Chapter 4

The end of the term soon came, and on the last afternoon I stood listening while Smythe, Barton, and the rest of the fellows boasted of all the wonderful things they intended to do during the holidays.

'I should not care to stand in Everard's shoes,' said Augustus. 'As likely as not he will have to go to the workhouse before he has done. He will see when my father comes back from London.'

Before they all set out to the railway station the next morning, Mr. Bosanquet took me apart for a last word of hope and encouragement. He was not to return to Ascot House after the holidays, and for my part I felt extremely sorry to bid him good-bye.

'I feel confident Mr. Turton will do his best for you,' he said. 'But you must try to make allowances if he seems a little put out. He is not by any means a rich man, and, of course, he had to pay Mr. Windlesham for the goodwill of the school. Mr. Turton will feel the loss of your bill, you understand--that is to say, if Captain Knowlton does not turn up again.'

'If he had been rescued,' I asked, 'don't you think we should have heard news of him before now?'

'Well, in all probability we should,' said Mr. Bosanquet. 'But strange things happen sometimes, you know; and, after all, I do not consider it impossible that he may be stranded somewhere, and prevented from communicating with his friends.'

'Still,' I answered, 'all the newspapers and Mr. Turton say he must be dead.'

'Anyhow,' he insisted, 'there is no positive proof, and even at the worst his solicitor may be able to satisfy Mr. Turton about your future.'

(_Continued on page 26._)

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 23._)

At last the other fellows went to the station with Mr. Turton and Mr. Bosanquet, leaving me to enjoy the company of Augustus and his mother, who did not make much of an attempt to disguise her disfavour. It may be imagined with what anxiety I awaited Mr. Turton's return from London. He arrived at Ascot House late the following evening, having passed one night away from home. Although he had a long talk with Mrs. Turton, he did not speak to me that evening; but an ominous note seemed to be struck when Augustus told me I was henceforth to breakfast alone in the schoolroom. So, to my great disgust, the following morning, whilst Augustus and Mr. and Mrs. Turton breakfasted in the dining-room, a cup of milk and water, with five thick slices of bread and scrape, were brought to me on one of the desks; no bacon or egg, or relish of any kind, accompanied the meal.

Presently the door opened again, and Mr. Turton entered with a troubled face.

'Well, Everard,' he said, 'I succeeded in finding the address of Captain Knowlton's solicitor, and I had a long conversation with him.'

'Does he think Captain Knowlton is dead?' I exclaimed.

'I regret to say that he has no doubt about the fact; but, at the same time, the estate cannot be administered for some months yet. In any case that will make no difference to you. Captain Knowlton had not made a will, and everything he died possessed of will pass to his nearest relatives.'

'Then--then, what am I to do?' I asked.

'The circumstances are extremely unfortunate,' was the answer. 'For me it is a serious loss, and I confess it is difficult to know what to do for the best. I understand you have no relatives of any kind.'

'Only my Aunt Marion.'

'Ah, that is the Mrs. Ruston whom Mr. Windlesham mentioned. She is in India, I believe?'

'Yes,' I answered, 'but I do not know her address.'

'I can no doubt find it out in an Army List,' he said. 'But from what Captain Knowlton told Mr. Windlesham, I fear little is to be gained in that direction.'

From that day nothing was the same, and I soon began to realise that my presence in the house was regarded as a nuisance. All my meals were solitary, and I seldom had enough to eat.

'Everard!' cried Mrs. Turton, directly I had finished breakfast two mornings after the above conversation, 'all the servants are very busy this morning, so you must make your own bed.'

If she had told me to stand on my head, I should not have felt more surprise.

'Don't you understand?' she demanded.

'Yes, Mrs. Turton.'

'Then why do you stand staring there? Please set about it at once.'

I went upstairs to the bedroom which I had occupied alone since the beginning of the holidays, and after staring at the bed for a few moments, I was about to strip off the clothes, when I heard a snigger at the door.

'Hullo, Susan!' cried Augustus.

Darting to the dressing-table, I seized a hair-brush, and threw it at his head. Unfortunately it hit him on the forehead, making an ugly cut, and, of course, he at once went to show Mr. Turton, who came upstairs a few minutes later, by which time my bed was made--after a fashion.

'What was your reason for attacking my son?' demanded Mr. Turton.

'Well,' I answered, rather sullenly, I am afraid, for I was growing somewhat desperate, 'he should not be cheeky.'

'You will not leave this room until dinner-time,' he said, 'and your meal will consist of bread and water.'

