STORIES FROM AFRICA.

V.—THE STORY OF A RETRIBUTION.

We have had two stories of cruel captivity among the Moors of North Africa, and back in the fifteenth—even in the sixteenth—century, such things seem easy to believe. The hard thing to realise is that, not a hundred years ago, in days which our own grandparents might almost remember, Christian captives were still toiling under the whips of their Moorish taskmasters in the port of Algiers, with the prospect of torture and death before them if they tried to escape and failed. But the cup of Moorish cruelty and evil-doing was very nearly full, the day of retribution was drawing near, and to England fell the honour of striking the first blow.

It was in the spring of the year 1816, when the great cloud which had overhung all Europe had been dispersed by the battle of Waterloo, that the English Admiral, Lord Exmouth, appeared before the port of Algiers, and, in the name of his nation, sent in a demand for the abolition of Christian slavery and the cession of the Ionian Islands. The Turks have always been skilful in putting off the day of submission, and the reply was that the Dey must communicate with his lord, the Sultan of Turkey, before he could make a definite answer. Those unpleasant visitors, the English gunboats, were thus got rid of for three months; but, unfortunately for him, the Dey had not learnt wisdom from the warning. On the Ascension Day following, the crews of a Neapolitan fishing fleet landed at Bona, on the north coast of Africa, to join in the festival service. The pirates of Algiers swooped down upon the defenceless fishermen, and massacred numbers of them on the spot without any provocation. Then, as if to show that the act was one of open defiance, they trampled on and insulted the British flag, and imprisoned the English Vice-Consul.

The news set England aflame, the story of the Bona massacres was told from mouth to mouth, the sufferings of the Christian captives were described in burning words in the House of Commons, and soon the news reached the proud Citadel of the Sea that Lord Exmouth was once more upon his way.

It must have been anxious work for the European consuls in Algiers, knowing that the tyrant, driven to bay, was likely enough to vent his wrath upon those in his power. The English Consul was a married man, with children too to consider, and he determined, if possible, to get his wife and little ones out of the evil place before harm befell them. An English vessel, the Prometheus, was in the harbour, and, though the Dey had forbidden the Consul and his family to leave the city, the Captain of the Prometheus had a scheme for conveying them safely on board. He himself landed on the pretext of conferring with the Dey, and, when he returned to his ship, the Consul's wife and little daughter, disguised as sailors, left the city under his charge. But there was another member of the family who was less easily disposed of, namely, the baby, a very unlikely passenger for a man-of-war's boat, and certain to be detected by the Moorish guard, who watched the crew re-embark.

With many misgivings and in grievous anxiety, the Consul's wife had been induced to leave the little one behind her, the Captain assuring her that he would be on shore again on the following day, and that he had concocted a plan for bringing the baby back with him.

So the boat of the Prometheus put in again on the morrow, watched, doubtless, with eager eyes by the anxious mother and daughter on board the vessel. The little one was drugged into a heavy sleep, and laid at the bottom of a big basket, with vegetables skilfully piled above him. One of the British sailors took the precious burden, and the Consul strolled in front of it towards the harbour. There was nothing remarkable in the sailors wishing for a few fresh vegetables to vary the ship's fare, or in the English Consul seeing his countrymen to their boat. But the Moorish guard had grown suspicious, as men are likely to do who know that their lives will certainly pay for any lack of vigilance. And so the sharp eyes that watched the English tars preparing to embark noticed some rather unusual movements amongst the cabbages that were being carried so carefully; and when a dismal howl arose from under the green stuff and a little arm disturbed the vegetables, concealment was impossible. The basket and its contents were seized by the guard and carried before the Dey, and the Consul and the sailors from the Prometheus were arrested and imprisoned.

It was terrible news, indeed, which reached the poor mother, waiting on board for her husband and child. Life in Algiers must have taught her, only too well, the lengths to which Moorish cruelty could go, and the tyrant who had defied the English nation was not likely to be deterred by fear of consequences from avenging himself on his prisoner. The very approach of the English ships might mean the sword or the bow-string, or a yet more horrible death by torture. Some comfort the poor lady received next day, when her baby was sent her, alive and well. Even the cruelty of the Dey of Algiers had stopped short of hurting the child; but the Consul, heavily ironed, was in the tyrant's dungeon, awaiting, with many another luckless captive, the sentence from which the English Admiral might be too late to save them. And, meanwhile, Lord Exmouth, who had been joined at Gibralter by a Dutch squadron, arrived before the Citadel of the sea, and sent in his demand for immediate release of all Christian prisoners. The Admiral had made his arrangements with the utmost care, and, when the time allowed for answer passed without any reply, he boldly sent his flag-ship, the Queen Charlotte, straight for the strong fort at the end of the pier which guarded the harbour. As the troops flocked to the walls to watch the advance of the fleet, the Admiral himself shouted and signed to them to retire under cover, while he anchored right before the enemy's guns. The fort fired first; then a broadside from the Queen Charlotte crashed with terrible effect into its walls.

