and polish in his
+contact with the refinement of Paris. The last letters had the postmark
+of Paris, the first that of Auvergne.
+
+They were genuine, then. And they were not love-letters. I looked at
+Mademoiselle Sophie with an increased perplexity. Why did she now sit
+rocking her head like a child in pain? Why had she so struggled to
+hinder me from opening them? They recorded a beginning of
+acquaintanceship and the growth of that into friendship between a young
+man and a young girl--nothing more. The friendship might eventually end
+in marriage, no doubt, if left to itself, but there was not a word of
+that in the letters. I was still wondering, when the French officer
+raised himself from his sofa and dragged himself across the room to
+Mademoiselle Sophie's chair. His left trouser leg had been slit down the
+side from the knee to the foot and laced lightly so as to make room for
+a bandage. He supported himself from chair to chair with evident pain,
+and I could not doubt that his wound was as genuine as the letters.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He bent down and gently took her hand away from her face.
+
+"Sophie," he said, "I did not dare to think that you kept this place for
+me in your thoughts. A little more courage and I should long since have
+said to you what I say now. I beg your permission to ask Madame de
+Villetaneuse to-morrow for your hand in marriage."
+
+My house of cards tumbled down in a second. The French officer was M.
+Armand. With the habit women have of treasuring tokens of the things
+which have happened, Mademoiselle Sophie had kept all these trifling
+notes and messages, and had even gathered to them the letters written to
+her mother, so that the story might be complete. But without M. Armand's
+knowledge; he was not to know; her pride must guard her secret from him.
+For she was the lover and he only the friend, and she knew it. Even in
+the little speech which he had just made, there was just too much
+formality, just too little sincerity of voice. I understood why she had
+tried to throw the ebony box down into the hall so that I might open it
+there--I understood that I had caused her great humiliation. But that
+was not all there was for me to understand.
+
+In answer to Armand she raised her eyes quietly, and shook her head.
+
+"You wish to spare me shame," she said, "and I thank you very much. But
+it is because of these letters that you spoke. I must think that. I must
+always think it."
+
+"No!" he exclaimed.
+
+"But yes," she replied firmly. "If monsieur had not unlocked that box--I
+don't know--but some day perhaps--oh, not yet, no, not yet--but some day
+perhaps you might have come of your own accord and said what you have
+just said. And I should have been very happy. But now you never must.
+For you see I shall always think that the letters are prompting you."
+
+And M. Armand bowed.
+
+I had taken from her her chance of happiness. The friendship between
+them might have ended in marriage if left to itself. But I had not left
+it to itself.
+
+"Mademoiselle," I said, "I am very sorry."
+
+She turned her dark eyes on me.
+
+"Monsieur, I warned you. It is too late to be sorry." And as I stood
+shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other, in great remorse as she
+had foretold, she added, gently, "Will you not go, monsieur?"
+
+I went out of the room, called together my escort, mounted and rode off.
+It was past midnight now, and the night was clear. But I thought neither
+of the little beds under the slope of the roof nor of any danger on the
+road. There might have been a _franc-tireur_ behind every tree. I would
+never have noticed it until one of them had brought me down. Remorse was
+heavy upon me. I had behaved without consideration, without chivalry,
+without any manners at all. I had not been able to distinguish truth
+when it stared me in the face, or to recognise honesty when it looked
+out from a young girl's dark eyes. I had behaved, in a word, like the
+brute six months of war had made of me. I wondered with a vague hope
+whether after all time might not set matters right between M. Armand and
+Mademoiselle Sophie. And I wonder now whether it has. But even if I knew
+that it had, I should always remember that Christmas night of 1870 with
+acute regret. The only incident, indeed, which I can mention with the
+slightest satisfaction is this: On the way back to Noisy-le-Grand I came
+to a point where the road from Chelles crossed the road from
+Montfermeil. I halted at a little cabin which stood upon a grass-plot
+within the angle of the roads, and tying up all the money I had on me in
+a pocket-handkerchief I dropped the handkerchief through a broken
+window-pane.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Colonel let the end of his cigar fall upon his plate, and pushed
+back his chair from the table. "But I see we shall be late for the
+opera," he said, as he glanced at the clock.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A SPELL FOR A FAIRY
+
+BY ALFRED NOYES
+
+_Painting and Drawings by_ CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON, A. R. W. S.
+
+
+    GATHER, first, in your left hand
+      (This must be at fall of day)
+    Forty grains of yellow sand
+      Where you think a mermaid lay.
+    I have heard a wizard hint
+      It is best to gather it sweet
+    Out of the warm and fluttered dint
+      Where you see her heart has beat.
+
+    _Out of the dint in that sweet sand
+      Gather forty grains, I say;
+    Yet--if it fail you--understand
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+    Out of that sand you melt your glass
+      While the veils of night are drawn,
+    Whispering, till the shadows pass,
+      _Nixie--pixie--leprechaun_--
+
+    Then you blow your magic vial,
+      Shape it like a crescent moon,
+    Set it up and make your trial,
+      Singing, "_Fairies, ah, come soon!_"
+
+    _Round the cloudy crescent go,
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+      "Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
+    Nixie--pixie--leprechaun._"
+
+    Bring the blood of a white hen,
+      Killed about the break of day,
+    While the cock in the echoing glen
+      Thrusts his gold neck every way,
+    Over the brambles, peering, calling,
+      Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
+    Far and wide, while the dews are falling,
+      Clamouring, calling, everywhere.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    _Round the crimson vial go
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+    "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      And, if once will not suffice,
+      Do it thrice.
+    If this fail, at break of day,
+    I can show you a better way._
+
+    Bring the buds of the hazel-copse
+      Where two lovers kissed at noon:
+    Bring the crushed red wild thyme tops
+      Where they walked beneath the moon;
+
+    Bring the four-leaved clover also,
+      One of the white, and one of the red,
+    Mixed with the flakes of the may that fall so
+      Lightly over the sky-lark's bed.
+
+    _Round the fragrant vial go,
+      On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+    Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+      "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+    If this fail, at break of day,
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+    Bring an old and wizened child
+      --_Ah, tread softly and speak low_--
+    Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild.
+      From that under-world below;
+    Bring a withered child of seven
+      Reeking from the City slime,
+    Out of hell into your heaven,
+      Set her knee-deep in the thyme.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    _Bring her from the smoky City,
+      Set her on a fairy-throne.
+    Clothe her, feed her, of your pity.
+      Leave her for an hour alone._
+
+    You shall need no spells or charms
+      On that hill-top, in that dawn.
+    When she lifts her wasted arms
+      You shall see a veil withdrawn.
+    There shall be no veil between them,
+      Though her head be old and wise.
+    You shall know that she has seen them,
+      By the glory in her eyes.
+
+    _Round her irons, on the hill,
+      Earth shall toss a fairy fire.
+    Watch and listen and be still,
+      Lest you baulk your own desire._
+
+    When she sees four azure wings
+      Light upon her claw-like hand;
+    When she lifts her head and sings,
+      You shall hear and understand.
+    You shall hear a bugle calling,
+      Wildly over the dew-dashed down,
+    And a sound as of the falling
+      Ramparts of a conquered town.
+
+    _You shall hear a sound like thunder,
+      And a veil shall be withdrawn,
+    When her eyes grow wide with wonder,
+      On that hill-top, in that dawn._
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH
+
+_A TALE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL_
+
+BY BARONESS ORCZY
+
+_Painting by_ A. C. MICHAEL _and_ _Drawings by_ H. M. BROCK, R.I.
+
+_Copyright, 1914, by the Baroness Orczy in the U.S.A._
+
+
+WE were such a happy family before this terrible revolution broke out:
+we lived rather simply but very comfortably in our dear old home just on
+the borders of the forest of Compiegne. Jean and Andre were the twins;
+just fifteen years old they were when King Louis was deposed from the
+throne of France, which God had given him, and sent to prison like a
+common criminal, with our beautiful Queen Marie Antoinette and the Royal
+children and Madame Elizabeth, who was so beloved by the poor!
+
+Ah! that seems very, very long ago now. No doubt you know better than I
+do all that happened in our beautiful land of France and in lovely Paris
+about that time: goods and property confiscated, innocent men, women,
+and children condemned to death for acts of treason which they had never
+committed.
+
+It was in August last year that they came to "Mon Repos" and arrested
+papa, maman, and us four young ones and dragged us to Paris, where we
+were imprisoned in a narrow and horrible, dank vault in the Abbaye,
+where all day and night through the humid stone walls we heard cries and
+sobs and moans from poor people who no doubt were suffering the same
+sorrows and the same indignities as we were.
+
+I had just passed my nineteenth birthday and Marguerite was only
+thirteen. Maman was a perfect angel during that terrible time: she kept
+up our courage and our faith in God in a way that no one else could have
+done. Every night and morning we knelt round her knee, and papa sat
+close beside her, and we prayed to God for deliverance from our own
+afflictions, and for the poor people who were crying and moaning all the
+day.