I spent a miserable morning staring out of the window on to the garden and the fields beyond, without a book to pass the time, my only comfort being the sight of Augustus with a strip of court-plaster above his left eyebrow.

At half-past one a servant came to tell me to come down to dinner. Alone in the schoolroom, I at first determined to refuse my food, until hunger conquered my resolution, and I ate it every scrap. Soon afterwards Mrs. Turton entered, but she said nothing about Augustus's injury.

'You must not spend your time in idleness,' she exclaimed.

'There was not anything to do in my bedroom,' I answered.

'The house is being cleaned,' she said, 'and all the woodwork has to be washed. You may as well go down to the kitchen for a pail of hot water and begin with the wainscotting in the hall.'

'I'm not a servant!' I answered.

'Honest work is no disgrace to anybody,' she said. 'You must try to make yourself useful in every possible way, and be careful not to splash your jacket.'

Raging inwardly at my task, I only hesitated a few moments; then, going down to the kitchen, I asked the good-natured cook for a pail of water.

'I call it a shame!' she muttered. 'Things were different in Mr. Windlesham's time. A shame I call it.'

'Oh, it doesn't matter,' I answered, feeling not a little embarrassed by her sympathy.

She filled an iron pail at the boiler-tap, and, as I stood waiting, my thoughts flew back to earlier days at Acacia Road, and to Jane and her energetic manner of smacking the oilcloth. But I suppose my ideas had developed since those times, and certainly I felt this morning that I was being subjected to the lowest humiliation. However, I carried up the pail, slopping the water on the stairs at every step, with a scrubbing-brush in the other hand, and then I set to work. When once I had begun, I cannot pretend that I found the actual washing of the wainscot particularly distasteful, although it seemed rather hard, after I had done my best, that Mrs. Turton should upbraid me for soiling my clothes.

It was perhaps a week later that the notion of running away definitely entered my mind. By that time I had cleaned a considerable portion of the woodwork of the house, lime-whitened a portion of an outside wall, filled several coal-scuttles, and swept the yard. My clothes were naturally not at the best at the end of the term; I had grown considerably since they were new, and now they were splashed with distemper and soiled with dirt. One Monday morning I noticed the absence of the boy who cleaned the boots and knives and forks, and remarked upon it to Augustus.

'You see we shall not want him now,' he answered, with one of his irritating sniggers, and I fully understood the significance of his words. I try to do the Turtons no injustice, reminding myself that, to begin with, they were far from rich, and that they had lost the forty pounds or more which should have been paid for the last term's board and schooling. Moreover, they had not known me for some years, as the Windleshams had done; I was in their house, requiring food and shelter, and perhaps they could not reconcile their consciences to turning me out. So they determined to make me useful in the only possible way.

Already I had begun to wonder what would happen when Smythe and the other fellows came back after the holidays. One thing I knew for certain, and this was that Augustus would not fail to tell them how I had spent the time since they left; in fact, he had more than once hinted at their interest in my proceedings. The dismissal of the boot-boy made me more and more apprehensive that I should still continue to be degraded after the beginning of the term, while I felt humiliated by the conviction that, even in the present circumstances, Mr. and Mrs. Turton were keeping me only on sufferance.

But this Monday morning brought me to a determination. I had finished breakfast, and was wondering what I should be set to do next, when Augustus opened the schoolroom door.

'Everard,' he said, 'you are to clean my boots.'

'Clean them yourself,' I retorted.

'I shall tell Father,' he exclaimed.

'Tell your mother, too, if you like,' I said.

He went to tell them, and a few minutes later Mr. Turton entered the room.

'Everard,' he said, 'I wish to speak to you.'

'Yes, sir,' I answered.

'You understand,' he continued, 'that I have no desire to say or do anything to hurt your feelings. I can quite sympathise with you, and I am grieved that this necessity has arisen. But the fact remains.'

'I am not going to clean Augustus's boots,' I answered.

'Do you think work is disgraceful to you?' he demanded.

'I am not going to clean Augustus's boots,' I insisted.

'You compel me to take harsh measures,' he said. 'I have no wish to take them, but I shall give orders that you have no food until you obey me. You have to work for your living. I certainly cannot afford to keep you in idleness. You will go to your bedroom, and stay there until you clean the boots and bring them to my study.'

Looking back, I am never able to forgive myself for surrendering. Yet I did surrender, although not at once. I passed Mr. Turton at the door and walked slowly upstairs, where I shut myself in the bedroom. Then and there I finally made up my mind. Without any definite scheme when I succeeded in reaching my destination, I determined to go to London. I did not possess a penny of money, but I had my silver watch and chain, which surely it must possible to sell.