Lord Exmouth had come there with the intention of doing his work thoroughly: and very thoroughly he did it, for eight long hours of that hot August day. When darkness fell, the famous forts, built by the hands of thousands of luckless captives, were a mass of ruins. The arsenal, the storehouses, and the fleet in the harbour had been utterly destroyed. With the dawn, a boat, bearing the flag of truce, carried the Admiral's terms to the beaten city. Every captive was to be immediately surrendered, Christian slavery to be abolished, all ransoms paid during the past year to be restored, and the Consul and sailors delivered unhurt, and with due compensation. Three guns were to be fired in token that all demands had been conceded, otherwise the bombardment would re-commence.

Three hours passed, slow hours indeed to those waiting at the harbour's mouth. Then across the water came the boom of three guns, the knell of the old reign of tyranny and cruelty, the message of joy and release to many an anxious heart. The prison doors were opened; the English Consul and his fellow-prisoners, half expecting to be led to execution, found themselves restored to those they loved. Hundreds of Christian slaves, many of them too dazed and bewildered by the sudden change to realise their freedom, thronged the rescuing ships, gazing back upon the shattered fortifications which their hands had helped to build. And fervent indeed must have been the thanksgivings which, by Lord Exmouth's order, went up from the decks of the English ships, for the success of the 'conflict between his Majesty's fleet, and the enemies of mankind.'

Mary H. Debenham.

THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.

HO'S that slamming the garden door?
I have heard it three times three!
And though to the window I run to look,
He's hiding away from me.
The tree-tops laugh in the windy sky,
And the maker-of-mischief, hovering nigh,
Is hiding away from me.
Who's that rattling the window-pane?
I have heard it three times three!
Yet every time I glance that way
There's nothing at all to see.
But the leaf of a rose bush blown about,
While the culprit true, with a noisy shout,
Is hiding away from me.
Who's that whistling and calling loud
Over my chimney high?
'Tis the maker-of-mischief I cannot see
Abroad in the blue, blue sky.
Hark! he is shaking the window-pane!
Now he is up in the clouds again,
Sweeping the blue, blue sky.
Oh, slam as you will my garden door,
And whistle your blithest lay;
I love your company, though unseen,
Dear maker-of-mischief gay.
I love to see your clouds go by,
And the tree-tops waving against the sky,
Oh, wind of the wild March day!

HOW TO OBTAIN FOOD.

When Napoleon the First was a student at the Military College of Brienne, the examiners asked him the following question:—

'Supposing you were in a besieged town, on the verge of starvation, how would you obtain food?'

'From the enemy!' was the prompt answer of the future Emperor.

THE PICTURE-CLEANERS.

'Oh, dear! I do wish Mother and Father were back again. It is horrid to be without them,' exclaimed Sydney.

'Just horrid!' echoed Ella.

'They will be so pleased with you when they do come,' observed Millie, their elder sister, sarcastically.

'Oh!' said Syd, cheerfully, 'they know we can't be like dolls in a shop-window. And we have really been good these days, haven't we, Ella?'

'Rather!' agreed she, emphatically.

'You were pulling each other's hair half an hour ago,' went on Millie, and, longing to finish her story in peace, she rose, frowning, and left the room, saying, 'The nicest game to play at would be that of being quiet, good children, instead of troublesome little monkeys. I wonder you never try it.'

The two, left alone, looked at each other, and burst into a merry laugh. 'What a funny game!' exclaimed Sydney. 'Shall we try it?'

'I don't know how to,' answered Ella gravely.

It did present some difficulty, almost as much, indeed, as being really good, and the children silently reflected for some moments.

'We must sit perfectly still with folded hands, looking as stiff as pokers,' said Syd at last.

'But sometimes good children can do nice things,' observed Ella, gravely.

'I wonder what?' said Syd, doubtfully.