+
+But of what went on outside our prison walls we had not an idea, though
+sometimes poor papa would brave the warder's brutalities and ask him
+questions of what was happening in Paris every day.
+
+"They are hanging all the aristos to the street-lamps of the city," the
+man would reply, with a cruel laugh, "and it will be your turn next."
+
+We had been in prison for about a fortnight, then one day--oh! shall I
+ever forget it?--we heard in the distance a noise like the rumbling of
+thunder; nearer and nearer it came, and soon the sound became less
+confused. Cries and shrieks could be heard above that rumbling din, but
+so weird and menacing did those cries seem, that instinctively--though
+none of us knew what they meant--we all felt a nameless terror grip our
+hearts.
+
+Oh! I am not going to attempt the awful task of describing to you all
+the horrors of that never-to-be-forgotten day. People who to-day cannot
+speak without a shudder of the September massacres have not the remotest
+conception of what really happened on that truly awful second day of
+that month.
+
+We are all at peace and happy now, but whenever my thoughts fly back to
+that morning, whenever the ears of memory recall those hideous yells of
+fury and of hate, coupled with the equally horrible cries for pity which
+pierced through the walls behind which the six of us were crouching,
+trembling, and praying, whenever I think of it all my heart still beats
+violently with that same nameless dread which held it in its deathly
+grip then.
+
+Hundreds of men, women, and children were massacred in the prisons of
+Paris on that day--it was a St. Bartholomew even more hideous than the
+last.
+
+Maman was trying in vain to keep our thoughts fixed upon God--papa sat
+on the stone bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head buried in
+his hands, but maman was kneeling on the floor with her dear arms
+encircling us all, and her trembling lips moving in continuous prayer.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+We felt that we were facing death--and what a death!--O, my God!
+
+Suddenly the small grated window--high up in the dank wall--became
+obscured. I was the first to look up, but the cry of terror which rose
+from my heart was choked ere it reached my throat.
+
+Jean and Andre looked up too, and they shrieked, and so did Marguerite,
+and papa jumped up and ran to us and stood suddenly between us and the
+window like a tiger defending its young.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+But we were all of us quite silent now. The children did not even cry,
+they stared wide-eyed--paralysed with fear.
+
+Only maman continued to pray, and we could hear papa's rapid and
+stertorous breathing as he watched what was going on in that window
+above.
+
+Heavy blows were falling against the masonry round the grating, and we
+could hear the nerve-racking sound of a file working on the iron bars,
+and farther away below the window those awful yells of human beings
+transformed by hate and fury into savage beasts.
+
+How long this horrible suspense lasted I cannot now tell you: the next
+thing I remember clearly is a number of men in horrible ragged clothing
+pouring into our vault-like prison from the window above; the next
+moment they rushed at us simultaneously--or so it seemed to me, for I
+was just then recommending my soul to God, so certain was I that in that
+same second I would cease to live.
+
+It was all like a dream, for instead of the horrible shriek of satisfied
+hate which we were all expecting to hear, a whispering voice, commanding
+and low, struck our ear and dragged us, as it were, from out the abyss
+of despair into the sudden light of hope.
+
+"If you will trust us," the voice whispered, "and not be afraid, you
+will be safely out of Paris within an hour."
+
+Papa was the first to realise what was happening: he had never lost his
+presence of mind, even during the darkest moment of this terrible time,
+and he said quite calmly and steadily now:
+
+"What must we do?"
+
+"Persuade the little ones not to be afraid, not to cry, to be as still
+and silent as may be," continued the voice, which I felt must be that of
+one of God's own angels, so exquisitely kind did it sound to my ear.
+
+"They will be quiet and still without persuasion," said papa; "eh,
+children?"
+
+And Jean, Andre, and Marguerite murmured: "Yes!" whilst maman and I
+drew them closer to us and said everything we could think of to make
+them still more brave.
+
+And the whispering, commanding voice went on after awhile:
+
+"Now, will you allow yourselves to be muffled and bound? and after that
+will you swear that whatever happens, whatever you may see or hear, you
+will neither move nor speak. Not only your own lives, but those of many
+brave men will depend upon your fulfilment of this oath."
+
+Papa made no reply, save to raise his hand and eyes up to where God
+surely was watching over us all. Maman said in her gentle, even voice:
+
+"For myself and my children, I swear to do all that you tell us."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A great feeling of confidence had entered into her heart, just as it had
+done into mine. We looked at one another and knew that we were both
+thinking of the same thing: we were thinking of the brave Englishman and
+his gallant little band of heroes about whom we had heard many wonderful
+tales of how they had rescued a number of innocent people who were
+unjustly threatened with the guillotine; and we all knew that the tall
+figure disguised in horrible rags, who spoke to us with such a gentle
+yet commanding voice, was the man whom rumour credited with supernatural
+powers, and who was known by the mysterious name of the Scarlet
+Pimpernel.
+
+Hardly had we sworn to do his bidding than his friends most
+unceremoniously threw great pieces of sacking over our heads and then
+proceeded to tie ropes round our bodies. At least I know that that is
+what one of them was doing to me, and from one or two whispered words of
+command which reached my ear I concluded that papa and maman and the
+children were being dealt with in the same summary way.
+
+I felt hot and stifled under that rough bit of sacking, but I would not
+have moved or even sighed for worlds. Strangely enough, as soon as my
+eyes and ears were shut off from the sounds and sights immediately round
+me, I once more became conscious of the horrible and awful din which was
+going on not only on the other side of our prison walls, but inside the
+whole of the Abbaye building and in the street beyond.
+
+Once more I heard those terrible howls of rage and of satisfied hatred
+uttered by the assassins who were being paid by the Government of our
+beautiful country to butcher helpless prisoners in their hundreds.
+
+[Illustration: The Scarlet Pimpernel to the Rescue
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by A. C. Michael_]
+
+Suddenly I felt myself hoisted up off my feet and slung up on to a pair
+of shoulders that must have been very powerful indeed, for I am no light
+weight, and once more I heard the voice, the very sound of which was
+delight, quite close to my ear this time, giving a brief and
+comprehensive command:
+
+"All ready--remember your part--en avant!"
+
+Then it added in English; "Here, Tony, you start kicking against the
+door whilst we begin to shout!"
+
+I loved those few words of English, and hoped that maman had heard them
+too, for it would confirm her--as it did me--in the happy knowledge that
+God and a brave man had taken our rescue in hand.
+
+But from that moment we might all have been in the very antechamber of
+hell. I could hear the violent kicks against the heavy door of our
+prison, and our brave rescuers seemed suddenly to be transformed into a
+cageful of wild beasts. Their shouts and yells were as horrible as any
+that came to us from the outside, and I must say that the gentle, firm
+voice which I had learnt to love was as execrable as any I could hear.
+
+Apparently the door would not yield, as the blows against it became more
+and more violent, and presently, from somewhere above my head--the
+window presumably--there came a rough call and a raucous laugh:
+
+"Why! what in the name of ---- is happening here?"
+
+And the voice near me answered back equally roughly:
+
+"A quarry of six--but we are caught in this trap--get the door open for
+us, citizen--we want to be rid of this booty and go in search for more."
+
+A horrible laugh was the reply from above, and the next instant I heard
+a terrific crash; the door had at last been burst open either from
+within or without, I could not tell which, and suddenly all the din, the
+cries, the groans, the hideous laughter and bibulous songs which had
+sounded muffled up to now burst upon us with all their hideousness.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+That was, I think, the most awful moment of that truly fearful hour. I
+could not have moved then, even had I wished or been able to do so, but
+I knew that between us all and a horrible, yelling, murdering mob there
+was now nothing--except the hand of God and the heroism of a band of
+English gentlemen.
+
+Together they gave a cry--as loud, as terrifying as any that were
+uttered by the butchering crowd in the building, and with a wild rush
+they seemed to plunge with us right into the thick of the awful melee.
+
+At least that is what it all felt like to me, and afterwards I heard
+from our gallant rescuer himself that that is exactly what he and his
+friends did. There were eight of them altogether, and we four young ones
+had each been hoisted on a pair of devoted shoulders, whilst maman and
+papa were each carried by two men.
+
+I was lying across the finest pair of shoulders in the world, and close
+to me was beating the bravest heart on God's earth.
+
+Thus burdened, these eight noble English gentlemen charged right through
+an army of butchering, howling brutes, they themselves howling with the
+fiercest of them.
+
+All around me I heard weird and terrifying cries:
+
+"What ho, citizens! what have you there?"
+
+"Six aristos!" shouted my hero boldly as he rushed on, forcing his way
+through the crowd.
+
+"What are you doing with them?" yelled a raucous voice.
+
+"Food for the starving fish in the river," was the ready response.
+"Stand aside, citizen," he added, with a round curse. "I have my orders
+from citizen Danton himself about these six aristos. You hinder me at
+your peril."
+
+He was challenged over and over again in the same way, and so were his
+friends who were carrying papa and maman and the children, but they were
+always ready for a reply. With eyes that could not see one could imagine
+them as hideous, as vengeful, as cruel as the rest of the crowd.
