BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF M^nvu ^^ Sage 1891 A:J/^m u Cornell University Library PR 4845.K5S5 1895 Silcote of Silcotes. 3 1924 013 493 006 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013493006 SILCOTE OF SILCOTES r THE FIGHT WITH THE POACHERS, (Diii:,'!! by Lancelot Speed) [A'S'f J". SILCOTE OF SILCOTES HENRY KINGSLEY NEW EDITION LONDON WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. NEW YORK AND IvnSLBOURNE 189s [A/Z rights resenied\ CONTENTS. CHAPTEB I. rAOB MOONLIGHT ...... 1 CHAPTER II. FIEELIGHT .... .7 CHAPTER III. THKEE OF THE FAMILY ... .9 CHAPTER IV. A FOUETH . . . , .14 CHAPTER V. ABOUT THE SQUIEE . ... 18 CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE PEINCESS . . . 21 CHAPTER VII. ALGEENON . . . . . .24 CHAPTER VIII. PAE NOBILE FEATEUM . . . . .33 vi CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER, IX. MISS LEE . . . . . .36 CHAPTER X. THE SQUIEB INVADES MBS. SUGDEN's TEEKITOEY AND GETS BEATEN . . . . .37 CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH JAMES BEGINS HIS CAEEEE . . .4:5 CHAPTER XII. AETHUE SILCOTE MAKES THE VEEY DEEADFUL AND ONLY FIASCO OP HIS LIFE . . . .56 CHAPTER XIII. TWO MOEE GUESTS . . . , .60 CHAPTER XIV. ST. MAEY'S by the CITY . . . .66 CHAPTER XV. ST. maey's by the lake . . . .73 CHAPTER XVI. GAEIBALDI AND KOSSUTH AEE STAETLED BY THE APPAEITION of MADAME GEOEGEY . . . 78 CHAPTER XVII. THE PEINCESS, AFTBE AN INEFFECTUAL EFFOET TO COMPOSE MATTBES BETWEEN ITALY AND AUSTEIA, HAS A LITTLE TABLE-EAPPING . . .84 CONTENTS. vii CHAPTBE XVIII. SOME OF THE SQUIEE'S PLANS FOE AETHUB . . 90 CHAPTER XIX. SOME OF AETHUE's PLANS FOE HIMSELF . . 94 CHAPTEE XX. SOME OF ME. BETTS'S PLANS FOE HIMSELF AND OTHEES . . . . . .99 CHAPTEE XXI. JAMES HAS A WET WALK .... 104 CHAPTEE XXII. THE MAN IN THE MACKINTOSH .... 108 CHAPTEE XXIII. AETHUE GOES TO TEA WITH MISS EAYLOCK . . 116 CHAPTEE XXIV. IN WHICH DOEA DISCOVBES A SECEET . . . 125 CHAPTEE XXV. AND KEEPS IT TO HEESBLF .... 131 CHAPTEE XXVI. THE FINAL DEVELOPMENT OF ST. MAEY's . . 135 CHAPTEE XXVII. MRS. MOEGAN . 145 viii CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTEE XXVIII. SILCOTB ESCAPES FROM THE EEGION OF BOEEDOM . 152 CHAPTER XXIX. — AND, AFTER AN EXCURSION TO DOUBTING CASTLE,— 155 CHAPTEE XXX. — GETS INTO THE REGION OF UNUTTERABLE ASTONISH- MENT — ...... 169 CHAPTER XXXI. — AND THEN, HAVING MADE CONFESSION, BUT GETTING NO ABSOLUTION — .... 164 CHAPTEE XXXII. GOES HOME, AND LEAVES ARTHUR TO ENJOY HIS SHARE OP ASTONISHMENT ..... 170 CHAPTEE XXXm. THE PRINCESS DEPARTS SOUTHWARD . . . 173 CHAPTEE XXXIV. THE SQUIRE SEES THAT HE HAS ONCE MORE OVER- REACHED HIMSELF ..... 177 CHAPTER XXXV. AND WE HEAR ALL ABOUT MRS. THOMAS . . 186 CHAPTER XXXVI. BREAKING UP . . • • . . 198 CONTENTS. ix PAGE CHAPTER XXXVII. A HAPPY MEETING ..... 204 CHAPTER XXXVIII. WE GET THE ASSISTANCE OF A CHOEUS . . 214 CHAPTER XXXIX. THE EAMPABTS . .... 225 CHAPTER XL. THEY MAKE ALL KINDS OF PLANS . . . 229 CHAPTER XLI. BUT FINDING THEMSELVES BATHEE COMFORTABLE, DAWDLE ABOUT THEIE EXECUTION . 236 CHAPTER XLII. UNTIL ONE PERSON AT ALL EVENTS GETS NO BENEFIT FEOM THEM . . . . 247 CHAPTER XLIII. THE CONFEEENCE ON THE EAMPAETS IS INTEREUPTED BY AN OLD FEIEND . . . 252 CHAPTER XLIV. " JAMES's " PROSPECTS AEB DISCUSSED . . 260 CHAPTER XLV. NOT TOO MUCH TO HIS ADVANTAGE . . . 264 X CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER XLVI. — WHILE HE HIMSELF DRAWS TOWAEDS THE GEEAT EENDEZVOUS ..... 268 CHAPTER XLVII. AETHUE DEALS WITH KEIEGSTHUEM's ASSASSINS . 276 CHAPTER XL VIII. THE PLENIPOTENTIAEY AEEIVES AT TUEIN , . 291 CHAPTER XLIX. THE PEELIMINAEIES TO THE TEEATY OP TUEIN . 297 CHAPTER L. THE KING COMES OUT TO MAESHAL THEM . , 300 CHAPTER LI. THE DESBETION OP THE BOYS .... 303 CHAPTER LII. THE PAMILY BEGINS TO DEAW TOGETHEE . . 306 CHAPTER LIII. JAMES AND HIS FATHEE .... 314 CHAPTER LIV. THE ENEMY ADVANCES ..... 323 CHAPTER LV. THE PEINCESS'S TALISMAN .... 325 CONTENTS. XI PAGK CHAPTER LVI. THE COLONEL BIDES AWAY INTO THE DARKNESS . 328 CHAPTEE LVII. PONTE MONTBIOLO ..... 334 CHAPTEE LVIII. SUNT LACHEYMa; BEEUM .... 