'Well!—Well! sometimes, for instance, they give pleasant surprises.'

'Ella, you're a brick!' exclaimed her brother admiringly. 'That's a splendid idea! Now let's think what surprise we can prepare for Father and Mother when they arrive this evening.'

'Let's tidy the nursery,' proposed Ella.

'Too great a surprise,' Millie would have observed, had she been there to hear. 'Too stupid,' exclaimed Sydney instead. 'Anybody can do that.'

'Let's learn a bit of poetry to recite when they come.'

'What nonsense!'

'Let's pretend to be other people's children, and when Father and Mother are sorry, let's tell them it's not true.' This was a great stretch of imagination for Ella, but Syd shook his head. 'They would never believe it,' said he. Then there was silence for a moment, and light came.

'I've got it! I've got it!' shouted Syd, starting up excitedly. 'Let's brighten up those old pictures in the gallery for them. We have time to paint at least two of them before dark. Dingy old things! One of them is older than our great-great-great-grandmother, and she's never been touched, I believe. It's a shame to neglect old people like that. Hurry up, Ella. Get out the paints; the oil ones.'

"Soon the two little mischief-makers were busy at work on the pictures."

The girl eagerly obeyed, and soon the two little mischief-makers were busy at work on the old family pictures. They could not understand the value or the beauty of the mellow browns and dark colours of the portraits, and they only acted with the intention of giving their parents a pleasant surprise. But they forgot that it is possible to do much harm through heedlessness and ignorant haste as well as wilfully.

But how happy they were! 'The old lady, now she's got some pink in her checks, and wears such a lovely sky-blue gown, is almost as nice as mother when she's going to a party,' said Ella, admiringly, 'but I am not pleased with the gentleman yet. Can't we make him smarter, Syd?'

'Let's cut a button-hole in the picture, and stick a nice carnation in his coat. Be quick, Ella.'

There could be no doubt about the surprise. Never were parents more taken aback than Ella's and Syd's, when they saw the wonderful transformation made in their ancestors. Mother gasped some inarticulate words, but Father simply remained speechless and aghast, for several of the valuable old pictures were badly damaged, and the children's heedless behaviour meant a serious loss to him.

'Surprises are not pleasant things at all,' sobbed Ella, shortly afterwards, in bed.

'That beastly game!' growled Syd, hiding his face in the pillow, ashamed of the tears he could not restrain. 'I knew nothing nice could come of it. It's just like Millie to let us get into a scrape.'

Perhaps he was unjust, but Millie was not particularly happy either. It was tiresome to have to look after wild children, and much more amusing to read; but now the story-book was locked away, and Mother did not seem to think that Millie had even played at being good. So that this 'pleasant surprise' had only one good result, and that was not the one which was expected. All three children learnt that it was much better to be good than simply to play at it.

"Piggy lifted the heavy lid to feed upon the cheese,"

GLIMPSES OF HEDGEHOG LIFE.

A boy who was on a visit to the country once said to me, 'I do so want to find a hedgehog; please tell me where to look for one.' All I could reply was, 'It is not very easy to find a hedgehog. The likeliest place to pop upon one is near some hedgerow; you know he is called hedgehog, or hedgepig. But he much prefers darkness to light, and takes excursions after sunset.'

It may be remarked that hedgehogs must be somewhere in the daytime; this is true, but the difficulty is to discover their hiding-place, which is usually a hole or a thick clump of herbage. A search in the dark with a lantern has been tried, and has been successful, but not often; still, those who know how, manage to secure these animals, for they are to be bought in the London streets. People buy them to keep indoors, as killers of blackbeetles, or perhaps they are turned out to destroy garden insects. Somebody who has had them in his garden remarks that it is no easy task to find them, even though you know every corner, for they have such artful ways.