+
+I think that soon I must have fainted from sheer excitement and terror,
+for I remember nothing more till I felt myself deposited on a hard
+floor, propped against the wall, and the stifling piece of sacking taken
+off my head and face.
+
+I looked around me dazed and bewildered; gradually the horrors of the
+past hour came back to me, and I had to close my eyes again, for I felt
+sick and giddy with the sheer memory of it all.
+
+But presently I felt stronger and looked around me again. Jean and Andre
+were squatting in a corner close by, gazing wide-eyed at the group of
+men in filthy, ragged clothing who sat round a deal table in the centre
+of a small, ill-furnished room.
+
+Maman was lying on a horse-hair sofa at the other end of the room, with
+Marguerite beside her, and papa sat in a low chair by her side holding
+her hand.
+
+The voice I loved was speaking in its quaint, somewhat drawly cadence:
+
+"You are quite safe now, my dear Monsieur Lemercier," it said. "After
+Madame and the young people have had a rest some of my friends will find
+you suitable disguises, and they will escort you out of Paris, as they
+have some really genuine passports in their possession, which we obtain
+from time to time through the agency of a personage highly placed in
+this murdering Government, and with the help of English banknotes. Those
+passports are not always unchallenged, I must confess," added my hero,
+with a quaint laugh, "but to-night every one is busy murdering in one
+part of Paris, so the other parts are comparatively safe."
+
+Then he turned to one of his friends and spoke to him in English:
+
+"You had better see this through, Tony," he said, "with Hastings and
+Mackenzie. Three of you will be enough: I shall have need of the
+others."
+
+No one seemed to question his orders. He had spoken and the others made
+ready to obey. Just then papa spoke up:
+
+"How are we going to thank you, sir?" he asked, speaking broken English,
+but with his habitual dignity of manner.
+
+"By leaving your welfare in our hands, Monsieur," replied our gallant
+rescuer quietly.
+
+Papa tried to speak again, but the Englishman put up his hand to stop
+any further talk.
+
+"There is no time now, Monsieur," he said, with gentle courtesy. "I must
+leave you, as I have much work yet to do."
+
+"Where are you going, Blakeney?" asked one of the others.
+
+"Back to the Abbaye prison," he said; "there are other women and
+children to be rescued there!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?
+
+BY JOHN OXENHAM
+
+_Painting by_ EUGENE HASTAIN _and Drawings by GORDON BROWNE, R.I._
+
+
+    _WHAT can a little chap do
+    For his country and for you?
+    What_ CAN _a little chap do?_
+
+    He can fight like a Knight
+    For the Truth and the Right--
+        _That's one good thing he can do._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+    "He can march in the queue
+    Of the Good and the Great,
+    Who battled with fate
+    And won through."
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Eugene Hastain_]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    He can shun all that's mean,
+    He can keep himself clean,
+    Both without and within--
+        _That's another good thing he can do_.
+
+    His soul he can brace
+    Against everything base,
+    And the trace will be seen
+    All his life in his face--
+        _That's a very fine thing he can do_.
+
+    He can look to the Light,
+    He can keep his thought white,
+    He can fight the great fight,
+    He can do with his might
+    What is good in God's sight--
+        _Those are excellent things he can do_.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    Though his years be but few,
+    He can march in the queue
+    Of the Good and the Great,
+    Who battled with fate
+    And won through--
+        _That's a wonderful thing he can do_.
+
+    And--in each little thing
+    He can follow The King.
+    Yes--in each smallest thing
+    He can follow The King--
+    He can follow The Christ, The King.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT
+
+BY W. PETT RIDGE
+
+_Painting by_ M. E. GRAY _and Drawings by_ LEWIS BAUMER
+
+
+I KNEW a child who----
+
+Some friends of mine have a daughter, and she----
+
+Not very many years ago, I remember hearing----
+
+Once upon a time--that is the proper way to begin this story--once upon
+a time there was a little girl, of about the usual age, who lived near
+to St. John's Wood Road Station, handy to Lord's cricket ground, and not
+far from the Zoological Gardens. You would think that any one who, in
+the summer, could look out of her window and see Mr. P. F. Warner
+batting, and in the winter was able to go any afternoon she liked, to
+watch the lions and tigers take high tea at four, ought to have been as
+happy as the days were long; cheerful even when the days were short. Yet
+she was not entirely satisfied; it may be said that her one failing was
+a spirit of discontent. When grown-ups are discontented, it is called
+ambition; but that is another matter.
+
+On a certain Tuesday evening in November it happened that she felt quite
+pleased with the world until about seven o'clock. Seven in the evening
+was the hour that frequently made her peevish.
+
+Nurse left her alone for a minute to see if everything was ready
+upstairs, and in that minute the little girl jumped on a chair and moved
+back the long hand. She was reading her picture-book with great interest
+when nurse returned.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried nurse. "Quite thought it wanted ten to seven, and
+here it is only ten past six. I shall find myself in Colney Hatch before
+I'm much older."
+
+The little girl wanted to assure Nanna there was no good reason to
+assume that mental decay had set in, but she did not do this at once,
+and afterwards it seemed too late. So nurse was allowed to chat on, and
+tell her very best story about the time when she was a child, and a good
+one at that, and when the clock, having been compelled to go over the
+ground twice, again gave the time as ten to seven, nurse said,
+
+"Now my dearie!"
+
+Upstairs, the little girl devoted a few minutes to instructing her dolly
+in the art of going off nicely to bye-byes.
+
+She was left alone, with just a mere star of gas-light for company
+shining above the dressing-table, and at the moment when she was about
+to go to sleep conscience woke up. Conscience became wide-awake.
+Conscience insisted upon talking, and the little girl had to listen. She
+was aware it is useless to cry when one is by oneself with nobody
+looking on; not only useless but wasteful, because you may want those
+tears on more important and more public occasions. So the little girl
+did not weep, but, oh! she felt troubled. She did feel troubled.
+
+"A silly, stupid world!" she cried aloud. "It ought--it ought to be
+changed. I'd very much love it to be altogether different."
+
+A knock at her door, and she answered, "Please come in, Nanna!" Not
+nurse. Certainly the tall lady with diamonds sparkling in her hair, and
+a white chiffon kind of costume, and a long silver stick in the right
+hand, was as unlike nurse as any one could be. The little girl said,
+"Oh, I beg pardon!" in her politest manner.
+
+"It is for me to beg yours," answered the tall lady with severity. "I am
+exceedingly sorry to disturb you."
+
+"Pray don't mention it."
+
+"I wish to mention it," insisted the lady. "I claim the right to mention
+it. I decline to allow any one to dictate to me what I shall or what I
+shall not mention. I am a good fairy."
+
+The little girl opened her mouth with surprise.
+
+"A good fairy, and I am here to do you a favour. When a good fairy
+wishes to do a favour, it is only necessary for a wish to be expressed,
+and----"
+
+[Illustration: "Bless my soul!" cried nurse]
+
+"Thank you," said the child nervously, "but really I would so much
+rather you did not take the trouble."
+
+"The trouble," replied the good fairy, striking the floor with her
+silver stick in an impatient way, "is no concern of yours. You mustn't
+haggle."
+
+"I don't know what that means," declared the other earnestly, "and if I
+did, I wouldn't do it, ma'am, I wouldn't really. Good evening, and, of
+course, thank you ever so much for calling."
+
+"Dress!" ordered the good fairy.
+
+On the instant something happened which the little girl had often
+thought about; more than once she had talked it over with nurse. She
+found herself, in the space of less time than it takes to click your
+finger and thumb, fully and completely costumed, boots laced up, hair
+taken out of curlers and properly brushed, hat set at the correct angle,
+parasol in hand, gloves buttoned, and everything ready for a walk out of
+doors. She gave a cry of delight and astonishment.
+
+"I am about to give you the great treat of your life," said the fairy,
+"something that no one has ever yet experienced, something that will
+give you a subject to talk about for the rest of your days. Nobody will
+believe you, but that must be endured. You are about to see the world as
+nobody else has seen it. And if you ask me why you have been selected
+for this high and special honour----"
+
+"Please, I don't!"
+
+"My answer is," taking no notice of the interruption, "that you are
+receiving the award for your wonderful discovery."
+
+"But I have discovered nothing."
+
+"Nothing!" echoed the lady, with amazement. "You call it nothing to have
+found out the secret that has puzzled clever people for thousands and
+thousands of years? How often folk have said, 'If only I could live some
+part of my life over again!' and they never have been able to do it.
+You, child, were the first."
+
+The staircase had always gone straight down until it neared the next
+landing, where it took a slight curve; now it was all curves and had
+nothing about it that could be called straight. It went up, it went
+down, it went to the left, it went to the right, so that wherever you
+put your foot expecting to find a step, you did not find it, and
+wherever you put your foot expecting to find nothing, you hurt your
+toes.
+
+"This is very strange, ma'am!"
+
+"That," replied the other, "should be its great attraction. Don't lag.
+We shall get to the end of the staircase in less than ten minutes."
+
+Going out of the street doorway proved one of the most difficult tasks.
