leaves of the low trees and bushes among which he was lying, seemed to be directing the raid in person. There was something more pressing here, Jan gathered, than the mere burning of Polish villages just what, he could not catch, at first, but it came to him like a flash of lightning later, when he saw the constant advance of large bodies of cavalry in the direction of Chelm.

Till that moment, Jan had dreamed only of saving his own life; now it swept over him, in a realization that made every nerve in his body tingle, that something more vitally important than that was at stake. The king of Poland was at Chelm, and his trusted friends, Boris and his Cossacks, killing and looting, were moving on the city! Outside his small body-guard, Stefan had only the local militia to rely on. Jan, of course, did not know that, but only knew that his monarch was in danger. What counted his own life in such a crisis? Ivan the Terrible was, without doubt, involved in the matter; but even that was not worth thinking of at present. He must hasten to Chelm and warn the king! As a matter of fact, it was one of the most deliberate attempts in history to abduct a royal person. Boris knew that because of Stefan's desire to win over the Cossacks to friendship he would be received as a friend; and Stefan, not knowing that Boris had not broken with Muscovy, but was actually a Russian agent, had gone to Chelm without the least thought of treachery. The plan was conceived by the wily Boris, who, bold-faced in his self-confidence and assurance, had deliberately ridden to Chelm and kissed the king's ring, pretending allegiance. Some of this Jan gathered from conversation, some from the movements of troops, some from the sight of the leaders. But this is what he did: escaping from the light guard, he stumbled through the brush and briar, finally reaching the town.

As he finished the story, Adam was off like an arrow for the market-place. Once there, he fought his way through the crowd toward the king's throne, counting nothing of the consequences which might arise from accusing the trusted hetman of treachery, just so that the king might be saved.

A glance at the platform showed him Marsyak, the wrestler, looking out over the multitude. He seemed more a powerful snake than a man, with his narrow, lithe body, long, bare brown legs, wiry arms, rounded chest, and back across which tense muscles played at every motion. A group of townsfolk were just removing an unfortu

nate local champion, who had come out of the wrestler's embrace in the second fall with broken ribs and dislocated shoulders. It was generally agreed he was lucky to have escaped with his life.

"Aha!" he shouted, espying Adam shouldering his way through the crowd, "here comes our valiant smith. Will he not try a fall with me? Indeed, I am afraid of such a powerful fellow, for," sneering, "he is so much heavier than I am. Come, my hearty," he shouted, using his hands as a trumpet, "step on this platform and show the good people what a mighty man you are!"

Adam pretended not to notice him, but the crowd joined the wrestler and he found all progress barred except in the direction of the steps to the platform, where a lane was opened.

"Go throw him, Adam!" "Put down the Cossack!"

Some shouted encouragement; others, favoring the Cossack because of his slight build and ready tongue, and that which often counts with a crowd-that he came from afar and had an unfamiliar dazzle for their eyes, spoke tauntingly:

"You could put down three of him."

Giving up his attempt to force his way to the royal dais, Adam, instead, let himself be forced toward the platform steps. Once on the boards, he rushed to the king. Kneeling before him, he said hurriedly:

"I ask your royal permission to speak." There was much formality in those days in addressing a ruler, and unless certain forms of courtesy were observed, such as first gaining the written consent of certain stewards and chamberlains, it was difficult for a tradesman, a peasant, or an apprentice to obtain an audience. So although Jan was on fire with his mission, he still feared to break the traditions of approach which all Poles knew.

"Let him wrestle first." It was Boris himself who answered, and who was watching the crowd for any sign of commotion or disturbance of its holiday tranquillity which might indicate that his uprising was discovered. It was typical of his own insolent courage to sit there as the king's honored guest, even while his own men were guarding the eastern approaches, but he had his weather-eye on the situation always, watching it and feeling it out, so that he might, at the least disturbance, slip away to the horse which was held for him at the edge of the crowd and then lead his Cossacks to the king's throne. If he had been more far-see

ing, he could have carried out his plan perfectly, for he could have brought his Cossacks into Chelm as peaceable witnesses of the king's sojourn, but the confidence with which he viewed the outcome of the scheme, and the lawless and at times uncontrollable temper of his men were responsible for a wild recklessness that at other times might have seemed absolutely to forbid any hope for the success of the undertaking. Something in Adam's abrupt petition to the king, coupled with the fact that he hated the boy beyond measure and knew that he knew it-this, with something of an intuition that the smith's apprentice meant no good to him at this particular moment, warned him that he must prevent him speaking, if possible.

"You are right," answered the king. "Let him throw the other, and he may tell me what he chooses."

"But, your Majesty," stammered poor Adam.

"Not a word!" roared one of the chamberlains. "To your wrestling."

Desperate, Adam threw off his jerkin and cast off his boots, ready to obey. With sinking heart, he realized that he had fallen into a terrible trap. And the worst of it was that it was partly by accident. He was minded to shout one word to the king, but realized that there would not be time to explain before the guards had him under arrest and on the way to prison-and then the Cossacks would be in the town. So he turned to face his opponent.