There are some people who think hedgehogs may do harm amongst garden plants, turning up roots occasionally in their hunts after insects, perhaps even nibbling young shoots; and this is quite possible. Piggy is of a greedy nature, certainly, and if he has the range of a kitchen swarming with blackbeetles, he will feed on them until he makes himself ill. Odd, too, are the noises he produces when he is 'on the warpath.' The sounds come partly from himself, but also partly from things he clatters against during his wanderings. One night, a gentleman who had a hedgehog heard a very peculiar noise in his kitchen; he went to see what it was, and found that the animal had stormed a cheese-dish. It had lifted the heavy lid to feast upon the cheese inside, making the cover rattle on the edge of the dish. We should not, perhaps, fancy a hedgehog capable of gymnastic feats, but it is an animal with rather a liking for a wall-climb, and has been known to mount one that was nine feet high, aided by creepers on the wall. Another has been noticed to climb an ordinary wall, laying hold of little projections. Upon a search for a missing hedgehog, he was found at the bottom of the stairs, having made a nest under the stair-carpet. Another time, the same hedgehog travelled up to a bedroom, and kept still all day; some one went to bed early, but woke suddenly on hearing a noise, and, jumping out of bed, stepped on the animal's back. In a home, Piggy usually becomes amiable, and will shut up his spines to be stroked.

THE REWARD OF A GENIUS.

Dismay and indignation were expressed most obviously on the faces of the group of boys wending their way homewards.

'I'd like to know what "Simmy" expects us to do?' said Crowther, moodily. (Had he heard the remark, Dr. Simpson-Martyn—irreverently nicknamed 'Simmy'—would probably have 'expected' two hundred lines the next morning, for disrespect.)

'Learn crochet and fancy work,' suggested Harvey, helpfully.

'Form an "anti-games" league,' said another.

'Or promote a debating society where your humour and intelligence might be displayed,' added Howard.

'If you chaps would use that brilliance in trying to find a way out of this hole, we might arrive at something definite,' said Crowther, returning to his grievance. '"Substitute some athletic pursuit involving less danger to the general public: something more conducive to the preserving of law and order,"' he quoted, bitterly, with a clever imitation of the fussy little Doctor's pompous manner. 'Fancy giving up hare-and-hounds for some "pursuit" like croquet, or ping-pong,' and Crowther's scowl deepened.

'It was jolly hard that we should be throwing down the scent just as old Simmy's trap drove along. I wonder he isn't ashamed to own an animal, supposed to be a horse, that is frightened at the sight of a few fragments of paper.'

'I suppose he would have no objection to our continuing the pursuit of our favourite pastime, providing no "element of danger," such as paper, was introduced?'

Britt, the common corruption of Leslie's nickname of 'Encyclopædia Britannica,' spoke with the drawl that usually meant the origination of some new scheme.

'What's the idea?' asked Harvey, coming briefly to the point.

'It is only in the region of the town that Doctor Simpson-Martyn has forbidden us to scatter the dangerous element, is it not?' Britt asked, very calmly, ignoring his questioner. Then he ducked just in time to avoid a well-aimed book.

'Oh, dry up, Britt, and come to the point,' exclaimed the irritated Harvey, but Crowthar nodded in answer to Britt's remark.

'Well, why not make a chalk mark, or something of that kind, on the pavement or walls, as long as we are in the town, and use the paper when we are out of bounds? Of course, it won't be so exciting, and not half such sport, but it is better than nothing, seems to me.'

The group considered thoughtfully.

'It seems a pretty tame idea,' said Harvey, without enthusiasm.

Britt was not in the least disturbed by this cold reception. 'Suggest a better one,' he rejoined, promptly; but Harvey's ideas did not seem to be numerous.

Crowther's brow had cleared. He had great faith in Britt's schemes: they were almost always successful.

'Can any one suggest anything better?' he asked, but the challenge was unanswered.

'Then we will try your dodge, Britt,' said Crowther, decisively, and before parting, the boys laid all their plans accordingly.

The following day was fixed for the run, and promptly at two o'clock the hare and hounds assembled. A good deal of chaff was directed by those who had come to see the start at the bulky lump of chalk that formed part of the scent, but Britt's good-humour was endless. His confidence in the use of the chalk was fully justified, for the chase proved one of the season's most exciting outings, having a spice of originality in addition to its pleasure, and Britt's ingenuity was rewarded by a good hearty cheer from the hounds who had followed him so closely.

(Concluded on page [151].)

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(Continued from page [135].)

Without allowing himself to hesitate a second, Alan sprang, as he hoped, noiselessly forward, seized the box, which was far lighter than he had imagined it would be, and ran towards the steps to the Smuggler's Hole. Unfortunately for him, the loose stones rattled and scattered under his flying feet, and the men were after him. For a time he managed to keep well ahead, though he could feel he was not increasing the distance between himself and his pursuers. He had excellent training, a natural fleetness of foot, and a light wiry build in his favour; but the enemy had longer legs, and a perfect acquaintance with the cave and steps. It was too dark for recognition, and neither of the men was likely to be very scrupulous should they succeed in catching him.