345 CHAPTEE LIX. SILCOTES ...... 347 CHAPTER LX. THE LAST EAMBLB ..... 352 CHAPTEE LXI. THE BETUEN ...... 357 CONCLUSION ...... 360 SILCOTE OF SILCOTES. CHAPTEE I. MOONLIGHT. How wonderfully similar are aU cliildren to one another when asleep ! The same ronnded half-formed features, the same gently closed eyelids, the same slightly ^jarted mouth, are common alike to high and low, to good and bad, before passion or education has begun to draw those harder and more decided lines which sleep cannot obliterate, and which only pass away when once the first calm look of death is gone, and dust returns to dust. No such lines mar or alter the face of a sleeping child, or give a clue to the daily history of the soul within. Look from young Seymour the lord, to young Dickson the shepherd-boy. Look at the mendacious and fierce-tempered Johnny, destined to break your heart and min you, lying with his arm round the neck of his gentle, high-souled brother Georgy. They are all very nearly alike. But awake them ; see how the soul, still off its guard, betrays the truth in eye, in mouth, nay, even in gesture. Well was the wise Mrs. Chisholm accustomed to say, that the time to judge of a girl's character was when she was first awake. Cannot we conceive of these four ideal children, that they would betray some- thing to a close observer, as their consciousness of the real world returned to them ? Would not the little nobleman have a calm look upon his face — a look careless, because he had never known care ? would not some signs of weariness and dissatisfaction show themselves on the face of the shepherd-boy, when he first found ^at his pleasant dreams of the cake and of the fine new clothes were unreal, but that the bleak, wild morning, the hard cold boot to be thrust on stockiugless feet, and the poor dry bread, were 2 1 2 SILCOTE OP SILCOTES. most unmistakably real ? wliile Johnny will wake with a scowl, and Gcorgy with a smile. There lay a boy once in a very poor little bed, close mider the thatch of a very poor little cottage, fast asleep and dreaming. At a certain time he moved slightly ; in perhaps less than a second more he had raised himself in his bed, and sat there perfectly still, perfectly silent, looking and listening with the intenseness of a beautiful bright-eyed fox. That is to say, that intense keen vivid curiosity was the first instantaneous expression which fixed itself on his face at the very moment of his waking. In a very few moments more, those very facile features were expressive of intelligence and satisfaction in the highest degree. A minute had not gone by when, with all the subtle dexterity, the silence, and the rapid snake-like motion of that most beautiful animal to which we have before compared him, he had slid from his bed and stood before the door of his room, with half-opened hands, bent head, and slightly parted lips, listening with the whole strength of his brave little heart and his keen brain. There was no need for him to open his crazy old door ; the great hole, into which you had to thrust your finger when you raised the latch, was quite big enough for him, not only to hear, but also to see everything ivhich went on below. His mother stood below at the front door of the cottage, in the moonlight, taUsing with a man he knew well — Somes, the head keeper. It could not be veiy late, for she had not been upstairs ; nor very early, for he could hear his father hurriedly dressing in the room where he slept, a room oijposite his mother's ; and almost immediately he went down and joined the keeper, and the two men passed away into the forest, leaving the woman stiU standing at the door. Our listener dressed himself with aU. the rapidity possible, for he knew that the moment had come for realising one of the great wishes of his short life. His mother stiU stood in the doorway, and she would certainly jirevent his going out, while, if he waited tiU she came upstairs again, he might lose his father's tracks. The bavin pile was close under his window ; he opened the window, and, dropping on the fagots, clambered down, and, listening for one instant, with his head near the ground, he sped away after the faint rustling footsteps of his father and the keeper. He knew what had happened well enough. The poachers from Newley were in the wood again, and their good friend, the head keeper, had aroused his father to assist him. The poachers were a very deteimined gang, with a most expensive set of nets, which SILCOTE or SILCOTES. 