+The fairy did not seem to mind, but the child found it extremely odd
+that when you pulled at the door it opened outwards, and that when you
+pushed at it it came in. The iron gate which led to the pavement had
+another form of behaviour. Determined not to be bothered here, she gave
+a touch with her boot, and instantly the iron gate offered her boot a
+pinch; she placed her hand upon it and the gate gripped it, much in the
+way that Uncle Henry did when he said "How do you do?" She put her back
+against it, and the iron gate gave her a clutch around the waist, and
+said, in rasping tones, as it waltzed to the pavement,
+
+"Do you reverse?"
+
+It was then that she perceived the fairy had left her.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A pavement is expected to behave in a calm and demure manner; even when
+it takes you up-hill it does this in the gentlest way. But this
+pavement, so soon as the little girl set foot upon it, at once changed
+to something like a switchback, and a switchback, mark you, she enjoyed
+when seated on a trolley at Shepherd's Bush Exhibitions; it was less
+agreeable to try to walk up and down the uneven parts here. Other people
+did not seem to experience her difficulties, and this she failed to
+understand until she observed that they went along on their hands and
+toes, pretending to have four legs; she tried the same method and found
+it made her back ache; discovered, too, that she could not see so much
+as when walking in the old way. Thus it was that she had reached the end
+of the road, where a steep ascent occurred that was like the side of a
+mountain, ere she noticed something strange and peculiar about the
+houses.
+
+"How very foolish of them to build in that way!" she cried. "They must
+be out of their senses."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It was the more eccentric in that her own house so far as she had
+observed had not changed; thinking it over, though, she could not be
+quite sure. Here at any rate was every house upside down with the front
+door right away at the top, Virginia creepers growing downwards; at one
+house the painters were seeing to the front and their ladders came from
+the roof (which was the basement) nearly to the basement (which was the
+roof). A neat lawn hung out over the top of each house; it made her feel
+giddy to think of the risks of playing croquet there; she could not see
+how one would be able to make even the first hoop.
+
+Other things claimed her attention.
+
+There were carts with horses pushing them--she had often heard her
+father reprove her eldest brother for doing this in argument--the horses
+stood upright and wore silk hats in a rakish sort of way, sometimes
+lifting these on meeting another horse and taking cigars out of mouths.
+She spoke to a constable, who wore a helmet on each hand, and put an
+urgent inquiry.
+
+"Miaow!" said the policeman.
+
+"You didn't quite understand," remarked the little girl patiently. "I
+asked you if you would kindly tell me the way to get home to Wellington
+Road."
+
+"Ba, ba!"
+
+"Do please listen to me," she begged, "and tell me what I want to know.
+I think I've lost my way, and I'm so afraid that I'm going to cry."
+
+"Moo--oo!" said the constable.
+
+[Illustration: Instructing her dolly in the art of going off nicely to
+by-byes.
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by M. E. Gray_]
+
+"Please, please," she cried, "please don't be silly. Why do you keep
+making noises like that instead of giving me a proper answer?"
+
+"Missy," he explained, "I'm a comic policeman. I'm not here to tell folk
+the way or to lock them up, or anything of that kind; I'm here to make
+people laugh."
+
+"You are not amusing me!"
+
+"Not when I make a noise like a dog?" he asked, with surprise. "Why,
+that nearly always sends people into a good temper. You wait till I give
+you my imitation of a railway engine. Hark!"
+
+He set his teeth together and began to say "Isha--isha--isha," but the
+little girl turned away. She felt so indignant that she determined to
+tell her father about it at the very first opportunity, and see whether
+something could not be done. More than once her father had helped to
+straighten out tangled matters by simply writing a letter to the
+newspapers, and signing himself "An Indignant Ratepayer."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And at the very moment along came her father. He, too, walked on all
+fours as other people did, and the little girl thought it caused him to
+look particularly undignified, but she did not trouble about this, for,
+stout as he was, she was really glad to see him.
+
+"How do you do," he said respectfully. "Can you give me a penny to buy
+some sweeties?"
+
+"Daddie, dear!" she cried with distress. "Don't you begin to be funny,
+please."
+
+"I'm not," he said.
+
+"But you are my parent, you know."
+
+"Yes," he sighed, "I'm aware of that. But under the new rules--you must
+have heard all about them--under the new rules parents have to be
+obedient to their children, and do everything their children tell them
+to do."
+
+"Not a bad idea," decided the little girl, after giving it
+consideration. "I think if you don't mind I will get you to come along
+now to Finchley Road and buy for me the mechanical rocking-horse that
+has been talked about for some time."
+
+"Under the old arrangement," he replied readily, "I should have been
+only too pleased, but the new rules say that children must buy presents
+for their father and mother."
+
+"How can we," getting rather cross, "how in the world can we when we
+have no money?"
+
+"I think," he said, "that it is expected you should go to work and earn
+some."
+
+"Never heard such nonsense in the whole course of my life," she
+declared, using a grown-up remark. "It's perfect rubbish. Do you mean to
+say that I shall have to go to concerts and sing as mamma does?"
+
+"That's the idea, I believe."
+
+"But I can't sing. I can't sing nearly well enough to earn money."
+
+"Well," said her father, after considering the matter, "what about going
+out as charwoman? You'd get two shillings a day and your lunch."
+
+She stood there for a few minutes, not daring to speak, and overcome
+with cares and responsibilities. Some one touched her on the shoulder,
+and she looked up.
+
+"Good fairy!" she cried.
+
+"Do you like the altogether different you asked for?"
+
+"No," she answered, "I don't like it at all. I wish now I hadn't put
+back the hands of the clock."
+
+"You mean to say that that was how you did it? You dare to tell me it
+was nothing cleverer than that? Now, just to punish you," said the
+fairy, speaking with stern decision, "I shall send you away to the old
+sort of world, and you'll simply have to make the best of it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bedroom door opened, and nurse came in. The little girl, snuggling
+down into her warm, comfortable bed, kept her eyes shut.
+
+"Bless her!" said nurse to herself. "Sleeping as sound as a top. That's
+what comes of having nothing on your mind to worry you!"
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ESCAPE
+
+_A GIRL'S STORY FROM GALLANT BELGIUM_
+
+BY ANNIE S. SWAN
+
+_Drawings by_ HAROLD EARNSHAW
+
+
+Not a sound broke the exquisite hush of the early morning.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The old courtyard, with its tiled pavement, its cool fountain, and its
+cooing doves, the dog asleep in the sunshine, made a picture of perfect
+peace.
+
+The house, once the Chateau of a great family that had fallen on evil
+days, was grey and old, and beautiful still, though now merely _une
+pension de demoiselles_.
+
+It was August, when, as a rule, all the merry throng had scattered from
+the Chateau to their respective homes, leaving it to its former dignity
+and quiet. Mademoiselle usually went to England, perhaps seeking fresh
+pupils, or to enjoy the sea breezes on the Normandy coast.
+
+La Royat, in the village of Coutane, was inland from the sea, about
+fifteen miles from Brussels. It was a sweet spot, beloved of the
+understanding traveller, and many came to look at the fine old church,
+whose spire and windows were among the treasures known to lovers of the
+beautiful all over the world. Mademoiselle Ledru had nothing to complain
+of in her lot, with which she had been hitherto content. Success had
+flowed in upon her earnest efforts, though looking at her anxious face
+that summer morning one would have thought her oppressed by care. She
+was an elderly woman now, with the remains of beauty still on her face.
+The place where she stood that morning, before her household was astir,
+was certainly unusual, being the square tower of the Chateau, from whose
+low ramparts she was sweeping the horizon with a powerful glass. It was
+all very peaceful and beautiful, a wide rolling plateau, with fields
+white to harvest, not a hint of approaching desolation on its smiling
+face.
+
+It was very early, hardly an hour past daybreak, but already some of the
+thrifty peasants were busy in the fields. Far away on the red horizon
+there was a slight haze, regarding which Mademoiselle seemed more than a
+little curious. Again and again she focused her glass, until confident
+that the haze was not altogether stationary, but moved and broke and
+thickened again. Then with a sickening apprehension at her heart, she
+turned and fled down the stairs and went to open the big door of the
+Chateau. Jules, the fat and sleepy porter, was undoing the bolts as she
+got down.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Some one is at the gate, an early visitor." He
+chuckled as he undid the last bolt, and threw wide the door. When he
+would have hobbled across the courtyard to open the gate his mistress
+was before him. When she undid the bolts the Cure, bareheaded, stood
+before her.
+
+"Ah, Mademoiselle, it is bad news," he said in a firm voice, though his
+face was tense with apprehension. "They come, the barbarians. I have
+information, now it behoves us to consult what we will do."
+
+Mademoiselle whitened to the lips, and drew him in and shut the door.
+She signed to Jules to depart, but the Cure intervened.
+
+"Let him stay. It will save a twice-told tale. I have certain news that
+they are not more than a couple of hours' march away, and for sure they
+will come this way to Brussels. What shall we do?"