Up the steps dashed Alan, his breath coming in gasps, and the real difficulties of his enterprise dawning on him for the first time. It had been begun in a spirit of amusement, but it bid fair to end in something very different. But Alan would not drop the precious box. It was a matter of honour now to save it at all costs. What it contained he could not imagine, and he had no time for thinking. He could already hear the panting of the man who had followed closest on his tracks; he was even struck by one of the flying pebbles sent whirling away by his heavy feet. He himself was getting spent. The steps were surely steeper than they had ever been before. He had thought nothing of them the other day, when he and Marjorie were here exploring! Could it have been only the other day? It seemed ages ago. Now he was trying vainly to struggle up to level ground, to the friendly shelter of the Wilderness, and home.

He had come to the turn, and in his relief that the greater part of the steps had been scaled, he sprang forward with renewed hope. The momentary carelessness cost him dear. He stumbled and fell. The box was shot out of his hand by a blow from a projecting angle, and as he spun along the rocky ground, he suddenly felt himself falling, falling, till he came a heavy thud on a soft, sandy floor.

He lay still for a while to collect his senses. Then the keen sting of disappointment prevented him from realising his position. The box was gone! All his labour had been thrown away! Whatever it contained was at the mercy of the men. They had no one to prevent their carrying it off beyond hope of saving. Oh, what a fool he had been! And he had been priding himself on keeping ahead of them!

He could not get over his anger.

He was not badly hurt, however, and it was time to see where his folly had landed him. The prospect was not cheering. He was lying in a 'round hole,' as he called it afterwards, with a sandy bottom, while all around him the mighty rocks towered to immense heights. A strip of sky was just visible, and a star or two glimmered in the blue. He knew that stars could be seen sometimes, even in daylight, from great depths, but the remembrance of this was by no means comforting. Was he, then, at the bottom of a deep, narrow shaft? If so, how was he to get out again? Not a soul, except perhaps Thomas, knew of its existence, and Thomas was not in the least likely to betray his knowledge. In all probability, too, the men had fled with his box, and would be heard of no more, since they were now aware that their doings were known to at least one person.

For some moments Alan felt appalled as he glanced again at the height of his prison walls. The full force of his position came over him.

'Marjorie will give the alarm,' he thought, dismally, 'but they will never know where to look for me. If I'm to get out, it must be by my own efforts.'

He felt very unequal to the task of climbing those grim precipices, frowning so blackly down on him; but the daylight would soon be on the wane, and no time could be lost in vain regrets. Rousing himself, he got up, but found he had not escaped without some severe bruises, which would prove serious drawbacks to an awkward climb. It was miraculous that he had not met with worse injuries from so great a fall; only the soft sand and the smoothness of the walls had saved him. But this same smoothness was the chief hindrance to his escape. There was not a loophole of any sort or kind by which he could raise himself—not a twig or ledge to give him a hold. With increasing anxiety he scanned the walls still more closely, but, even though his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, it was too dark to make out a single projecting edge, or the minutest crevice which could raise his hopes of escape. In despair, and with a sickening sense of dread, he sank down again on the sand. If Thomas had wished to put him out of the way, he could not have done so more completely, thought the boy, with bitterness.

CHAPTER VIII.

As time went on and Alan did not return, Marjorie stood up to listen, wondering what she ought to do. Should she wait, or go at once in search of him? Before she had made up her mind, however, her hesitation was brought to an end by a violent bang—a sound she knew only too well. Springing up the bank, she made her way as rapidly as the brushwood allowed to the ruin, remembering with dismay that Estelle and Georgie had been on the roof. When she got there, no one was to be seen. Georgie had gone away, very deeply hurt that Estelle should have left him in his sleep, from which he had been startled by the crash of the closing door. It was some time before Marjorie found him—safe, though resentful—sitting on a heap of swept-up leaves in the carriage-drive, talking to one of the gardeners.

She was in too great a hurry to listen to her little brother's complaints, and only stopped a moment to ask where Estelle was.

'Gone home, I suppose,' returned Georgie, not in the most gentle of voices. 'Didn't I tell you she was nowhere to be seen when I woke up?'

'If it was anybody else but Estelle, I should be afraid of her being shut into the ruin, as the door must have been open; but she never disobeys. So it's all right, and I must rush after Alan.'