3 some said had cost fifty pounds, and would most certainly fight. On the other hand, the gentlemen, the keepers, and some of the hinds were exasperated beyond measure against this very gang. The coverts were poor and bare, and the pheasants, every one of them, cost ten to fifteen shillings by the time they were killed. Eighteen months before a keeper had been shot dead. The previous November a young watcher had been kicked about the head until he was reduced to a state of life-long imbecility, varied by occasional epileptic fits of the most terrible character, for tiying to follow and identify some men who were killing pheasants ; and now the same gang had paid them another visit, and were netting rabbits. There was no doubt there would be a grand final fight on this very night. On one side the Hall party, composed of gentlemen, servants, and labourers, amied only with sticks ; on the other, a desperate gang of ruffians from the low waterside streets of Newley.* James was determined at aU hazards to sec this battle, and his plan was to overtake his father when it was too late to bo sent back. The beech forest was blazing in the glory of the August moon. The ground, golden all the year round, by daylight, with fallen leaves, was now a carpet of black purple velvet, with an irregular pattern of gleaming white satin, wherever the moonbeams foil through to the earth. The overarching boughs had lost the rich warm colour which they showed in the sunlight, and were a mere undefined canojiy of green and silver. The wood was as clear of undergrowth as a Canadian forest, and as level as a lawn ; so it was easy enough for the boy to keep sight of the party he was pursuing, and yet to keep at a safe distance. For on second thoughts he did not care to join them too quickly. There were three or four gentlemen among them, and James was afraid of gentlemen. He would hardly have gone so far as to say that he disliked them, and would probably have pleaded that he had seen so little of them ; but one thing was certain — he would sooner have their room than their company ; and so he shufiied along with half-laced boots, far enough in the rear to avoid any great chance of detection. * Professional poachers are mainly townsfolk ; and not generally, if you look merely at their rental, of the lowest (!) class. There are a good sprinkling of ten, and even twenty pounders, among them. I knew one well, the rent for whose premises could not have been less than fifty, and was probably sixty pounds. He was not, I believe, at the head of the profession, but was well known in it. He was fond of politics, fonder still of electioneering, a staunch and sound Whig. I remember well his driving the " buff " drag to and from the hustings in either '44 or '45. If I were to mention his trade, hundreds would recognise him at once. 4 SILCOTE OF SILCOTES. There were eight of the piirty before him, holding steadily and silently through the wood in a line, and he knew some of them. Head-keeper Homes was a fine man, who ste])ped along from light to shade with wonderful elasticity and determination. His father came next to the head keeper, and his father was a finer man still, broader over the shoulders, and an inch taUer ; hut his father did not walk with the elasticity and grace of the gamekeeper : forty years in heavy hoots, among sticky clay fallows, had taken the elasticity out of his legs, and they seemed to drag somewhat ; nevertheless that dearly-loved figure was a very majestic one, or seemed so until the slinking little man noticed the next one. The next one, the one who walked beside his father, was one of those dreaded gentlemen — a