He had kept his eyes from Marsyak's face, but he knew that those greenish eyes were on his. When he was ready, he caught this glance direct, and there was a glare of hate there that aroused every bit of antagonism in him. There came over him a strong desire to seize that lean frame and crush it in his great hands for its treachery.

This he thought for one second. In the next, two arms were around him, like the swift lash of a whip, and he lay flat on his back amid the jeerings of the crowd.

"First fall!" laughed Boris; "and now for the second."

"If I could only get hold of him," thought Adam. He glanced out over the upturned faces, seeking an expression of sympathy; but at that moment all seemed turned to stone. He felt in his heart that in the second fall the Cossack would use every art to kill him, and of such arts Marsyak was a master. And then Adam almost shed tears at the thought of his own mighty body and the

helplessness of his great muscles. These, however, were nothing to the Cossack, who rather delighted to show his arts of maiming and bruising upon men larger than himself, particularly if they were as clumsy at this game as Adam was.

As they squared off for the second meeting, three visions from the outside world flashed in upon Adam. One was the pale, upturned face at Jadwiga at the crowd's edge. Who would care for her if he were gone? Another was the set, stolid face of the king. Was there a bit of chagrin there that a Pole should be so worsted by a Russian? The third was the face of Boris, working wild and touched with infernal fingers, the mouth already beginning to harden into those lines which gave the owner his nickname of Wrymouth.

But this time Adam did not rush. He waited, watching like a cat, his consciousness tense with the importance of his mission. Once the Cossack leaped at him as he had at first; but the smith's apprentice never needed to learn a lesson twice. His head moved just a fraction of an inch, and the Russian's arms missed their hold, slipping away, however, before Adam could seize them. Then began a series of steppings like those one sees when they dance the mazur. Back and forth they stepped, almost in measured rhythm, each motion a half-threat, but withdrawn as each saw that the other was watching. The face of Marsyak wore a sneering smile. Adam's teeth were clenched in grim determination. Back and forth, back and forth, around and about they stepped, the crowd holding its breath in admiration and eagerly watching.

Adam knew nothing of wrestling, but he was not a fool, and the first fall had taught him more than he might have learned in many a lesson. Then, too, the necessity and seriousness of his purpose held his mind

at

pitch of attention and aggressive alertness that Marsyak knew nothing of. From being a thing of terror, the match began to be a thing in which Adam felt enough confidence to draw out a small whit of enjoyment, as any strong man feels in an encounter that tests his prowess fairly. In those intense seconds, points of the art of wrestling came to him in surprising numbers. Intuitively, as time went on, he seemed to gain a knowledge of his opponent's brain; it seemed as if he could follow its workings, as it resolved itself in side-stepping, dodging, circling, guarding against feints, and repulsing carefully what seemed at first to be meaningless attacks.

It was clear that Marsyak was a little surprised at the transformation in this awkward fellow, but he thought it nothing serious, believing that Adam could read death in his eye and was playing for time, as a cornered rat will sometimes battle. Finally, tiring of this sparring, and disregarding what he might have observed had he been wrestling with a more experienced man, he threw himself forward during the fraction of a second that he was out of poise. And in that instant, Adam's opportunity came!

With all his wrath, eagerness, indignation, and hate let loose, he shot forward to meet the attack, quick as a scared trout in a pool. Marsyak's advancing arms were forestalled. Snapping them into the grip of his onrushing hands, Adam enclosed them with fingers like steel bands, tossed them aside, and caught the Cossack around the waist, lifting him high in the air over his head, balancing him there momentarily before hurling him to the platform-when an inspiration landed in his brain like a white-feathered shaft quivering into the heart of a target.

For as he swung the wrestler aloft, Boris Wrymouth had half risen in alarm from his chair close to the platform edge; that almost imperceptible motion, involuntary as it was, had caught Adam's quick eye, and before the Cossack hetman had a chance to realize what was coming, or what was the apprentice's intent, Adam catapulted his opponent's great bulk directly at Boris.

It needed but little force, and for Adam it was nothing, he had often thrown great weights on a wager, but he put into the throw all the strength that he possesse 1. Gravitation aided him, for the platform was at least six feet high. Marsyak shot through the air with an inhuman cry, legs and arms wriggling violently. The human missle caught Boris with a terrible impact; he went down beneath Marsyak, crashing through the chair, splintering the seat, one of the supports of which caught the wrestler a blow on the head, so that he lay there quietly, while the stunned Boris struggled to his feet.

Then, before the assembly had its breath, Adam leaped to the corner of the platform, and, without kneeling, shouted to the king, who had half risen:

"Treason, King Stefan, treason! Treachery is at the gates of Chelm. Those who lie there are the traitors. See you that smoke rising in the air? It is the smoke of burning villages. Every eastern outlet is closed by

Cossacks. Their leader is there," he pointed at Boris trying vainly to restore the unconscious Marsyak. "They wear the livery of Ivan the Terrible and no man's life is safe in Chelm this night."

The chamberlain, who had sprung to the platform to arrest him, gazed out to the east. "There is truth in what he says, O King! The heavens are full of smoke, and from the earth, there is more rising."