Off she went at the top of her speed. She could get to the Smugglers' Hole more quickly if she ran round by the path to the cliffs. Without reasoning over it, she understood instinctively that the men would go there, and Alan after them. With the fleetness of a lapwing, she flew along the path through the Wilderness, and reached the cliff as the first flush of sunset was beginning to crimson the western sky. Like a ghostly ship, the vessel they had seen that morning glided across the red rippling path of light, the tapering masts dark against the evening glow, while above it white gulls were winging in circles. So beautiful was the scene that she paused, and, as she gazed, she saw a tiny boat leave the ship's side and draw towards the shore. For the moment Alan was forgotten. Watching the little dinghy, her mind became full of the idea suggested by her brother. Was Thomas really going to carry his stolen goods beyond seas?

(Continued on page [146].)

"Alan seized the box, and ran."

"She let the dog lead her into the blackness."

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(Continued from page [143].)

With the thought that Thomas might put to sea, a multitude of questions came to Marjorie's mind. How had he managed to let the ship's crew know? Was its presence there due to Thomas at all? Who was the man with him? Was he a man who could have a ship when he wanted it, or was he a member of the crew? Alan said that he talked English perfectly, but with a slightly foreign accent. Perhaps the man was a Frenchman. The coastguard had considered the ship was French, with a rig altered since she was built. That would account for its coming to the help of Thomas, and no doubt the dinghy was to fetch the two men. She wondered if it was her duty to tell the coastguard all that she and Alan suspected. 'Perhaps he would only laugh at me,' she thought.

If the coastguard had been in sight she might yet have done so, but there appeared to be no one on the cliffs except herself. The pathway along the edge was quite deserted, and it was a mile or more to the signal station. Moreover, she had no hat; it had been taken off for coolness and left in the ditch, forgotten in her fright at the closing door.

The temptation to watch the little boat was too great to be resisted. If Thomas and his friend should return in it to the ship, what a grand piece of news to tell Alan! There was just a chance he might see it for himself, and she would only get a pinch for stale news; but she hoped otherwise.

Meantime the dinghy drew nearer, and to her practised eye it became evident that the men did not know the coast, for they rowed first one way and then another without finding the entrance to the Bay; they seemed afraid of submerged rocks, which might be quite covered even at the half-tide. They crept in, nevertheless, and Marjorie, for a time, lost sight of them. She crawled closer to the edge of the cliff, but she knew her position to be dangerous if she attempted to get over the light railing which had been put up on account of the crumbling condition of the edge. Further to the right the rail ceased, and the ground became a steep slope to the sea, but trees and low shrubs prevented so good a view as she had at present. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to wait.

Comforting herself with assurances that Alan was far better able to take care of himself than she was, she climbed to the top of the railing, and sat watching the strange ship. Suddenly she noticed that every stitch of canvas was being run up, and a moment later signal flags flew out at the masthead. In great excitement, she glanced down at the surging water below her, and sure enough the little boat was shooting into view, and rowing rapidly away towards the ship. In her efforts to discover what it all meant she almost forgot to look for Thomas in the boat, but when she remembered to count the men, she was disappointed to find exactly the same number that there had been at first.

Greatly puzzled, she gazed at the retreating dinghy. What had been its business, and why had the signal flown out so suddenly? Marjorie hated to be puzzled over things. 'There can be but one explanation,' she thought, 'and that is, Thomas has been too late to catch the boat, and they could not wait for him. It serves him right.' She hoped he would now be caught red-handed. The sun had sunk low in the horizon by the time the dinghy reached the vessel, and nothing could be more beautiful than the slowly sailing ship moving across the great ball of fire. It looked like a fairy craft as it sank out of sight.

Marjorie sprang to her feet. 'How late it is!' she thought, with dismay. 'I wonder where Alan is? He will be in a jolly rage when he finds I'm nowhere to be found; and all for nothing too!'

She ran lightly down the hollow, the wood looking dark and gloomy in the fading light. Fearing she might miss the way into the Smuggler's Hole, she walked more cautiously as the shadows deepened; it was fortunate she did. She had hardly gone ten yards before she heard voices so near that there was barely time to sink down behind the bushes before Thomas and his friend passed along the path towards the cliff.

'Well, what do you make of it?' she heard Thomas say in a sullen tone. 'If it was a bargain, why didn't the fellow stop?'

