about his shoulders, clinging to him; the deep woods closed about him. Tonio drew a long breath; then he snatched open his shirt at the neck and took off his shoes. He shook his head; the iron weight was gone. He was free; he was at home.

An hour later he had reached his grandfather's house. The house was under water almost to the top of the roof; but the old man was there, frying fish, on a platform in the big cypress-tree. He was cooking over a little charcoal-burner. Tonio did not know how hungry he was until he smelled the fish. He tied his boat to a limb of the cypress and looked at his grandfather. "I've come back," he said.

man gave Tonio a potato to bake in the ashes of the burner. "I'm goin' light on them 'taters-there ain't many of 'em left now," he told him. "But you can have one bein' as you've come so far to-day."

Then they scraped together the fragments of their meal and put them in a little heap in a fork of the cypresstree. Instantly four rabbits and three squirrels came down from somewhere in the tree and scrambled eagerly for their supper.

"They've been here ever since the overflow," said the old man. "I reckon the rabbits would er died if I hadn't fed 'em. I figured I might have to eat 'em if the worse came to the worst! But now I know I

"Well," he remarked, "I'm sure glad to see you! I've been kinder hankerin' for a little company here lately; I ain't seen anybody for more than a week. Where are all the others? Your paw and your maw and the rest of you children?"

old friends! You better smother down them ashes, so's they'll be hot in the morning, Tony-matches are scarce as hen's teeth 'round here; I don't want to have to use any more'n I can help!"

"They ain't comin' back," said Tonio. "They are goin' to live in town for good! But I don't want to live there. I ran away; I've come to stay with you."

"Well," he said at last, "I reckon you can stay; but if they won't let you, you know I'll have to send you back! We'll send a letter to your maw to-morrow by the Agnes. She'll be scared to death about you before then; but

we can't help it. I reckon they'll let you stay here with me, but I dunno! Why didn't you like it in town?"

"It was so lonesome," said Tonio. "Looked like I couldn't stand it. There ain't nothin' to do in town."

There was plenty to do on the platform in the big cypresstree. When they had eaten the fish the old

forest. All at once there came the piercing cry of the great horned owl -hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!

"There's the hoot-owl, grandpaw!" cried Tony joyfully. "Just listen to him! Everything ain't drownded yet!"

"No, there's a few critters leftsure there are! A mocking-bird and a bluejay come around here every day and I feed 'em. They're just as tame! And there's plenty of snakes about!" He chuckled. "I found one in my bed last night, a moccasin, so you keep a sharp eye out for 'em! And we'd better go on over to the barn to bed now 'fore it gets pitch dark. I'll row us this time, 'cause you don't know your way so well yet 'round these trees. In the mawnin', first thing, we'll write that letter to your maw!"

They slept in the loft of the barn, which was just above the water line and was crowded with all of the old man's belongings. Tonio was fixed very comfortably on a long box with a quilt. Next morning, bright and early, they wrote the letter to Mrs. Applewhite; but before they could start off in the skiff for Cypress Point to mail it, they saw another boat coming to them through the woods. When it drew alongside the platform, Tonio's heart sank. The occupant of the boat was his father. But Mr. Applewhite hardly noticed the runaway.

"My, but it's good to be back home again!" he exclaimed as he scrambled up beside them and shook hands with his father-in-law. "I had forgotten how good it was! I stopped by our place on my way here, and I see the house has washed off the foundations, but luckily it caught in a willow clump and didn't float off down the river!" He laughed heartily. "I'm afraid though, that some of the furniture must have fallen through the bottom into the water! I'll tell my wife she oughtn't to mind, because she'll have that much less to clean up!"

"Then you're comin' back to live here, paw?" cried Tonio. "Are you comin' back sure 'nough?"

"Tony, you young rascal, is that you! You've led me a chase, I can tell you! But I knew right off where you had gone to-that's what I told your maw! So I got a friend of mine to bring me down to Cypress Point in his gas-boat!