The hundred-miles' walk caused me not the least alarm. I was strong and well, although I had grown thinner during the holidays; the weather was warm, and I reckoned on reaching my destination in about a week. As to what I should do on my arrival I had very little idea; but, for one thing, I thought I would try to find Rogers and ask his advice. I had read many books about boys who had gone to London without a penny in their pockets and made immense fortunes, from Dick Whittington downwards, and I saw every reason to believe that, in some wonderful way, I should be equally successful. At all events, I would go. I would put some clothing into a bundle, and then I would await a favourable opportunity and take my departure, for at the worst it seemed certain I should be safe from pursuit. Mr. and Mrs. Turton would be thankful enough to get me off their hands, although Augustus might miss me as his butt.

The hours passed very slowly in the bedroom, and, having breakfasted on bread and water, I began presently to feel more and more hungry.

'I will not clean Augustus's boots,' I repeated at intervals, and I tightened the strap behind my waistcoat. But, as the long afternoon began to wear away, and my hunger still increased, I sang to a different tune. 'What did it matter whether I cleaned the boots or not?' I asked myself, especially if I could succeed in finding Augustus alone in the garden for a few quiet minutes before I left the school. Anyhow, it would be the first and the last time. So, just after the clock struck seven, I opened my door, went down to the hall, and thence to the kitchen, and knocked at the door.

'Cook,' I said, 'where do you keep the boot-brushes?'

'In the coal-cellar, Master Everard,' she answered. 'I would have done them with pleasure, only Mrs. Turton forbid me.'

I went into the coal-cellar, took the brush and blacked the boots, and, oddly enough, I did not cease until I had made them shine far more brightly than Augustus's boots had ever shone before. Then I took them in my right hand and carried them upstairs, knocked at the door of Mr. Turton's study, and was told to enter.

'I have brought the boots,' I said.

'Ah,' answered Mr. Turton, 'I am glad you have come to a less unreasonable state of mind. You can go to the kitchen and ask Cook for some food.'

(_Continued on page 34._)

THE FRIENDLY LIGHT.

Wildly the wind doth rage, Loudly the waters roar, And anxious are the hearts of those That wait upon the shore, Till through the darkness of the night The lighthouse sends its friendly light.

Warning and guiding light, It shines across the bay. And helps the sailor steer his course Till safely on the way: The harbour gained, and home once more, He greets his loved ones on the shore.

C. D. B.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

I.--STINGS AND LANCETS.

Bees and Spiders, Earwigs, Beetles and Snails, Dragon-flies, Grasshoppers, and Butterflies are familiar enough to us all; yet how many realise how 'fearfully and wonderfully' they are made? What a marvellously complex weapon is the 'sting' of the bee! What a wonderful 'rasp' the snail possesses! How many can tell how an insect smells, and where its organs of taste and hearing lie? Since these are questions which young people often ask again and again, some of them will be answered in the course of these articles. To explain such matters clearly is a very difficult task, but with the aid of drawings, specially made for this purpose, the main facts at least should be easy to grasp.

* * * * *

Most of us agree to treat the bee respectfully, having a wholesome dread of the vengeance he is likely to inflict on those who offend him. But how does a bee sting? and what is the sting like?

To take the last question first. The sting of the bee is really an extremely cunningly devised weapon, so complex that only the bare outlines of its structure can possibly be described clearly.

If you turn to the illustration of the bee-sting, you will notice, in the right-hand figure, at the upper end, three pointed projections or 'processes' marked. The two outer ones (S S) we may neglect, for they are only protecting sheaths; that in the middle (I S) is the sting proper. This consists of two parts, (1) a strong gouge-like portion, and (2) a pair of darts of marvellous delicacy. These darts we cannot see in position because they lie on the other side of the gouge-like piece. But to the left you will notice a long sword-like blade, drawn separately, with a curiously crooked handle and a sharp barbed point. This is one of the pair of darts. Those who have had the misfortune to be stung may be interested to know that this painful wound was inflicted thus: When the bee alighted on you, he first thrust through the skin this hard, pointed gouge; then one of the darts was pushed down, then the other, a little further; then the gouge penetrated still deeper, and the opposite dart deeper still, and so on, first one dart, then the other, going deeper and deeper, the gouge following. As they penetrated, little drops of poison oozed out from the barbs of the dart, and this caused the pain and inflammation.