'That's what Fargis has to answer to me for,' returned his companion, angrily. 'Cutting away like that for no reason at all that I can see, and leaving us—— '

The voices died away, and Marjorie smiled to think how nearly she had guessed right. They had missed the boat. Now she would really have some news for Alan. She resumed her way, though the silence was not encouraging. She ought to meet Alan if he was still on the track of the men. What could he be doing if he was not? It took some careful peering into dark places to discover the entrance to the Smuggler's Hole, and even then the blackness of the steps made her hesitate. Could she get down without a ray of light? Not lacking in courage, however, she ventured to feel her way to the bottom of the first flight. There the dangers of the descent began, and she dared not proceed.

Deep silence reigned. As she stood listening, she did not know for what, she suddenly heard a faint patter of paws, and the next moment, with a whining yelp, a dog jumped up to her and careered round her feet. A touch showed her it was Bootles—Bootles, distressed and eager; now whining, now pulling at her dress, as if he wanted something very badly. Her thoughts flew at once to Alan. Perhaps those horrid men had injured him. In haste she tied a handkerchief to the dog's collar, and let him lead her into the blackness till he halted, sniffing and barking, having attained the object of his desires.

'Alan! Alan!' she called, in terror of what she might hear, yet resolved to find out why the dog was so restless.

The rocks seemed to send back echoes of her voice, and aroused fears lest Thomas might hear and return. Nevertheless she stood still and listened intently; even the dog kept quiet. Was there an answer? She could not quite make out. She must call again, though it required a great effort to do so. There was no mistake this time.

'M-a-r-j-o-r-i-e-e-e!'

Muffled, scarcely audible as it was, the voice was no echo. It appeared to come from the ground, but the dog's pulls and barks confused her. She was afraid to advance, and little imagined how near she was already to the unprotected edge of the rocky shaft down which Alan had fallen. She had seen it during their explorations, but had quite forgotten its existence. Nevertheless, she stooped to listen, and the dog crouched at her side.

(Continued on page [157].)

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

6.—Geographical Letter.

Dear (a town in South Australia),—This morning, being up betimes, and having had an early (town in the West of England) and breakfast, I take the opportunity of writing to you. Yesterday, my uncle (a city of Michigan, U.S.) and his daughter (a city of Italy) came to see us. Two slight accidents marred their visit: to begin with, my cousin fell upon the (an Ayrshire village), and afterwards, while we were out driving, a (town in Staffordshire) caused the horse to slip. We were then obliged to walk, but the way was rough, and presently a stream barred all progress. However, we discovered an (town near Coalbrookdale) which enabled us to go (town in Cheshire). After eating an (river of South Africa) and a (decayed seaport in Kent) apiece, we felt refreshed, and went on until we came to a tall (parish in East London). Here we sat (county in Ireland), and uncle amused us by (town in Berkshire). The rest I will tell you later; till then believe me,—Your affectionate friend, (An Australian colony) (a market town in Herefordshire).

C. J. B.

[Answer on page [179].]

Answer To Puzzle on Page [115].

5.—Caroline.

1.C aractacus.
2.A lexander.
3.R oger Bacon.
4.O lney.
5.L atimer.
6.I ndia.
7.N ormandy.
8.E mmet.

THE BARBERRY.

The Barberry is an ornamental shrub, on account of its graceful yellow blossoms and its bright scarlet berries. The fruit is often prescribed by village doctors for the jaundice, but from its sourness it is seldom eaten uncooked. It makes excellent jelly, and is much used in the manufacture of sugar-plums. The roots and bark yield a yellow dye. Cattle and sheep eat the leaves, and the flowers are attractive to insects.

The barberry formerly grew wild, in great quantities, in our English hedgerows, but it has been extirpated from a belief that it injures the growth of corn. It is said that the leaves are frequently infested by a tiny fungus, similar to one which attacks wheat: this is easily dispersed by the wind, and propagatad amongst the corn, causing it much injury.

The barberry seems to be widely distributed: it is found in America, and in most European countries, especially on the shores of the Danube.

MY DREAMS.

Y dreams are just like little birds
Which in a cage I keep,
To set them free when bed-time comes,
And I fall fast asleep.
Oh! they are such a pretty sight!
The tiny ones are red,
And in their blue and golden clouds
They flutter round my bed.
They tell me of those wonder things
Which I have never seen;
And to and fro they swiftly dart
As bright as moonlight sheen.
They sing to me so sweet and low,
These dreams I fain would keep—
Then softly crooning, fly away,
When I awake from sleep.