Your maw's scared stiff about you!" He tweaked Tonio's ear. "Well sir," to the old man, "how's everything around these parts since we left?" "Well, there is one thing you'll be glad to hear-old Jackson's (Cont. on page 495)

HA

AVE you ever wondered whether the children in France go to a three-ringed circus in their town, and whether they drink pink lemonade and eat pop-corn, and buy purple and red balloons, and give peanuts to the elephants, or watch with wide-opened eyes the lion-tamer put his animals through their tricks, in and out big hoops, while the band fills the tent with sound? Well, I've often wondered myself; and so, when I walked down the main square of a little seacoast town in the north of France, and saw at one end of it, near the village church, a round, covered tent just like our circus tents, I hailed the nearest boy and put the question; and he said "Mais, oui." It was a traveling circus, and this was its first day here, and the performance was to begin at 8.30 that same evening.

By HELEN MCAUSLAN

cus; and, looking out of the window, I saw the crowd collecting, drifting around and coming back to the entrance. The children, all of them, wear heavy shoes with large nailheads in the soles; they clatter as their little feet run up and down the cobblestones in advancing and retreating waves of sound. There were some "dressed-up" ones, with wide white hats and yellow jackets something like what we wear to go to Sundayschool; but there were more who just wore their everyday dresses, and unless you have seen them, or pictures of them, I don't think you can guess what the boys wear. If you were a boy ten years old you would strongly object if your mother tried to get you to wear an apron, wouldn't you? But over here, grown-up boys go around with black aprons and blue Our room in the inn faced the cir- ones; sometimes they have black and

white striped blouses underneath, sometimes they wear dresses like your sister's of blue and white cotton materials. It only means that a stranger like myself often has to look twice to see whether it's a boy or a girl who is passing me.

Over here, they have daylightsaving time, so it was still light when the entrance door opened and the people started to go in. The sign read something like this: "First, Second, and Third Row," so you see it wasn't a large three-ringed circus as we have. It all took place in one ring, and the seats were arranged in three rows. We took the last row, so we could see all that went on and watch the people as well as the performers. Inside we found the lights were made by gas-tanks that look like the tanks we use in our country to fill up with gas the balloons we

carry. But they didn't have any balloons. Instead, they used the gas to connect with long gas-brackets with half a dozen jets on each one like this 000000-and they were placed at the four sides, and near the band in the corner. This is a country place, you know, and circuses don't come here very often; so every one always goes; no one wants to miss it. Opposite us we saw a farmer and his wife, with a baby not quite big enough to walk, and his bigger brother on the bench beside him. In front of us was a row of boys who went up in sizes like steps; right next to us were a lot of big boys, farmers most of them. All around were old men and women, then some rows of pretty girls. Now all the heads turn around, for three soldats are coming in. They are in brown uniforms; at the left is one in the blue and red French colors. The trumpet plays and the drum is being thumped, for the circus will not start until the tent is almost full.

We know now that we are not going to see the same things that we have in America, for we have been looking around and we cannot find any animals; no camels or trained seals, no elephants or Wild West outfit; and we do not see any trapezes. But we feel that something good is going to happen. The crowd is getting more and more excited. The band is playing louder and louder, and at last Bang! goes the big drum, and the leader in the red silk shirt and black sash runs into the center of the circus. He holds up his hands and cries, "Attention!" "Le premier numéro The first number is a dance by une petite enfant. A little girl très charmante with black bobbed hair, and rose-colored acrobatic costume, dances into the center of the tent. She is carrying a wand and she moves through a dance I never saw in our country. You have seen pictures of pages as they were about the time of King Arthur's Court and the Round Table? That is what she looked like, as she kept time to the music. She followed the introduction by vaulting on the table in the center, and then bending herself backward and forward, in and out, around and underneath! That is the only way I can express the various movements she went through; maybe this quick sketch will make plain some of her contortions, as she picked a handkerchief up with her teeth "comme ça." All the people clapped and called "Brava" when she ran off the stage.