This poison is made in what is called the poison gland, the long, slender, coiled tube (P _g_) in the picture. As the poison is made, it is stored in the big bag (marked P) at the back of the sting, and when this is working, the poison is forced down between the gouge and the darts, to find its way out at the barbs into the flesh.

But this sting is not only used for the purpose of giving pain. The bee long ago discovered the fact that food, if it is to be preserved for any length of time, requires to be specially dealt with. Accordingly the honey which is destined to be kept is preserved from fermentation by the addition of a drop of formic acid deposited by the sting.

Only the workers and the queen-bees of a hive have stings: the males are stingless.

In stinging it often happens that the barbed darts are thrust so far into the wound that they cannot be withdrawn. As a result, the whole apparatus is left behind, and the bee pays the penalty with its life.

But whilst some insects, such as the bees, inject poison by means of a 'sting,' others effect the same end by peculiar modifications of the mouth-parts. The gnat is a case in point: the water-bug, common in our ponds and ditches, is another.

Strangely enough, the mechanism adopted is precisely similar in character, though the parts of which this mechanism is made up are of a totally different kind. Here, the mouth-parts are specially modified, so as to form a supporting and piercing weapon, like the 'gouge-like' piercing weapon of the bee, with delicate pointed and barbed weapons corresponding to the barbs of the bee's sting. This piercing organ may be used for sapping the tissue of plants, or, as in the case of gnats and fleas, they may be employed for the purpose of absorbing the blood of animals. In the latter case, after the surface of the skin is pierced, a poison is forced down into the wound, for the purpose, it is thought, of making the blood more fluid. But this poison is of a highly irritant nature, and leaves a very painful feeling, accompanied by more or less inflammation of the parts attacked.

The water-boatman, which almost every one must have seen swimming back-downwards in ponds, can inflict a very painful wound in this manner. The illustration shows the 'lancet' of _nepa_, the water-bug. The piercing organ just described is the spear-shaped piece bounded on either side by two long filaments.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

1.--GEOGRAPHICAL ACROSTIC.

An American Republic, having a hot climate on the coast-line, but cooler inland. It is a rich and fertile country, where many valuable trees grow. Useful plants and fruits are produced in great abundance, and there are many wild animals, and birds of brilliant plumage. Numerous shallow rivers water the land, and gold, silver, iron, copper, and other metals are to be found there.

1. A mountain near Athens, famous in old times for honey and marble.

2. A decayed seaport in Italy, with a castle which gave the title to a celebrated story.

3. A Cornish fishing village, much frequented by artists.

4. A village in Ireland, where a notorious fair was formerly held.

5. A small country or district on the eastern side of an African lake; its chief town is the terminus of a great caravan route.

6. A city of Virginia, U.S.A., built on a river of the same name.

7. A tea-growing district of British India, abounding in wild animals.

8. The most important seaport of central China.

C. J. B.

2.--ARITHMOGRAPH.

A word of eight letters, naming the hero of a noted poem.

1.--6, 5, 4. A game; also the toy with which the game is played.

2.--7, 3, 4. A wild berry.

3.--1, 3, 6. A covering for the head.

4.--4, 7, 2, 6. A tiny particle.

5.--6, 7, 5, 4. To melt, dissolve, or become fluid.

6.--7, 8, 1, 3. A peculiar kind of fence.

7.--4, 1, 3, 6. An interrogation.

8.--4, 2, 6. Mental faculty.

C. J. B.

[_Answers on page 58._]

THE MYSTERIOUS CHEST.

'It is hard lines it should rain the first day of the holidays,' said George, somewhat gloomily, as he looked out at the heavy downpour, which was fast changing the tennis-lawn into a miniature lake.

'No chance of a game!' sighed Pelham, thinking of the swamped cricket-field.

'If you two lads want an indoor job, I have one for you, and one that has baffled me,' said Mr. Carteret, looking up from his paper.

'What is it, Father?' asked Pelham, the eldest boy.

'A lot of things were sent here from Vale Place last month, and amongst them an oak chest, which I cannot unlock, try as I may, so I waited for you two, as I know you are more handy with your fingers than I am,' answered his father.

'We will soon tackle it!' said Pelham, confidently.

'Father,' here broke in George, 'I thought _you_ were to have Vale Place when old Mr. Pelham died?'

'So did I,' said Mr. Carteret shortly.

'But it is left to some one else, is it not?' went on George, anxious to understand the matter, which had greatly puzzled both boys for some weeks.