man (as he got to know afterwards) in evening dress, but bare-lieadod, so that the boy could see the moonlight gleaming on the short, well-tended curls, which clustered on a head like a prize-fighter's. This man was half a head taller than his father, and the biggest and broadest man he had ever seen. It was not this fact that attracted him so much : it was the man's gait, so springy, so rapid, so restless, and yet so powerful. He carried no stick, and yet seemed to be the most eager for the fray, for he was always out-walking the others by a little, and then with an impatient look right and left coming back into the line again. James had never seen anything like this gentleman before, and at once set it domi with himself that he must be Lord Brumby, lord-lieutenant of that county, ultimate master of aU souls and bodies in those parts, of whom he had dimly heard. Not very long afterwards he saw my Lord Brumby on a state occasion (which happened to be also market-day) in his lieutenant's uniform. It wasn't his man at all. The lord-lieutenant was a little old man of seventy, with a face like a fish, but redder. Once afterwards James saw a fish like Lord Brumby, and asked the name of it ; it was a red gurnard, they told him. Possibly it was better for that particular county that kind old Lord Brumby was lord-lieutenant of it, and not that reckless, hurling giant, Tom Silcote of Silcotes, whom the boy was watching. The gentleman will fight for what costs him so much ; and the keeper feels a natural animosity towards a man who he Imows wiU kick or beat him senseless on the first opportunity ; and the hind, though in some cases not guiltless himself, is well disposed towards the gentleman, whose wife is always doing him small kindnesses, and has no sympathy with the town ruffian. The whole party on the side of the law are perfectly ready for a fight. The other side also are far from unwilling ; they carry fireai-ms mostly, which gives them the courage of gunpowder, they are not easily recog- SILCOTE OP SILCOTES. 5 nised ; they come of a ruffianly breed, who love fighting ; and, moreover, their nets are worth fighting for. It would be difiicult to account for the extreme determination of these encounters, if one did not remember these things. Such a battle-royal was coming ofi' immediately, as James well knew, and in all probability blood would be shed. The party walked as silently as possible, and he could see that they were coming to a break in the wood, to a little open piece of upland meadow, walled round on all sides by the forest. There he guessed the poachers would be at work ; and he was right. It came all in a moment. The challenge came from the poachers. "Hold off, or," &c., &c. It was answered by Tom Silcote, who stepped out into the open, and said loudly, but quietly enough, " Come, give us this net here. You all know me. Give me hold of it. I must have it." The poachers, who had run together, seemed as if they did know him. They seemed to hesitate, and to be inclined for falling back, when the tallest of them all ran suddenly forward weaponless and alone, sprang on Thomas Silcote, and cried, " Know you ? I know you, and I'll have your false heart's blood this night." The instant the two champions closed, the fight became general. James saw that the fight between Mr. Silcote and the tall poacher, whom he knew perfectly well (the keeper of a beerhouse, the " Black Bull," in Water Street, Newley), was becoming a terrible wrestle. He minded that no more, but ran close in, to be near his father. Two of the poachers had singled him out, and were attacking him. His father fought strongly and well, but very clumsily. Whenever he managed to hit either of his assailants with his stick, the blow seemed to tell, but he only got a blow in once in a way. In a very few minutes he found only one enemy before him, and he getting maddened, rushed in and cut him down with a blow of his stick, and, at the same moment, was felled with a blow from behind, given by the other ruffian, who had passed behind him. James saw his father go hurling heavily over, and the man who had knocked him down making towards him. James ran, too. The poacher had got his heavy iron-shod boot raised to kick the defenceless man behind the ear, when his legs were seized by some one to him invisible, and he was thrown forcibly on his back, and, before he knew where he was, he felt two tiny but vigorous little fists inside his collar, and found that he was rolling over and over in the tight clutches of a little boy, running a very fair chance of being throttled and captured. 