Now came a figure familiar to us a clown-and he looked about like ones you've seen turning handsprings, stumbling over his own feet, and making witty wise-cracks at the ex

see men slapping each other on the back to emphasize a witticism. Now another lady comes on the stage and dances with the cymbals, now the clown tries to do the same, and only succeeds in frightening himself with the clicking cymbals and trips until he has to take off his huge shoes. Then he gives us some really good acrobatic stunts; he jumps over one, two, then three chairs continuously.

But are we going to see any animals at all? That is what we wonder. Yes, there they come. We strain our necks and see the animal-tamer appear with his long whip; but what has he with him? Then we almost burst with laughter, and the crowd as well, for he is driving two geese before him and they, apparently, are his trained performers. But do you know how intelligent the animals are? We had no idea that they had brains any larger than an apple-seed. On the contrary. For at the command of their tamer they marched and coun

termarched, they jumped over a hurdle, and went under it, keeping in line, two by two. They received hearty applause and laughter, and skipped off with the plaudits of all ringing in their ears. We hope they received a good supper of corn.

It is beginning to be late. We have been treated to some playing with musical glasses and some more acrobatic stunts. We have had a solo from a musical dog (?) and we have applauded the clown again.

Now they are selling chances on a bottle of wine, the highest number wins, and as each man draws his pink slip out of the hat he calls out the number. Great excitement. This takes quite a while and our attention rather wanders while it is going on.

Now for the grand finale. The leader of the circus adds a bandana handkerchief to his attire and thus transforms himself into a Wild West man. He is going to give us some fancy shooting. The target is set up, and we see that it is an apparatus looking like small organ pipes, six in all, about two inches in diameter. First there is a space above these pipes, and there a tiny white disk is placed, and shooting from different positions the performer picks off the mark. He fires straight from the shoulder, then holding the gun with one hand, then lying on his back on a chair, then holding the gun upside down at the height of his head. Simultaneously the gun spits out flame, the crack on the target is heard, and the mark falls. Lastly, he takes two guns and fires six times from each, striking the pipes in such an order that he plays musical chimes.

He has given a pretty exhibition of marksmanship, and when he turns smiling to the crowd and drops lightly the word Tiens! the applause is deafening. Then, c'est fini-it is finished. It remains for us to move with the crowd slowly out of the tent and outside into the quiet square. The town does not have electric lights and we have the impression of stepping from a lighted place into a silent, dark, cold outdoors. Dim outlines of roofs and queer-shaped chimneys are around us; at the entrance there is only a flickering lantern; here and there the glow of cigarettes. No stars, no lighted windows, save a tiny one at the end of a row of stores, for almost all the town has been at the circus, and any one who stayed at home has gone to bed long ago. Stumbling across the street to our inn, we sleepily have a glass of cider

for they don't drink water in these parts; and then up to bed. The children will dream of the circus to-night and so may we, for it was bon.

C

HANGE was coming to Redneath Hall. The old squire who had lived sometimes foolishly, but always generously, was dying, and Roderic, his son, never foolish and never generous, would soon take his place.

Redneath Hall, which had been built by a Rivington in fifteen hundred and forty and occupied by a Rivington ever since, would be sold, for Roderic Rivington was not a man to spend his every penny on mending miles of fences and hundreds of chimney-pots, so he said.

"It's the poor lady across the way I'm sorry for," observed Mrs. Millercote, the postmistress, to Betsy, her daughter, who was housemaid at the Hall. They glanced across the village street to the old brick wall which hid the glories of the Dower House garden from the passer-by. "She'll "She'll never be let to stop at the Dower House when the old gentleman is gone." Mrs. Millercote shook her head.

Even Hamish, who was only fourteen, knew what she meant. Roderic and Gerald Rivington had loved the same lady, and when she had chosen Gerald, Roderic's love had turned to hate. He had tried to prevent his father from lending the Dower House to her when her husband was killed in the war.

"Mr. Roderic's master at the Hall already," Betsy told them. "The

old squire is that afraid of him he dare not speak a word or write a letter without Mr. Roderic says he may. I've heard them talking, many's the time, and so has Mr. Bennett. The old squire has made a new will, with Mr. Roderic at his elbow when it was written, and all he's left to poor Mrs. Rivington is what's in the Dower House and not a penny of cash, so Mr. Bennett says." Mr. Bennett was butler at the Hall and a great man in Redneath Village.

