EFORE the dustman comes to me
As in my bed I lie,
All sorts of curious things I see
Up in my nursery high.
I see the little curly flames
Jump upwards from the fire;
I think they must be playing games,
They never seem to tire.
And now and then one leaps so high
That all the ceiling glows:
Quite suddenly it seems to die—
I wonder where it goes.
Sometimes out in the street I hear
The tinkle of a bell,
It's first far off, and then quite near;
It's passing, I can tell;
And then I see a narrow line
Of light quite slowly crawl
Across the ceiling, till its shine
Stops as it meets the wall.
I wonder how it comes, and why,
And where it was before,
And where it's gone to now, when I
Can't see it any more.
Perhaps I'll meet them in my dream,
Those curly flames so odd,
And see the little narrow gleam
Light up the Land of Nod.
THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(Continued from page [103].)
CHAPTER VI.
'Have they ever found the man who injured Dick?' asked Alan, as Lady Coke's story came to an end.
'No,' replied Lady Coke sadly, 'never. Not a trace of him ever came to light. Shall I tell you why—or perhaps one of the chief reasons why—the search was discontinued? It is the grandest part of poor Dick's story,' continued Aunt Betty, putting down her knitting and looking earnestly at the children's interested faces. 'Dick alone knew who did the cruel deed. During the delirium of illness his nurses were keenly attentive to every word he uttered, hoping he would mention the name of his assailant. But no! All through the dangerous fever, and all through the suffering, he never gave the smallest hint as to who the man was, or what the quarrel (if there had been one) was about. On recovering his senses he made his father and mother understand, in the halting speech which was all he could manage, that he wished to keep the name of the man a secret; that, should he have mentioned it during his fever, he begged they would respect his desire, and not permit the name to escape them. 'Give him a chance,' he said. He always feared that the knowledge of what he had done might some day drive the man to desperation, and make him become more wicked through horror at his own action.'
'Don't his father and mother know even now who did it?' asked Georgie, with wide-open eyes of wonder.
'No, as Dick never told them, they will not press him to do so against his will.'
'I could have understood it,' said Alan, 'if the man had fought him fairly, face to face. But to set on him unawares! That's what the scoundrel seems to have done!'