+
+"I will remain at my post," answered Julie Ledru firmly. "I have no fear
+for myself, but my charges, Father--Rosalie and Biddy, with whom their
+English parents have trusted me. My spirit fails! What must we do with
+them?"
+
+"It will not be safe to leave them here, Mademoiselle, nor even for you
+to stay. We will take you to the crypt of the church, where, with a
+little food and drink, you will be safe until they have passed through.
+We have no treasure here in Coutane, and are simple folk. Perhaps we
+shall be beneath their notice."
+
+Julie Ledru clasped her hands in an ecstasy of apprehension. They had
+been without newspapers for four days, but chance travellers from the
+East had brought strange and appalling tales of the invaders' desolating
+march. They told of ruined villages and burning homes, and helpless
+people mercilessly shot down in places as simple and as unimportant as
+Coutane. Julie Ledru looked round her little domain with a kind of sad
+pride. It did not contain many treasures, it is true, but it was her
+home, enshrined by many sweet memories. It contained her all.
+
+"Now, Father?" she asked feverishly. "Do you think we should come now?"
+
+"Without a moment's delay," he answered. "Go and get your charges roused
+and bring all with you; a little food also in a basket, lest you have to
+stop there several days."
+
+[Illustration: Fleur-de-Lis
+
+    _Painted for
+    Princess Mary's Gift Book
+    by Carlton A. Smith, R.I._]
+
+"You will be with us, Father?" said Julie anxiously.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"My place is in the open street with such of my people as feel strong
+and brave in their innocence and faith. But you have English charges. If
+it was known, Mademoiselle, believe me, nothing would save them or you.
+Their fury against the English is so great."
+
+"Shall we take Jules? Besides him, there is only our faithful Babette."
+
+Before the Cure could reply Jules intervened, scratching his old grey
+head.
+
+"I hide not from them, Mademoiselle; I will stay and guard the Chateau
+and keep them out, if I can, barbarians that they are, making war on
+women and children."
+
+"They will shoot you, Jules, if you are so foolish," his mistress
+reminded him. His answer was a shrug of the shoulders.
+
+"A man dies but once--that is to say, a good man, who has faith in God
+and does his duty."
+
+So saying, Jules went back to take up his waiting duty.
+
+The Cure departed the way he had come, and Julie Ledru, with a feeling
+of strange calm upon her, hurried indoors to make her few simple
+preparations. Babette, the elderly servant, one of the best of the old
+Brabant type, was cool and ready for any emergency, and in an incredibly
+short time they had packed some food and a few necessaries in two
+considerable baskets. Then Mademoiselle Ledru essayed the task she
+dreaded--that of awaking her two young charges, and preparing them for
+the ordeal through which they had to pass.
+
+They were still asleep, in two beds side by side, in one of the
+pleasantest rooms of the Chateau. Rosalie Bentham, fair and rosy, like
+an English flower, her golden hair lying on her pillow like an aureole,
+and Biddy Connaught, the dark-eyed Irish girl, whose long black lashes
+swept her cheek, while her dimpled chin was in her open palm, as she
+smiled over some passing imagery of her dream. Something caught Julie
+Ledru's throat as she regarded these two pictures of innocence and
+beauty, and reflected on the greatness of her charge. Both were only
+children, entrusted to her care in the holidays, because their parents,
+both in the exercise of duty, could not take them home. But with a
+strong effort she controlled herself and awakened them gently. It was a
+process of some length, because the sleep of youth is sound and deep,
+but at last they were sitting up, drinking in her news.
+
+"We have to run away and hide in the crypt until the Germans have
+marched through the village. Do you hear, Biddy?" called Rosalie, as
+she sprang from her bed and began to get into her clothes. "But how
+ripping! What lots we shall all have to write about and to tell them
+when we get home!"
+
+Julie Ledru faintly, tremulously, smiled, and with her own hands she
+assisted them to make a hasty toilet. Some coffee was ready for them
+downstairs, for Babette was a methodical person, not easily upset. Thus
+fortified, they left the Chateau presently, leaving Babette and Jules in
+charge. Babette made the same excuse--some one must stay to guard the
+place, and surely when they found nobody but two simple old servants
+they would pass on.
+
+Julie had no time to argue; perhaps even she did not fully realise the
+peril to which these two faithful souls thus willingly exposed
+themselves. She looked back on their serene faces as she passed through
+the gate, and it was the last time she was to look on them in life. She
+never saw them again, nor found them. They disappeared in the ruins of
+La Royat as many had disappeared in other ruins, leaving no trace
+behind. At the church, which was but a few paces off, they found the
+Cure busy arranging shelter. It was a very tiny village, and the number
+of those willing to accept the shelter he offered and, indeed, advised
+was comparatively few. For though a simple they were a brave people, nor
+could they conceive of a wickedness and barbarity that would seek to
+destroy innocent souls who had naught to do with war. So they went about
+their ordinary avocations as usual, a trifle more apprehensively
+perhaps, but none the less bravely, and the morning wore on.
+
+The Cure took his charges, about twenty souls in all, down the narrow
+stairs to the crypt, where he had already provided light and such small
+comforts as he could spare from his own store.
+
+"Isn't it ripping, Biddy?" asked Rosalie, but perhaps her young voice
+had lost a little of its gallant ring. But Biddy, who had the
+imaginative temperament of her race, shivered a little, and burst into
+tears. It was strange and ominous to come in out of the warm, hopeful
+sunshine to this place of tombs, an adventure with which the child could
+very well have dispensed. The church was very old, and many who had been
+born in Coutane had never seen the crypt. Its very existence was unknown
+to a large number, and the entrance to it was so cunningly arranged, and
+so difficult of access, that it was of all hiding-places in the village
+the most secure.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Then there was always the belief, founded on all precedent of war, that
+the sacred things would be respected, and sanctuary in God's house left
+undesecrated. The hours seemed long down there and the stillness
+profound. Not a sound from the upper air penetrated to that strange
+hiding-place. Though sure of their sanctuary, it seemed natural to lower
+their voices, to move softly, and even to watch apprehensively. Even the
+two girls, usually so high-spirited, found themselves naturally becoming
+quiet. It was only the very little children, of whom there were five,
+who, unconscious of danger, crowed and laughed and babbled in their
+usual glee. These little ones provided incessant interest and occupation
+for the two girls, and Julie Ledru smiled as she watched their pretty
+efforts to amuse and keep them quiet. She had brought her watch, and it
+pointed to nine o'clock at the moment when they heard a dull thud
+several times repeated, which caused them all to start and look at one
+another in quick alarm.
+
+"It is the guns," said old Monsieur Rollin, whose legs were twisted with
+rheumatism, so that they had half-carried him down the steps of the
+crypt. "They have come, and are starting their fiendish work."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+No one could gainsay him, and for the next half-hour they had to listen
+to a repetition of the same sound gradually getting nearer and nearer.
+Presently their terror was increased by the deafening roar of artillery
+much nearer and the sound of falling masonry, indicating that the church
+itself, cradle and sanctuary of the life of Coutane for centuries, had
+not been respected. The two English girls, now thoroughly frightened,
+clung together fearfully, and the whole little company, some of them on
+their knees, did not exchange a word. After a time the firing ceased,
+and they were left to absolute stillness. But none of them moved, or
+offered to go up to discover what had actually happened in the village.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+After what seemed an interminable interval--in reality it was not more
+than a couple of hours from the moment the din ceased overhead--the door
+of the crypt was cautiously opened, and the Cure looked in. He was all
+dishevelled, his face blackened with smoke, and his whole appearance
+that of a man who had seen some terrible and haunting vision.
+
+"Ah, there you are, my children," he cried as they crowded round him; "I
+think you may come up presently, but be prepared to have your hearts
+broken. A regiment of the enemy has passed through, and left nothing
+behind. Mademoiselle, the Chateau is in flames, and the beautiful spire
+of the church has been blown to pieces, and at the Mairie the
+devastation is complete. But, above all, we mourn the death of so many
+helpless people--I myself escaped by a miracle."
+
+"Have they gone?" asked Mademoiselle, with a shivering breath.
+
+"They have, and I think that they are pursued, and that this was the
+hurried work of destruction prompted by hatred and revenge. Will you
+come up now and see for yourselves, or remain here in safety through the
+night? Alas! you will find no other refuge, Mademoiselle, for your home
+is in ruins."
+
+Such fear was upon them that with one accord they determined to remain
+in the crypt until the dawn of another day.
+
+Even the natural gaiety and high spirits of youth were not proof against
+the terror which all felt might swoop down upon them again at any
+moment.
+
+They had arranged themselves as comfortably as possible to pass the
+night, when they were suddenly disturbed by the grating of a door and
+the swinging of a lantern. All scrambled to their feet, some of them
+shrieking and hiding their eyes, certain that there had been a fresh
+arrival of the invaders, and that instant death would meet them.
+
+But once more the Cure smiled upon them reassuringly.
+
+"Courage, my children! Our trouble is for the moment at an end. Our own
+brave soldiers have arrived. It is as I said--they are in pursuit, but
+part of them will camp here to-night. Alas! we have little or no food to
+offer them, for the barbarians stripped the village of everything."