Then in the panic could be heard the clashing of steel feathers on the helmets and armorplates of the knightly escort, the cries of the women, and the shouts of the commanders of the town companies ordering their men to

arms.

But into it all came a lull, as the burly form of King Stefan emerged toward the front of the platform.

"Kneel, sir!" he shouted to Adam, quickly and in snapping tones, as of one who is busy and has yet much business to perform. "Give me thy name."

"Adam Kosloski," replied he.

"Then rise, Pan Adam Kosloski," said the king, striking him gently across his bowed shoulders with his sword. "You have performed great service for your king this day, and may your children rejoice in it. In half an hour, perhaps, it would have been too late."

Then turning to the crowd, he said: "Good people, close your gates and prepare to stand siege. I have twenty thousand good men-atarms in Lublin who are a match for more than three times that number of Cossacks. Go Wladislaus,' he commanded his guard leader, "take half the escort and ride like the wind to Lublin, and bring these troops by sun-up to-morrow.

"I will stay in this place. The Cossack Marsyak I will send to his fellows to tell them that if a hostile Cossack enters this place I will hang Boris Wrymouth their hetman over the east gate. Now, men of Chelm, rally fast to your companies, for your king is in danger and looks to you for protection.

"May God save Poland!"

That was the beginning of a two-years war that eventually brought Ivan the Terrible to his knees and established Polish rule throughout the lands where Poles lived. After that, while King Stefan lived, there was peace and prosperity, until the days when the Turks set out to invade Europe.

And Sir Adam Kosloski and his wife Jadwiga were as happy as any young and honored couple could be.

I SUPPOSE it 's only because I 'm editor of the "High School Bulletin" that Dr. Gardner chose me to write an account of Miss Lucia Little's Christmas stocking, and what grew out of it. Anyway, he made me stop work and sit right down amid these snips of cambric and whirring sewing-machines (to say nothing of tongues!) and write the whole story.

It was Sue Gardner who started it, though she declares that it was only her father's timely remark that put the idea into her head. We girls were sitting before the fire in the Gardners' living-room, working on Christmas gifts, and we 'd just been laughing at the sort of gifts they were. Among the four girls who were present only one was making anything ornamental, and that was an embroidered dress for Molly Gilson's small niece-the first grandchild in the Gilson family, so you could hardly blame Molly for her bit of embroidery. It was the first Christmas after the armistice was signed, and we 'd all been doing useful things so long that it seemed more natural to be knitting socks for our fathers and brothers than to be making frilly pincushions, or useless things that nobody knows what to do with anyway; but Jo Lambert had just remarked that our work did n't look exactly Christmasy, when Dr. Gardner came in.

Dr. Gardner is a dear. In the first place, he looks young enough to be Sue's brother; and then he gave up his private sanitarium to the disabled soldiers; and he 's just the kindest, most cheerful man, although he is always seeing sick people. Mrs. Gardner has been an invalid ever since an automobile accident ten years ago. She suffers a great deal, and depends on him for everything.

It was storming that afternoon, and when the doctor came in all white with snow, Jo said that he might be Santa Claus, except for the fact that he was minus whiskers. Dr. Gardner laughed and replied that he was afraid whiskers were n't intended for his special style of beauty, but that he 'd like to remind Santa not to forget Miss Lucia Little.

That was the timely remark. We all pricked up our ears, because every one of us, and the generation before us, too, had gone to school to Miss Lucia. In three

years more she would have been pensioned, but her health gave out too soon, and she and her sister, Miss Lydia, were getting along nobody knew how, because Miss Lucia was in bed most of the time, and Miss Lydia had to give up her job at the bank to take care of her.

"Is Miss Lucia worse?" asked Molly, as she put the last stitch in an embroidered rosebud.

"She might be considerably better," answered the doctor. He was seated on the davenport, unbuckling his overshoes. The Gardners' is an awfully comfortable house. You never feel that you must leave your rubbers on the front porch and let them freeze, yet somehow the rooms never seem turned up, though Sue says that 's only because she 's forever fixing them.

"You see" went on the doctor, but he did n't finish his sentence, because at that moment he kicked off an overshoe which landed on the cat, who retreated in such indignant haste that we all laughed and might have forgotten Miss Lucia had not Dr. Gardner gone back to the subject.

"I'm mighty sorry for Miss Lucia," he said quietly. "She has served us faithfully for years, and has been too generous, I fear, for her own good. There was no fire on the hearth in her bedroom, though the air was chilly, and I noticed that the wood-basket was empty; although she and Miss Lydia were sweet and cheerful as ever. That 's why I said I hoped Santa would not forget her."

It was then that the great idea hit Sue. "Let's see that he does n't," she said quietly, though her eyes were shining. "Let 's send her a stocking."

"Good work, Sue!" said the doctor, boyishly, and his eyes were shining too. Sue's eyes are exactly like her father's, though she has her mother's forehead and lovely waving hair.

"Let's make it a silk stocking while we 're about it," said Jessie Haynes, who can't afford silk stockings for herself. "I'll provide a pair as my donation, and we can put one of them inside. I remember Bud telling about his first day at school, and how scared he was until Miss Lucia smiled at him."