Tim could make no reply, for as soon as Bill spoke he remembered how chickens ought to look when ready to be roasted, and he knew he could no longer hope to be considered a good cook.
That day the party made their dinner of boiled potatoes and pastry, while Tip feasted on the half-roasted fowl he had so ruthlessly slain.
[to be continued.]
[THE SEA.]
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
I.
THE SEA.
Here is a view of the sea. In front is a splendid wave just ready to put on its creamy cap, and to fall over with a glorious roar upon the shore. How the spray will fly as the white water rushes up the beach with a soft hissing sound, or dashes over those brown rocks! Behind is the level floor of the water, and far away the sky and water meet at that beautiful line called the horizon.