6 SILCOTE OF SILCOTES. They must have struggled together for minutes, these two ; the man cursing and threatening, tlio boy only ejaculating, at intervals, " I'll hold 'ee, John Eeveson, I'll hold 'ee ! " for the man had time to find that his comrades were beaten, and in full retreat, before he, not being an absolute fiend, resorted to the last ex- pedient of freeing himself. He had spared the boy hitherto — he had boys of his own ; but the gentlemen were winning ; murder might have been done by one of his own party, which would make him an accomplice ; and the boy had recognised him and let him know it. There was only one way : ho must escape, and the boy must be left in such a state that his evidence was worthless. He used his fists at last, and beat the boy about the head till he was insensible ; then he rose and sped away. It was not very long before poor James came to himself, but he was very much hurt, and very giddy and sick. The poachers were gone, he found out afterwards, the nets taken, and many of them (who got their deserts) identified. He was in the arms of the head gamekeeper, who was washing his head with a wet hand- kerchief. The others, with the exception of his father, all stood round him, and the first person lie recognised was the gigantic Tom Silcote, with his white tie, looking do^vn on him. He, too, was the first who spoke. " This is a fine fellow ! this is a deuced fine boy ! How did he get bred in these parts ? He has got the pluck of a London street boy." The poacher's fists had knocked a good deal out of James's head, possibly, but not the idea that Tom Silcote was lord- lieutenant of the county. So he asked, faintly — " Please, my lord, how's father ? " " Father's seriously hurt, if that is your father. Now tell mo, my man, the name of the fellow you got down just now. You know him, you know, for I heard you speaking to him." '■ I wunt, my lord." " But you ought to." " I wunt tell on him or no man, my lord, not for any man. When I gets as big as father I'll give he cause for to know it. But I won't teU, not on no luan." "Ihkethis," said Tom Silcote. "There is a spice of the devil here. Whose boy is this ? " " James Sugden's," said the immovable keeper. " Give me the boy," said Tom Silcote. " I wiU carry him to the hall. See Sugden home and send for the doctor." " The boy is as near bis own home as he is to the hall. Master Thomas," said the keeper. He is more used to it; and his SILCOTE OF SILGOTES. 7 mother will fret. These brats like the home where they have been bred best." " Give me the boy, now, and no more of your jaw. I am going to take the boy home with me. Go and tell his mother who has got him, and where he is gone. Good-night all. Thanks for your pluck." CHAPTEE II. FIRELIGHT. James was transferred from the arms of the head keeper to those of his friend the lord-lieutenant, and found himself being carried rapidly on through the beech forest — every tree of which he knew — towards the hall. He was, so to speak, alone with this great gentleman ; for, although they were followed by a coachman, two grooms, a country-bred footman, and page, these good gentlemen kept behind, noisily recounting their deeds of valour, which, to do them justice, were anything but inconsiderable. James would have lain much more comfortably if he could have kept his bitterly aching head on the lord-lieutenant's shoulder. But that gentleman kept raising it so that he could look at his face, which he did with great curiosity and amusement. At last he said — "You are a quaint little rascal — a most