Chapter 3

CHARLEY hesitated no longer. He put down the bowie-knife, and still holding the revolver, opened the door.

He started back! Yes, it was a woman who confronted him. But such a woman! Her face was weather-beaten and sunburnt. Her hair was grey, and there were pieces of sea-weed in the shapeless mass that once may have been called a bonnet. She was wearing a heavy serge dress that was dripping with the sea. On her huge feet were old boots sodden with sand and wet. She might have been of any age, from fifty upwards.

She gazed at CHARLEY with an uncanny smile, and extended her arms towards him. Then she spoke in the same gruff tone,

"Come to your MARTHA!"

And CHARLEY knew he had met a chum!

* * * * *

There, something like the above might do. The woods in the neighbourhood of Herne Bay are just the places for adventure, and, with thought, a good deal might be managed with the Reculvers.

And now, _Mr. Punch_, I have done.

Yours respectfully, A WILD WELSH RAREBIT.

* * * * *

COMMERCE À L'AMÉRICAINE.

(_PAGE FROM A DIARY ON THE POINT OF BEING WRITTEN_.)

_Monday_.--Miners of the Great Hagglenaggle Fields ask for increase of wages, emphasising their demand by firing off revolvers and brandishing bowie-knives.

_Tuesday_.--Masters of the Great Hagglenaggle Fields refuse to treat with Miners, and entrench themselves behind ironclad back gardens. They also send for a force of PATTERSON's Mercenary Chuckers-out. Fighting imminent.

_Wednesday_.--Appearance of PATTERSON's Mercenary Chuckers out. They are met by Miners with discharges of Gattling guns and land torpedoes.

_Thursday_.--The two armies face to face. Both sides fire away, using up all their ammunition. End of the day's contest, no balance on either side. Great success of the new General Interment Company. Shares at thirty premium.

_Friday_.--Reinforcements for both sides. A general engagement considered imminent. In the meanwhile, _pour passer le temps_, skirmishes and slaughter of thousands.

_Saturday_.--First-class, regular all-round battle. A large force arrived to fight the Miners, Gatlings and Krupps blaze away without intermission. Losses on both sides pretty considerable.

_Sunday_.--Conversion of the Great Hagglenaggle Fields into a cemetery. Great rise in shares on allotment. Ten acres of booking in advance!

* * * * *

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

NO. III.--OFF FOR MY HOLIDAY.

Yes! I'm off for my holiday. Forty odd pieces Of luggage, three cabs, and a van, and a 'bus too. Without counting loose wraps, and umbrellas in creases, And sweets that my darlings are sucking with gusto.

Yes! I'm off for my holiday--wife in hysterics, Since nowhere on earth can her poodle be found; And the nurses and children--ANNES, LILIANS, ERICS-- All screaming, and fussing, and fuming around!

Yes! I'm off for my holiday--Tyneside, or Deeside, Or Lakes, or that Switzerland English, Hind Head, Or the thousand monotonies known as "The Seaside"-- Ask not whither my fugitive footsteps are led.

For whatever the place, it is ever the same thing; Poor Paterfamilias always must suffer. A dyspeptic, a costly, a lame and a tame thing Is Holiday-time for a family buffer.

Yes! I'm off for my holiday--where I won't mention; They are pulling the blinds of my drawing-room down: But next year--if I live--it's my solemn intention _To stay, upon business, en garçon, in Town_.

* * * * *

FAIR PROSPECTS OF FINE WEATHER.--No rain on St. Swithin's, and last week the County of Inverness discarded its MACKINTOSH.

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