+
+Then Julie Ledru, hurriedly throwing on her cloak, said she would ascend
+with the Cure and give what stores she could from the Chateau.
+
+"But it is no more, my daughter. You have forgotten how I told you
+yesterday that they have burned it to the ground."
+
+"But my stores are hidden in the grotto in the garden, and there is a
+secret passage to it. I think, Father, they had not time, or did not
+take it, to explore, and we shall find things there. I have been putting
+them away since the war began."
+
+So in the pearly dawn, a strange sight was to be seen in the trampled,
+desecrated garden of the Chateau behind its smoking ruins.
+
+Led by Julie Ledru, the Commandant of the troops that had halted in the
+village found stores sufficient to help assuage the hunger of his men.
+He was profuse in his thanks.
+
+"What can I do for you in exchange, Mademoiselle?" he asked, as he stood
+at the salute. Instantly Mademoiselle pointed to her charges, who, still
+shivering a little with fear, yet profoundly, poignantly interested in
+the extraordinary scene of desolation, in what but a few hours ago was
+one of the fairest spots in Belgium.
+
+"These are my English children. Get them to their parents, Monsieur le
+Capitaine, and I shall be amply repaid."
+
+The officer shook his head.
+
+"Easier said than done, Madame; but leave it, and I will see what can be
+done. How is it you have been so indiscreet as to remain here? You ought
+to have removed yourself, and them, while there was still time."
+
+Mademoiselle shook her head.
+
+"We imagined we were of no account, and we have had no news for several
+days. We were assured that the tide of battle had flowed in a different
+direction."
+
+"It is everywhere, Mademoiselle--an evil flood, rolling over the whole
+of our country. But, look you, I will see what can be done."
+
+He was as good as his word, and that evening after dark, in an armoured
+motor-car, Julie Ledru and her charges were driven for hours and miles
+by tortuous ways which kept them out of danger, until they reached
+Ghent, where it was still possible to get a train for Ostend.
+
+Two days later, she landed in England with Rose and Biddy, herself
+utterly ruined, her home gone, one of the most pitiful of the refugees.
+
+But she was welcomed warmly and gratefully by Biddy's father, and in a
+few days' time was safe in a warm, comfortable home on the Irish coast,
+where Rose, too, was made welcome, until her own relatives in India
+could be communicated with.
+
+It was an experience the two girls would never forget, one which will
+remain with them through life as a very poignant personal experience of
+the Great War.
+
+[Illustration
+
+
+
+
+
+_Fleur de Lis_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_by Kate Douglas Wiggin_
+
+    _Painting by_ Carlton A. Smith, _R.A._
+
+    _Drawings by_ Edmund J. Sullivan, _A.R.W.S._
+
+_Copyright in the U.S.A. by the Century Company._
+
+
+FLEUR-DE-LIS had been christened Marie Hortense Amelie Dupont: Marie for
+her mother, Hortense and Amelie in honour of the two Vicomtesses de
+Rastignac, sole survivors of the proud old Royalist family in whose
+service Marie's mother and grandmother had lived, and into whose service
+Marie herself had been born. But when _la petite_ Marie Hortense Amelie
+was a mere blossom of babyhood she forsook the name that the priest had
+given her as he touched her downy head with the holy water, and chose
+instead to be called Fleur-de-lis--a name, in sooth, much better suited
+to a noble daughter of the Rastignacs than to a child of Marie Dupont,
+maker of tissue-paper flowers, and Pierre Dupont, street musician.
+
+Fleur-de-lis had first opened her eyes in a very humble chamber, but it
+was large enough to hold a deal of sweet content, which grew all the
+sweeter when she came to share it. There were only two rooms for father,
+mother, and child, and these were in a dreary tenement house, for Pierre
+Dupont, a stranger in a strange land, was having a desperate struggle
+with poverty. On being discharged from the hospital, where he had passed
+through the dangerous illness that left him a maimed and broken man, he
+had to begin the world all over again, and begin it single-handed, in
+very truth. There were few things to which he could turn his one hand;
+one of them was the crank of a street-piano, and in a modest example of
+that modern instrument of torture he accordingly invested the last of
+his savings. He was much too good for it, but by regarding it distinctly
+as a hated object which should be discarded the moment something better
+appeared, he mastered his aversion, and, by wheeling it through the
+streets from morning till night, he managed to live, for there were
+always people who wanted to hear it, and others who did not, so that
+between the two classes he scraped together enough for his frugal
+needs.
+
+Marie was young and pretty and loyal, and when affairs were most
+desperate she offered to take the baby Fleur-de-lis and accompany her
+husband, gathering the pennies in a tambourine, while he ground
+so-called music from the piano with the left arm, that grew so weary in
+the monotonous service. But there was not a trace of the mountebank in
+Pierre Dupont, nor a drop of beggar's blood in his veins. He was poor
+and crippled, but he had still the self-respecting pride of the peasant
+whose people had served noble families, and who know what true nobility
+is. He could injure the dead-and-gone Rastignacs, if he must, by
+trundling about a second-hand street-piano, but he could at least spare
+them the insult of adding a monkey or a woman to the procession. So
+Maman Marie, loving him more than ever for his chivalrous regard of her,
+took up an almost forgotten pastime of her girlhood, and fell to making
+artificial flowers, which she sold to an old woman who stood on the
+street corners and offered them to the passers-by.
+
+The two rooms in the tenement house were as neat as care and thrift
+could make them. The windows opened only into the court, it is true, but
+Pierre and Marie did not need to look out of doors to get a pleasant
+view, for they could look at each other, and at the baby; besides, the
+glass was spotlessly clean and hung with equally spotless curtains. The
+floors were uncarpeted, but there was never a speck of dust on them. The
+little kitchen where Marie worked had a not unappetising fragrance from
+the _pot-au-feu_ that simmered on the stove; it had also a gleam of
+sunshine in it for a few hours each day. Sometimes when Pierre left his
+incubus for half an hour and ran home for a mouthful of bread and soup,
+he looked at Maman Marie sitting by her table in the sunshine, her
+scissors gleaming among the paper-flower petals, and at Fleur-de-lis,
+sitting at her feet playing with the rainbow-coloured scraps, and then
+he fell on his knees beside them, and, putting his arm about them both,
+forgot that it was the only one he had, forgot that he was poor and
+crippled, and that the future was all uncertain, remembering only that
+he had home and wife and child, and that life, with all its hardships,
+was inexpressibly dear to him. For it happens, sometimes, that a poet's
+soul is lodged in a very humble tenement, and a love that would do
+honour to a knight blossoms and flourishes in the midst of mean and
+pitiful surroundings.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Fleur-de-lis's cradle had curtains made of a bit of tricolour, and from
+the centre of the canopy there hung a medal of the Virgin swinging on a
+narrow ribbon of blue. The cradle itself was a wooden box, and Marie,
+with a maternal ingenuity that surmounted the lack of ordinary
+materials, had lined the inside of the hood with tissue-paper flowers;
+white and blue fleurs-de-lis to match those on the faded satin coverlet,
+a fragment of ancient grandeur where the Rastignac coat-of-arms was
+intertwined with the Bourbon lilies of France. And when the baby's
+vagrant gaze wandered to the flowery heaven above her head, and her pink
+fingers reached to touch it and to stroke the soft counterpane, Maman
+Marie would tell her the name of the posies; and so after a time, when
+she discovered that people and things possessed names, Marie Hortense
+Amelie, Mademoiselle Bebe, elected to call herself Fleur-de-lis. It was
+the first word she lisped, and she attached it to herself with the
+utmost complacency. It was appropriate enough, for she looked as if she
+might have been originally intended for a flower, and then somehow a
+soul had strayed into the flower, and it had fluttered down to earth as
+a child--a curious blossom to come from lowly stock, a kind of tender
+and beautiful miracle wrought out of common clay by the fashioning and
+refining power of love. At times, when Marie sat at her work and looked
+at Fleur-de-lis cooing and smiling under her tri-coloured curtains, she
+forgot the strange land outside the windows, and the Babel of strange
+tongues in the crowded tenement, and as her deft, brown fingers shaped
+the tissue flowers, she saw in fancy the poppies and the wheat and the
+lilies of her native Breton fields. She saw the sun shining on the old
+chateau, her mother hanging a chaplet on the baron's tomb in the little
+oratory, the aged baroness walking sadly in the pleasance. All, all were
+gone. The chateau was dismantled. The proud old family, rooted for
+centuries to the soil of Brittany, had gradually lost its land and its
+riches, till now there was only one frail old dame, poor and childless,
+to maintain the ancient title. All these memories, half sad, half sweet,
+flitted in and out of Marie's mind as she snipped and trimmed and
+twisted and shaped, her head on one side to view the result, like a
+little brown pheasant regarding a berry; and if Fleur-de-lis slept, she
+hummed a Breton lullaby as she twined her paper nosegays. What wonder,
+then, that there was a French air about them that attracted purchasers?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+So "hope clad in April green" made life worth living for father and
+mother; and, as for Fleur-de-lis, she was a child; and she had love, and
+that was enough, and it is sad when we grow so old that it does not
+suffice for us. But these days, so full of care and anxiety, of
+weariness and self-denial tinged with happiness, came to an end; for
+when Fleur-de-lis was two years old, Maman Marie, young and strong,
+passionately in love with life, desperately needed by husband and
+child, had to leave them, to journey on alone to another far country,
+having just grown wonted to this.