'Yes, I meant to tell you about it when you came home,' said their father. 'It was no good writing bad news, but you must know it sooner or later. You know,' he continued, 'that my father and Mr. Pelham were brother-officers in India, and when both my parents were swept away in one week by cholera, Mr. Pelham brought me home to Vale Place, where I was brought up as his son and heir. But after his death, a few months ago, no will could be found, though he had repeatedly told me that he had made one, leaving Vale Place to me and my children.'

'Then who has Vale Place now?' asked George, as his father paused a minute.

'It passed to the heir,' said Mr. Carteret. 'He is a distant cousin, who cares nothing about the property, and means to sell it for building land.'

'What a shame!' said Pelham, hotly.

'Well, I do not know that there is any shame about it, for this cousin has never lived there, and it has none of the old associations for him that make me regret its loss so deeply. He seems a very considerate man in some ways, and begged to be allowed to send me all the old furniture which stood in my room at Vale Place, thinking I should value it, as indeed I do. So that is how the old chest came to me, and here are the keys. See what you can do with them.'

'Come on, George!' said Pelham. 'Where is the chest, father?'

'Upstairs in the attic. You will want a candle; it is in a dark corner,' was the answer.

'I am coming too!' announced Nannie. 'I want to see what is in the chest. I have fed my birds, and I may not stay out in the rain.'

'Little girls should not be inquisitive,' said George, who dearly loved to tease his sister. 'You may see more than you want.'

'Oh, George! what?' said Nannie, in rather a shaky voice. 'What do you think is in the chest?'

'You will see by-and-by, and remember I have warned you!' said George, mysteriously.

Nannie, though alarmed, bravely stood her ground and watched the two boys as they tried every key on the bunch; then, finding that none fitted, they used a screw-driver, and at last were successful.

'Now, Nannie!' shouted George, as Pelham lifted the heavy lid. 'Look out! I am sure I heard something stirring inside.'

Pelham held up the candle and looked eagerly into the dark chest.

'Empty! quite empty!' he cried, in a tone of the utmost disgust. 'Nothing at all in it but an old letter!' and he threw the paper on to the ground by the side of the chisel.

'I told you so,' began Nannie, but the sentence was hardly out of her mouth before she gave a little shriek and leapt high into the air. 'A rat! a horrid rat!' shrieked the child. 'It ran over my foot.'

George did not shriek; but he, too, was startled, for the rat had appeared so suddenly.

'It came right out of the chest,' he said, as if to excuse his alarm.

'It could not!' said Pelham, bluntly. 'I was looking in the chest when Nannie shrieked, and there was nothing in it--that I know! I saw no rat anywhere.'

'But I saw it!' said George. 'Look! look!' he shouted, excitedly. 'There it goes! Just by your foot! You may depend upon it this box has a false bottom. Let us turn it over and see.'

'I believe you are right, George!' said Pelham. 'Hold the candle, Nan, and we will see where this rat came from.'

The chest, empty as it appeared to be, was yet so heavy that it was with difficulty that the two boys could turn it over, but they did it at last, and now there was no doubt where the rat had come from, for the floor was strewn with little bits of nibbled paper, and there was a biggish hole in the false bottom by which he had evidently gnawed his way into the chest.

'Now, then, the fun is beginning!' exclaimed Pelham, excitedly, 'We must get inside this false bottom; it is full of old letters. I can see that much! Perhaps we shall find a love-letter of William the Conqueror to Joan of Arc!'

'Oh, no, you will not!' said Nannie, wisely, 'for Joan of Arc lived many reigns after William I. I read about her only last week.'

But neither Pelham nor George heeded Nannie's superior information, so busy were they prizing off the somewhat thin layer of wood which formed the false bottom of the chest.

It gave way at last, and disclosed a whole heap of letters, some nibbled into mere powder by the busy rat and some still uninjured, and on the top of all a yellow parchment folio bearing in large letters the words, '_Will of George Pelham, Esquire, of Vale Place, Surrey._'

Pelham got very red as he exclaimed, excitedly, 'Surely this is the lost will!'

'If it is, we owe it to the rat!' said George, half thinking Pelham was joking.

'I must take it at once to Father,' said Pelham, and he ran down the attic stairs closely followed by the no less excited George and Nannie.

'See, Father, this will! Is it right? Will you have Vale Place after all?' said Pelham, eagerly; as he held out the papers.

Mr. Carteret took the bundle, looked at the heading, and then turned it hastily over to see the signatures at the end.

Yes, it was duly signed and witnessed, and without doubt was the long-sought will!