"And the old squire loves little Miss Sheila better than anything in the world!" exclaimed Mrs. Millercote indignantly. cote indignantly. "And no wonder!" she added, her face yielding to its kindly lines once more.

Hamish was thinking of these things as he swept the smooth grass of the lawns at Redneath Hall. He was garden boy and loved his job, because the trees of the park were so tall, and the shadows they cast so still and deep, and because the seedlings he was allowed to water sometimes were so frail, and would make such a glory of red, yellow, blue, and mauve in a few weeks' time.

Sometimes he was sent down to help the gardener at the Dower House, and this he loved better than anything, for if flowers were beautiful things to serve, Mrs. Rivington and Miss Sheila were still more beautiful. Mrs. Rivington was tall and supple like a young tree, and Miss Sheila was

golden and rosy and gay like a flower. They used to work side by side in the Dower House garden and things that would not grow at the Hall, grew for them. The gardener said this was because the Hall gardens caught the east wind, but Hamish knew better than that.

As he swept the lawns on the terrace, the thought that Mrs. Rivington and Miss Sheila might have to leave the Dower House made a bruise on his heart, so he felt sick and tired and moved slowly instead of briskly, as was his habit.

It was then that he heard a tapping sound. A woodpecker so early? No, it came from the house. He looked up at the row of windows which stretched along the flagged terrace, and saw the face of the old squire, who was peering eagerly at him and tapping gently with his finger on the glass. As Hamish looked, the squire beckoned urgently, and cast a glance over his shoulder into the room behind. Hamish obeyed the summons.

It was easy to step to the side of the invalid-chair on which the old man lay, for the windows reached to the floor and were unlatched.

"You're a good boy, I know you," whispered the old gentleman. "Can you keep a secret?"

Hamish nodded. It seemed to him he was always keeping secrets, though they were secrets no one seemed to want to know.

"Then take this," and the squire reached out a withered hand, folding Hamish's fingers over something hard and cold. "Keep it till I've gone and -I don't like the cherry blossoms swept off the lawn-I like to see them there" the tone had changed to a querulous whine "Go away and take your broom with you."

Hamish's glance followed that of the sick man, and saw Roderic Rivington standing in the doorway, reminding Hamish of a watchful spider.

"Is that you, Roderic?" the squire asked, raising his head and screwing up his eyes like a man who sees with difficulty. "I've told you before I like to see the cherry blossoms on the lawn." He spoke peevishly.

"It is very untidy, Father," Roderic said. Then he added sharply, "Why are you alone? That new nurse is useless." He turned to Hamish. "You can go," he ordered, "and leave the cherry blossoms where they are for the present."

Hamish went, his broom in one hand, while the other was clasped tightly over something he dared not examine yet. The old gardener met him on the lawn and, speaking a sharp word about loiterers, sent him to help another man who was weeding the rose garden. Hopkins trusted no lad of fourteen to earn a full day's pay of his own accord. Even at five o'clock when he was released, two other boys walked back to the village with him, and he dared not arouse curiosity by taking an unusual way. At home his mother sent him into the shop to wait on customers as soon as he had had his tea, and it was not until after supper that he took his bedroom candle and climbed the steep staircase to the tiny room in the eaves where he slept alone.

His heart beat fast as he drew from his pocket the object the squire had given him. It was a big brass key and was not at all like any key Hamish had ever handled before. He felt sure it did not unlock any such thing as a bedroom door nor an ordinary drawer where useful garments were kept. Some one had spent loving pains on its workmanship, for the brass of its handle end was hammered into an intricate pattern for no reason except to please the eye. "It must belong to something beautiful," thought Hamish, "or it would not have been made so beautifully itself." He tried to imagine the door or the drawer it might unlock, but could not. He pictured something dark, dignified, and unfamiliar.