+
+Then the light went out of the two little rooms that had been home;
+indeed, it seemed to go out of the world altogether. Hard times and yet
+harder ones descended upon poor Pierre Dupont. Marie's earnings no
+longer helped to swell the slender income, and there were no willing
+woman's hands to cut and plan and save, to contrive and embellish. Added
+to this, the piano suddenly grew uncertain, and subject to grave musical
+lapses, attacks of aphasia in the middle of some tunes, and of asthma in
+the middle of others; so that the hoot of the stony-hearted bystander
+and the ruffianly small boy became familiar to Pierre's ears; for he
+could not afford to buy new cylinders to fit into the old instrument,
+and to keep it up to the demands of the street, which is always
+delighted if you "cannot sing the old songs," and wishes the latest
+melody to the exclusion of everything else.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Fleur-de-lis had been left in the care of a woman for many weeks after
+Marie's death, but the sight of her tear-stained face at night, the
+tender frenzy with which she lifted her arms to her father when he came
+in, the sob of joy with which she buried her head in his coat, the sigh
+of content with which she stroked his cheek between every mouthful of
+bread and milk as she sat on his knee eating her meagre supper--all this
+was too much for his loving heart. He had a small sum of money that he
+had been hoarding to attach "Annie Rooney" and "Comrades" to his
+unfashionable instrument, that he might appease the public by the
+gratification of its darling wishes, and withdraw the Boulanger march
+from its sated ears. This money he took and went to a carpenter's shop
+in the neighbourhood. After many explanations in his broken English, and
+many diagrams rudely drawn on paper, the carpenter succeeded in building
+a primitive sort of baby-carriage on one end of the street-piano. It had
+two wheels of its own, and moved somewhat in harmony with the ancient
+instrument, which had its difficulties of locomotion nowadays, as well
+as its musical weaknesses. It had a drawer in which Fleur-de-lis's
+playthings were kept--a battered doll, and boxes of her favourite scraps
+of bright tissue-paper, the top of an old cotton umbrella, and a square
+of rubber cloth like that which covered the piano when it rained. Here
+Fleur-de-lis sat for many hours each day, happy and content. Pierre
+would often take her out, and let her toddle by his side until she was
+tired, when she would ascend her throne again. She wore a faded corduroy
+jacket and an old woollen cap, but the flower-face that smiled above
+the one, and the shower of chestnut hair that fell from beneath the
+other, made you forget the poverty of her raiment. She was always clean
+and sweet and comfortable, for Pierre, with the gentleness and patience
+of a woman, washed and even mended, in a rough sort of a way, that the
+child might not wholly miss a mother's care.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Matters were going on in this way, rather from bad to worse, when one
+November day father and child turned off a side-street, and trundled
+into one of the fashionable avenues of the city. Pierre did not often
+wheel his piano in front of brown-stone houses; it was too old and
+wheezy to commend itself to localities accustomed to Seidl's orchestra
+and the Hungarian band; but he scarcely knew to-day whither his aimless
+feet were carrying him. For two weeks he had gone out in the early
+morning and evening, leaving Fleur-de-lis asleep, and had spent an hour
+or two in a vain quest for employment. But his speech was broken, and he
+had only one arm--small wonder that he failed when hundreds of men with
+two arms and nimbler tongues were seeking the same thing and failing.
+People generally told him that he ought to have stayed at home in his
+own country, where he belonged; but that, as he had not done that, his
+next best plan was to get back there at the earliest possible moment. If
+they had had time to hear his justification for cumbering the earth of
+this free country, he might have told them that he left France a strong
+young man, with a strong young wife, and nearly fifteen hundred francs
+for the inevitable rainy day; but that the rainy day had turned out to
+be a continual downpour. He was wondering in a dull, vague sort of way,
+as they rattled along over the cobblestones, why there was not bread for
+the mouths that needed it. He wondered why, through no fault of his own,
+he should have been maimed and crippled, why the loss of wife should
+have followed the loss of limb, why there was not enough work in the
+world for the people who were willing to do it, why the children in the
+luxurious carriages that swept past him should be swathed in furs while
+Fleur-de-lis's hands were blue in her ragged mittens.
+
+The universe was a mystery to Pierre Dupont. Search it as he might, he
+could find no key to its curious distribution of miseries and
+injustices. It seemed to him that, if some people would be content to
+take a little less, there might be a little more for him; but he was by
+no means certain of the soundness of this comfortable theory. A little
+less gold plate on that harness, for instance, a yard less of lace on
+the gown of that lady just stepping into her brougham, a single diamond
+from her marquise ring--no, that superficial and snarling philosophy
+did not help Pierre; there was neither envy nor rage in his heart as
+yet; only a dull despair, a groping in the dark for a reason. Many of
+these fortunate people, he supposed, deserved their fortunes, and had
+earned them. They were cleverer than he, and had friends and
+opportunities not vouchsafed, perhaps, to him. But why, since he was not
+clever, and since he had neither friends nor opportunities, should he
+have been deprived first of his principal means of self-support, and
+then of his consolation, his courage, his other and braver self?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And now it was the anniversary of Marie's death. That made the day even
+harder to bear; for in some subtle way the remembrance of certain hours
+or moments in a dear dead past is always more bitter when we say to
+ourselves with a sigh, "It was just a year ago." Nature was in no
+buoyant mood. A cold, drizzling rain, which ought to have been snow,
+fell from time to time. The chill dampness made people draw their wraps
+closer, and look drearily at the sky. Even the children appeared less
+joyous than usual. Men turned up the bottoms of their trousers and the
+collars of their coats, and hurried past one another with a gruff nod
+that would have been a smile on a sunny day. The bare branches of the
+trees shivered in the wind, and a few snowbirds huddled themselves
+together cheerlessly here and there, as if even they wished themselves
+farther south.
+
+Pierre took out the rubber-cloth to cover his piano, and as he did so he
+saw two children at the second story of a fine house near by. He
+expected to be ordered away by a butler in livery at the moment he
+disclosed the limitations of his musical instrument, but one could never
+tell, the butler might be wooing the parlour-maid, so he drew up in
+front of the drive-way. Fleur-de-lis had just walked several blocks,
+and, on being lifted into her carriage, hoisted the dilapidated cotton
+umbrella and wrapped her doll in an extra bit of calico. Pierre turned
+the crank; the piano began on "Love's Young Dream." It seemed to him
+that, with every revolution of the handle, he twisted the chords of his
+aching heart, and that presently it would break, as the battered old
+cylinders threatened to do, and for the same reason; because, alas! too
+many tunes had been played upon them. When ill-fortune descends too
+thick and fast upon the human spirit, unless it can draw fresh
+accessions of strength from within, from without, from above, it sinks
+inevitably into despair. Man may be conscious that he is made in the
+image of God, fitted to endure, to conquer, all things, but for the time
+he is common human clay, he faints and dies, or falls into a cowardly
+lethargy that is worse than death. Such a moment had come to Pierre
+Dupont. In his first crushing blow he had had a wife to stand shoulder
+to shoulder with him. He had now his passionate devotion to his child;
+but in cold and weariness, in hunger and friendlessness, ill-fortune and
+despair, would love be able to keep itself pure, noble, self-denying,
+hopeful? There were ways of forgetting, of dulling one's self, of
+blotting out memory for hours together.
+
+His wants were comparatively simple; but, since he could not realise
+them, why not give up the struggle? He did not wish for a carriage or a
+palace; he wished to give up his vagrant life for some labour by which
+he could maintain himself and give his child a start towards honest
+womanhood. That was not extravagant, surely, and if God were indeed in
+His heaven, and all were indeed right with the world, it seemed to
+Pierre that it was none too much to ask.
+
+He finished "Love's Young Dream," and began the "Boulanger March." A
+young girl of eighteen or nineteen, with an open book in her hand,
+joined the children at the window. She had a beautiful, rather serious
+face, and it brightened into amusement, and then into earnestness, as
+she caught sight of the quaint vehicle, of the child under the faded
+umbrella, and of the empty sleeve of the musician. Pierre ground on
+mechanically; it was "I dreamt that I dwelt in Marble Halls" now, and he
+hoped that a dime would be flung from the window before he came to
+"Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town," for that was the weakest part of his
+repertoire. The group still stayed at the window, and the crisis could
+not be delayed. The piano jerked through several bars, stopped and
+repeated, wheezed and returned to the "Boulanger March," then bounded
+again to "Edinboro' Town," and, after several ineffectual attempts to
+finish it, made an asthmatic dash into "No One to Love." Pierre looked
+anxiously under the _porte-cochere_ for the resentful butler; but the
+children shrieked with renewed delight, and the young girl, going away
+from the window, presently appeared, running down the drive-way, and
+slipping on her jacket as she came. She approached the edge of the
+side-walk, for there was no group about the piano, and, after a brief
+interview with Pierre, she left a piece of silver with him, and went
+upstairs to her mother.