plucky little dog. I am going to take you to Queer HaU, do you hear, and get you mended." He said this so good-naturedly that James was encouraged to say— " Please, my lord, I'd sooner go and see after father." " Yes, but you ain't going, don't you see," replied his friend, " which makes all the difference." Soon the forest opened into glades, though it still loomed dark aU round. Now his bearer got over some iron hurdles, and they were passing through flower-beds, and then Tom Silcote began kicking at a door. When he ceased, James became aware of more animal life than their o^vu ; they were surrounded by five or six bloodhounds, the famous bloodhounds of Silcotes, at whose baying, far beard through the forest, the woodland children gathering flowers or seeking bird-nests were used to raise their scared eyes and run homewards towards their mothers, wailing — 8 SILCOTE OF SILCOTES. the more heavy-footed of the frightened little trots being dragged along by their braver sisters — all their precious flowers scattered and lost in the hurry and terror of their flight. James knew that these dim, wild-beast-like figures, which were crowding silently around them, were the celebrated and terrible hounds, heard of by all, seen by few, the keeping of which was reported to be one of the darkest fancies in the Squire's darkened mind. James's courage utterly gave way ; he clutched Mr. Silcote round the neck, and did what he had not done for four years before — cried out for his mother. " Quiet ! you little fool," said his friend. " If you scream out like that the dogs will be on us, and / can't save you. Open the door here, you asses ! " The boy was quiet, but horribly frightened. He heard one of the party in the rear cry out, " Look out here ! I'm blowed if the Squire hasn't let the dogs loose. It's too bad." And another, " Stand close together ! Mr. Tom, call they dogs in ! D'ye hear, sir ! caU they dogs in ! " But the door was opened, and he and the man who carried him passed into a large and dimly-lighted hall with the terrible dogs aU round them, and the door was shut behind. Then James was set down before a great wood fire, with the dogs crowding against him, gazing at the blaze with their sleepy eyes, and now and then those of them which were nearest to him reaching their foolish beautiful heads up and licking his face. He shrunk at first, but finding they were kind got his arm round the neck of the nearest monster, who seemed quite contented. The night had grown chill, and he had almost forgotten his bruised and aching head in the sensation of cold ; so he enjoyed the fire, very stupidly, not caring who was in the room or what they were saying. The first piece of conversation which reached his inner sense was this — it came, as he guessed, and immediately aftenvards knew, from the mouth of a little girl. And its sound was like the chiming of silver bells. " These dogs, you understand, are reindeer." " That is totally impossible," said another voice, also a girl's, nearly as pretty, but very decided. "If they are reindeer we shall have to kill them, and drink their blood as an antiscorbutic, and you are hardly prepared for that." " Let them be bears," said a boy's voice, very like the second girl's — a voice he liked very jnuoh. " In which case," said the detennined girl's voice, " we should have to kill them in self-defence, if for no other reason. And I dislike the flesh of the Arctic bear ; they are Esquimaux dogs, and SILCOTE OP SILCOTES. 