* * * * *

Why Mr. Pelham should have so carefully concealed his will was never explained, but people from time immemorial have done odd things with their wills, and will probably continue to do so. It was, after all, of little consequence now where it had been found, so long as the will was a true one, and of that no doubt was ever raised.

Before many months were over Mr. Carteret and his family were settled at Vale Place, where the 'mysterious chest,' as Nannie always called it, has the place of honour in the entrance hall.

S. CLARENDON.

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

II.--SIGNOR ROSSIGNOL'S PERFORMING BIRDS.

It was April, and the year 1805, when two little fellows, out for the day from Charterhouse School, stood at the bow window of a large house on Ludgate Hill, London, waiting for the return of their uncle from his country house.

'Here he comes!' said the lads, as a portly figure came round the corner, and the next minute he was in the room, exclaiming, in his cheery way, 'Well, lads, glad to see you! What must we do this afternoon? Is it to be the Tower of London, or the river, or the Monument? Anything you choose will suit me.'

'Then, sir,' said the elder boy, eagerly, 'do let us go and see the performing birds. All our fellows are talking about them.'

'To be sure we will! I, too, have heard about this Signor Rossignol, as he calls himself, and we will have a bit of dinner, and start off at once to Charing Cross.'

The 'bit of dinner' proved to be a very ample meal, to which our schoolboys did full justice, for school meals a hundred years ago were far from satisfying, and a dinner like this one was not a thing to be hurried over. However, there must come a time when even hungry schoolboys can eat no more, and at last, when even another fig seemed an impossibility, a start was made for the birds. They arrived at the Hall in good time, and had excellent seats, just facing the stage.

When the curtain drew up, it disclosed a long table, on which were placed a dozen cages, each containing a little bird. Their 'tutor,' as Signor Rossignol styled himself, stood at the head of the table, and, after a low bow to the audience, he began: 'Behold my little family of birds! They have all the true military instinct, and are ready, as you will see, to do all in their power to defend this land of freedom.'

Loud and prolonged cheers greeted this speech, for the Battle of Trafalgar had not yet taken place, and the dread of a sudden landing of the French 'tyrant' was never long out of the thoughts of any Briton. When the cheering had ceased, Rossignol opened the cages one after another, and each bird hopped out in a sedate way, and placed itself on the table, waiting for orders.

'Fall in!' shouted Rossignol, in a loud military voice, and at once the birds formed themselves into two ranks. Then their tutor fitted a little paper helmet on to each bird's head, and fixed tiny wooden muskets under their left wings.

Thus equipped, the birds, at the word of command from their tutor, went through the usual exercises of soldiers amidst the applause of the audience.

Then another bird, not previously exercised, was brought forward.

'Death of a deserter,' explained the tutor, as six birds placed themselves three on each side of the new arrival, and solemnly conducted him from the top to the bottom of the table, where there was a small brass cannon, charged with a little gunpowder.

The unfortunate deserter was placed in front of this cannon, his guards retired in an orderly way, and he was left alone to meet his fate. A lighted match was now put into the claws of another bird, who hopped slowly up to the cannon and discharged it. At the sound of the explosion the deserter fell down on to the table, and lay there as if rigid in death.

'Oh, I say! That is too bad!' said the younger boy. 'I don't think poor birds ought to be blown from the gun like that. It's cruel, is it not, sir?'

Before the uncle could reply came the sharp order, 'Stand!' and, behold, the dead deserter came to life again, and hopped away to join his friends!

The birds were now replaced in their cages, and it was the signor's turn to occupy the stage.

First of all he gave a clever imitation of the notes of all birds, ending up with the prolonged 'jug-jug' of the nightingale, which he did to such perfection that you could hardly believe there was not a grove full of those birds on the stage.

'He may well call himself "Rossignol"' (the French for nightingale), said the boys' uncle as he gave a hearty clap to the clever performer, 'for he seems as real a nightingale as I ever listened to.'

Next Rossignol produced a fiddle without any strings to it, and going through all the airs and graces of a real violinist, he sawed the air with an imaginary bow, making the notes with his voice so well that you could not imagine it was not a real violin playing. This delighted the audience most of all, and he was encored again and again, and when the entertainment was finished, the two boys said 'they wished they could have it all over again!'

* * * * *

For many months Rossignol continued to draw large audiences to hear his imitation of birds, &c., but one fatal day it was discovered that the sounds were produced by an instrument--probably a pierced peach-stone--which he concealed in his mouth, and after that no one cared to hear him, and he died in great poverty a few years later.

S. CLARENDON.

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 27._)