+
+Janet Gordon was a great anxiety to her family. She was possessed of the
+most extraordinary ideas, and no one could tell whence they came, unless
+she became infected by them in some mysterious fashion, as one is by
+microbes; at all events, she had never inherited them in the legitimate
+way. At present, it is true, she had not been introduced to society, but
+unless a great change of heart should make itself apparent in a few
+months, she threatened to be no ornament to her set, and no source of
+pride to an ambitious mother.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Please look out of the window, mama," she said, bringing a breath of
+raw air into her mother's flower-scented sitting-room.
+
+Mrs. Gordon rose languidly, her tea-gown trailing behind her. "What is
+it? Anything more than an organ-grinder who has been rasping my nerves
+for five minutes? Oh, I see what you mean; what an extraordinary
+combination--a child in one end of the machine! Tell Heloise to give the
+man a dime, dear."
+
+"I have given him a quarter myself, and have had a little talk with him;
+he is quite different from the ordinary organ-grinder, mama."
+
+"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Gordon good-naturedly; "all your geese are
+swans, dear; a dime was quite enough for him."
+
+"But he has only one arm, you see, mama."
+
+"Of course, they never have; that is one of the tricks of the trade.
+They bind one arm down to the side, and then slip the coat over it. If
+you notice the man to-morrow he will have the left sleeve hanging empty,
+and be playing with the right arm--it is more effective."
+
+"I'm sure there is no deception in this case, mama."
+
+"Well, have it your own way, child; but pray don't take off his coat to
+investigate, or you'll be catching some dreadful disease. It does seem
+strange that poor people should always be so odiously dirty, when water
+costs nothing."
+
+"This man is as clean as possible, and so is the baby. Her name is
+Fleur-de-lis; is it not quaint?"
+
+"Just what I should expect; the dirtier and commoner they are, the more
+regal and fanciful are the names they give their children. I suppose
+your Fleur-de-lis is redolent of garlic, like the Pansies and Violets of
+her class."
+
+"No, she is not. She is as sweet as a rose; but her face is almost blue
+with cold."
+
+"Of course; what can the man expect if he trundles her about in this
+weather? But I suppose he does it to enlist public sympathy. I wonder
+why foreigners choose this particularly obnoxious way of getting a
+living; and, if they must do it, why they go about with a decrepit old
+instrument like that."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Yes, his piano is very old, but he cannot afford to rent a better one
+just at present. He said, in his broken English, 'I had not the "Marche
+Boulanger," neither "Comrades," ma'mselle; it was then I had what you
+call bad luck, and now, _mon Dieu!_ it is that I have not
+"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay."' And, as for the child, he does not allow her to
+take the money. I was dropping the quarter into her hand, when he
+touched his cap, and said, '_Pardon_, give it to me, ma'mselle, _s'il
+vous plait_. You see, if ze monees keep putting in her hand she will
+grow up one leetle beggair; she does not make ze muzeek, she does not
+push ze piano--_bien_, she s'all not take zee monees."
+
+"Extraordinary!" murmured Mrs. Gordon satirically, as she fitted the
+cushions to her back more luxuriously; "you must repeat that speech to
+your father. I actually believe that a new order of philosophic
+mendicant is springing up to match the new charity. The new charity does
+not wish to pauperise poverty, and the new poverty does not wish to be
+pauperised; it is really very amusing."
+
+"He is forced to take the child with him, because she has no mother,"
+explained Janet.
+
+"Of course she has no mother; they make it a point to have no mother,
+or, if they have, they say they never knew who she was nor where she
+is."
+
+"They know where this mother is," said Janet gravely, "for she died a
+year ago to-day."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Really, Janet, you exasperate me beyond measure, talking with these low
+people, and allowing them to fill your mind with their falsehoods. What
+is it you wish to do? You have given the man a quarter already; that
+will quench his thirst for the present--Heloise, don't take Fifine out
+without her blanket; she has been shivering on the rug before the fire.
+Go back to your books, Janet. There will always be poor organ-grinders,
+and most of them will have lost some of their arms or legs, and all of
+them will have motherless, or worse than motherless, children. It's the
+way of the world, and if you had the wealth of the Indies you could
+never set things right--and, Heloise, come back a moment; tell Madame
+Labiche that all three gowns must be sent home to-morrow; and that I
+shall give her no more orders if she copies any detail of my costumes
+for her other customers; and don't forget the American Beauties, two
+dozen, the longest stems, and give that piano-child at the gate ten
+cents more as you pass--I know it is not right, Janet, but you are so
+insistent. The societies tell you never to bestow alms without first
+looking into the case and finding whether it is really deserving; but I
+am too weakly benevolent, and too lazy, besides, ever to
+restrain--Janet, are you mad? Close that window at once!" And Mrs.
+Gordon almost shrieked as she held down her frizzes with both hands to
+shield them from the raw wind that rushed in from outside. She would not
+have spoken so peremptorily had it not been for the effect of the damp
+air on her coiffure. When her front hair was crimped and protected from
+the assaults of the atmosphere she was an amiable woman and could
+discuss any subject with calmness; but, deprive her of twenty little
+gold-wire hair-pins daintily darned into her auburn frizzes, and the
+invisible hair-net that Heloise pinned on with such nicety, and she
+would not have listened to any argument in the world, even if it
+concerned the salvation of her own soul.
+
+"I was only going to speak a word to the man, mama," said Janet
+apologetically.
+
+"I believe you've been reading Tolstoi," returned her mother, going to a
+mirror to repair damages. "Heavens! what a fright you've made me! I wish
+those Russians would keep their universal brotherhood ideas, and their
+cholera germs, at home."
+
+"Dear mama, I scarcely know who Tolstoi is, except that he wrote a novel
+about Anna somebody that you will not let me read. I do not know what
+Tolstoi thinks about the wrong in the world, or how he means to right
+it. I am not as sentimental as you and papa seem to fancy. I am not
+certain that I ought to wrap that cold little child in my new seal
+jacket, and run bare-headed by the side of the organ collecting pennies
+for the poor one-armed man. I know that if I should go down into the
+slums I should find a thousand others, and that if I worked from year's
+end to year's end, and spent papa's entire fortune, I could not make
+them all comfortable. But don't you believe, mama, when, once in a
+while, need, poverty, and sorrow seem to come directly in contact with
+plenty and riches and happiness, that it means something, and that we
+ought to stop and think out something special?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure I don't know, child; you confuse me so with your
+persistence, and I can't think of anything while he sticks fast in the
+middle of 'Edinboro' Town.' Give him half a dollar, if you
+like--anything to get rid of him, though he succeeds wonderfully in
+amusing the children."
+
+"I don't want to give him any more money, mama," said Janet, with a
+sigh. "I only feel as if I must not lose sight of the child--there they
+are going!"
+
+Pierre covered his piano, pinned the rubber-cloth more tightly round
+Fleur-de-lis's throat, and was preparing to move off in the direction of
+home, when Janet darted into the nursery, and, flinging open the window
+in front of the children, called impetuously in her clear young voice;
+"Bon soir, Fleur-de-lis! Bon soir, monsieur! Revenez bientot, je vous
+prie!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Pierre's face lighted with surprise and pleasure, and, as he took off
+his cap he stammered excitedly, "Dis bon soir, bebe! Je vous remercis
+mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai!"
+
+He wheeled his piano to the shed where he kept it under cover at night,
+and carried Fleur-de-lis home on his arm. After he had undressed her and
+laid her in her crib, he took a crucifix from a drawer where, in a
+moment of bitterness, he had hidden it the day before, and, kissing it,
+restored it to its accustomed place above the head of his bed.
+
+And the anniversary of Marie's death did not go out in utter blackness
+after all; nor was it entirely because of the two pieces of silver that
+had unexpectedly swelled the day's receipts. He had felt the magic of a
+friendly voice; the beautiful little lady had spoken to him in his
+native tongue; she had drawn a fragment of his story from him, and thus
+relieved the weight at his heart; she had smiled on the child, and
+kissed her; she had asked him to come again. And as he fell asleep he
+whispered, "Merci, mille-fois, ma'mselle; je reviendrai."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+     _Published by Hodder & Stoughton, St. Paul's House,
+     Warwick Square, London, B.C., and printed in Great
+     Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and
+     Aylesbury. Ten Colour Plates engraved and printed by
+     Henry Stone & Son, Ld., Banbury and London, and four by
+     the Bushey Colour Press._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
+
+Page 56, "abear" changed to "bear" (I can't bear)
+
+Page 125, "their" changed to "there" (there is only our)
+
+Page 125, "Barbette" changed to "Babette" (Babette, the elderly)
+
+Page 138, "air" changed to "hair" (her front hair was)
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Princess Mary's Gift Book, by Various
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