"I'll find out what the squire wants me to do. I swear I will!" he yowed. He hung the key around his neck with a piece of tape before he un

dressed quickly and got into bed, for he knew if his mother saw a light under the door, she would come in to ask why the candle still burned. He had just begun to dream when he was awakened by the sound of a slamming gate, and the voice of his sister Betsy, under his window. "Let me in," she called softly, for to shout in the village street at night was something one of the Millercote family would never do. "I've something to tell Mother."

Hamish, half dressed, hurried through his mother's room, waking her with a word, and went down to open the shop door. Betsy brushed past him, and breathing heavily in her haste and excitement, mounted the stairs. Leaning against the footrail of the bedstead she gave her news.

"The squire's gone," she said; "passed away an hour ago, and no one with him at the last but the hired nurse from London. Mr. Roderic's squire at Redneath now and the Lord only knows what'll happen to us all!" and Betsy drew out a large handkerchief and wept luxuriously into it, while Mrs. Millercote ejaculated, "Tut-Tut. "Who'd have thought it would come that sudden! Well-the Lord's Will be done only I'm sorry for the poor lady across the way!"

Hamish raised his hand and pressed it over the place where the heavy key lay, warmed against his flesh. There was no one now to explain why it was there.

THE Dower House was empty and for sale. So was Redneath Hall, but it was the Dower House, with its upper windows staring vacantly down all day long on the village street, that made Hamish feel as if the sun had set for good, without a moon to glorify the night.

He was working in the Dower House garden on a June day when the roses were putting forth their sweetest scent and colors for the lady and the little girl who had planted and pruned them. He had been told to tidy up, them. He had been told to tidy up, for a gentleman was coming to see the house that day. Hamish hated the gentleman, and the expectant, blossoming garden asked him questions he could not bear to answer.

When he had done his work in the front garden, he went around the corner of the house to the lawn where Mrs. Rivington used to have her tea served under the mulberry tree on such afternoons as these.

The flowers Mrs. Rivington loved best were planted here where the windows of her sitting-room could look down on them. A Banksia rose climbed to the sill, wreathing the

lattice with a profusion of tiny yellow blossoms, but, as if in dismay at finding the room empty, it had slipped from its place, and a branch trailed on the air, in danger of being broken by its own weight.

Hamish brought a ladder and climbed up to replace it. A window had been left open to air the room and, better to reach the loose tape by which the branch had been fastened, he put his foot over the sill and stood within the room.

He glanced about him with awe and remembered that Mrs. Rivington had told him once how the little yellow roses peeped over her window-sill and lightened the dull business of writing letters and paying bills. The old squire used to come and sit with her there in the days before he was taken ill, and while Mr. Roderic was still away in the embassy of some foreign court. Hamish had seen the old squire looking down at him while he worked among the flowers.

As he looked at the room with its rich and foreign furniture, its sunshiny carpet, and deep fireplace, his heart beat faster, for, standing opposite him, was a cabinet of black lacquer, tall, dignified, and strange, its two doors closed and locked, and in the ornamental scroll of the lockwork there was no key!

He was before the cabinet in a moment-tugging at the string around his neck until the key was in his hand. He thrust it into the lock and turned it. The door swung forward an inch or so, unlocked, and at the same moment the sound of the front door-bell startled him. He locked the cabinet and went back to the window, fastening the rose with hands that shook. He was still excited when he climbed out on the ladder, stopped to pick up his twine and knife, and put a foot down to feel for the next rung. He may have set the ladder carelessly, or his balance may have been untrue, but in any case the ladder slipped under his weight, and moving to save himself, he dropped his tools, grasped vainly at the sill, and fell with the ladder, down, measureless distances, till at last he lay huddled and unconscious among the roses beside the mulberry

tree.

"IT never rains but it pours," Mrs. Millercote remarked with as much impressiveness as if no one had ever made the observation before. "First there's the upset at Redneath, and poor Mrs. Rivington turned out of her natural home, and now there's Betsy here accused of taking a pack of old letters that don't belong to her, and she out of a situation and not going to