9 must drag our sledges. And their harness must be made with hemp, or they will eat it. You are very stupid to-night, Eeggy." " They are reindeer, I tell you," said the girl with the silvery voice; "they could not be anything else. Wo have so much pemmican and things in store that we don't want them, but make them draw our sledges." "None of the searching party did that," said the strong girl's voice ; " they used dogs. These dogs are too big, certainly, and, besides, I am afraid of them. But they must be dogs." " If they are not reindeer I shall not play," said she of the clear voice. "I am not going to winter at Beechey Island, unless they are reindeer. The snow-hut belongs to me ; I stole the hearthrugs and shawls and things to make it. Law ! look at that boy before the fire. My dear, this is an Esquimaux from off the ice in Ross's Straits, and he brings us intelligence of the expedition from Back's Fish Eiver." " It's only a common boy come in from the poaching expedition," said the stronger voice, " and a very dirty one too." This was not quite so true as the remarks generally made by this very dowm-ight young lady. James was not dirty though rather battered. "My love, it's an Esquimaux. He is a very stupid boy ; he ought to lie down on his stomach on the ice and blow like a seal to attract our attention, instead of gazing at the fire. Eeggy, you must be Peterson the interpreter. Let us trade with that boy. ' Kammick toomee ! Kammick toomee 1 ' interpret for us, Peter- sen ; hold up a needle." CHAPTER III. THREE OF THE FAMILY. Thus adjured, James, dropping the head of the bloodhound which he held in his hand, turned round. The party of young people who had been talking so freely about him saw before them a little common boy, with a smock-frock, whose face was fearfully swollen and disfigured with blood. Their babble and their play were stopped at once, by seeing a figure more tragical and more repul- sive than they had reckoned on. James, on his part, saw before him three children. The first which arrested his eye was a stout, strongly-built girl of about twelve, with handsome, very hand- 10 SILCOTE OP SILCOTES. some, but ratliw- coarso i'eatuvos, a very full complexion, and dark blue eyes, steady and strong as two sea-beacons ; she was the tallest as well as the strongest and boldest-looking of the three. Next he saw a blonde babyish-looking fairy, likewise blue-eyed, with her long golden hair falling about her shoulders in cascades — the most beautiful creature he had ever looked on, but quite indescribable, for the simple reason that there was nothing to describe about her, except a general beauty, which was not here, nor there, but everywhere. And, lastly, this group of three was made up by a pale and sickly-looking boy, who, pale and unhealthy as he looked, was evidently, even to James's untrained eyes, the brother of the strong red-faced girl ho had noticed first. It was not difficult for James to connect the three voices he bad heard with the three children he saw before him. The golden- haired fairy was the girl who had done the principal part of the talking. The stout strong girl, she of the determined voice, was the girl who had made objei'tions to the original programme of their play, and the pale-facod boy was tlie owner of the voice he had liked so much, the boy who had said that the dogs must represent bears. James, for the first time in his life, had the pleasure of throw- ing the whole of a company (veiy limited on this occasion) into confusion. So far from acting Esquimaux, and being traded with, he tm'ned his battered face on them, and said in good enough English — " I know what you are aiming at. But I can't be an Esqui- maux to-night. I know all about the Great Fish Kiver, and the pemmican, and the Magnetic Pole is in Boothia Felix. I'd willingly play with you. I'd be a bear, and come growling round your hut, smelling the seal blubber ; or I'd be the great brown jaguar, bigger than the biggest Bengal tiger, and I'd lie under the palm-tree, and work my claws, and you should be Humboldt, picking of cowslips, and not noticing me ; or I'd be Villeneuve, or Gravina, or Soult, or any of that lot short of Bounaparte, and you should be Lord Nelson or Lord Hill. But I can't play to- night. I want to be took home to mother and put to bed." " My dear souls," said Anne, the bright-haired fairy, to the other two, " this boy is no Esquimaux. He is one of the lost expedition." " Don't be silly, Anne," said Dora, the tall strong girl. " The boy has been badly beaten by the poachers, and should be looked after." " Wliy don't you go and look after him ? " demanded Anne. "Because)" said Dora, " I am afrai