Weekly Mail

GENERAL COMPLAINT is made of the indigesti- Mlity of the ordinary cocoas of commerce, it having lately shown bv the medical profession that the I??8 t0° °fte» used by the foreign manufacturers, comhirved with the fatty matters, form a soapy result wnicn 18 nwwt deleterious to health. In the case o> Cocoas mtd4 With care, such as Messrs. Cadbury's, these pbjcctioriB do not exiat.- Whitehall lievitw. Lc5 LADDERS. Ladders for Builders, Painters, Pins- Jerers, Farmers, Private Use, &c., all sizes at Cottrell's H-esUbli)liea Mpufastory, Sristol, [93

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] CHILDREN OF DARK- NESS. A ROMANCE OF MINING LIFE, By J. MONK FOSTER, Auihor of "A Miner's Million," "Slaves of Fate,' A Pit Brow Lassie," A Prophet of the Mines,' "Passion's Aftermath," "The Black Moss Mystery," Queen of the Factory," Nineteenth Century Tragedy," &c., Sea. [ALL RIGHTS RESER VED,] CHAP next XXIX. -A DARING FRAUD. For one moment Dick Orrell gave himself up as lost. Beside tho quiet and senseless figure of the man he had come to save he sank prostrate, dizzy, weak, and nerveless; and a dull, painless lethargy filled his brain and hung leaden weights on his limbs. During that brief period the terror of death stung him to the heart like hot steel thrust into his vitals. Had he not feared to die he might never have roused himself to make a last desperate effort for his life. With a hoarse cry Dick gathered all his re- maining strength together, and with a fierce essay struggled first to his knees, and then to his feet. Holding his face close to the roof, he found that he could breath with less difficulty there. Dick's first impulse on finding himself to some extent free of the morbid drowsiness which had threatened to overpower hand and brain, was to flee for his life. For the moment thoughts of self claimed all his attention, and he was turning away to run, when his foot caught the prostrate man. Then Orrell resolved to make another effort I to save Hardcastle. Keeping his head ItS far as possible from the floor, where the poisonous vapour was thiokest, he groped for the manager'a belt, and, finding it, dragged the heavy and unconscious form towards tho purer air where his lamp was still burning. But it was a diffioult, even a^terrible, task Orrell had undertaken. Again his brain whirled, and the awesome lethargy seized his brain and limbs, and he sank beside the still figure he grippedj tenaciously. Once more he rose to the roof to snatch a breath of the sweet air, and then he grasped Hardcastle afresh, and, making a last mad apurt with his burden, he paused not till he reeled and fell, gasping and spent, beneath the lamp he had fixed by the roadside. For a brief space both men lay there, prostrate and still. That final and desperate effort had been so fearful that it seemed likely to cost the rescuer his life. The road, the lamp shining so clearly above, the manager's senseless form, flew round in a mad whirl, the roof seemed to fail, the floor float upwards, and Dick was on the verge of being suffocated. Bat the choking sensation passed elowly away, and his wonted activity of mind and body returned as he greedily drank in the uncon- taminated current; and then all danger of death from the afterdamp was passed so far as Dick Orrell was concerned. Then he sprang to his feet once more, and catching his Davy from the stone shelf on which it rested, he made a retreat from the gas-filled gallery, again dragging at his heels the man he had dared so much to resoue. Near a small gallery which ran at right angles to the one he was in, Orrell paused. Here ajstrong current of cold, fresh air was running, and, placing the still senseless form of his companion in the face of the breeze, Dick endeavoured to revive the manager. He unfastened Hardcastle's shirt and per- mitted the cool wind to play upon his face, breast, and throat; then he seized the mana- ger's hands to chafe them, and a thrill shot through him as he discovered they were cold as stones. Thrusting his band into the senseless man's breast, Dick felt for the beating of the heart. But the cold breast gave back not one beat. Then he put his ear where his hand had been. Still not a pulse could be heard or felt. John Hardcastle was dead. Of that awful fact there could be no doubt. Orrell cast himself on the hard floor of the mine, and waited beside his dead companion I for the coming of the gan(r of explorers with Lomax at their head. How long would they be, he wondered ? Would they never come ? I It was horrible to sit there beside the dead I' man in the exploded mine. Everything was so black and still about him, and his disordered fancy brought the burnt and bat- tered figures of the miners before him. If Lomax did not come, and quickly, Dick felt with a shudder that he would be compelled to flee towards the shaft. Suddenly a loud, clattering sound broke the death-like stillness. It was the falling of roof in the shunt, at the point already men- tioned where the bars had been torn down. Dick ran towards the spot. It was as he had feared. The fresh fall had blocked up the road completely-it was even falling still -and before Lomax and the rest could join him they would have to pierce a hole through the great heap of broken rocks. Then Orrell walked slowly back to the spot where the dead manager lay. And as he was about to re-seat himself near the corpse, an idea shot through his brain P WHY SHOULDN'T HE PERSONATE JOHN HARDCASTLE ? That thought burned itself into his mind until he could think of nothing else; and the more he turned the daring scheme over the more feasible did it seem. He and the dead man were so singularly alike that the friends of each were constantly mistaking one for the other. All he had to do was to change clothes with the deceased while they were alone; and, that done, be might defy anyone to distinguish the real John Hardcastle from the false one. There seemed small chance of the deception ever being discovered, if he had only the nerve to put it into praotioo, And the reward he would reap was worth a much greater risk than that he would have to run. In the first place, be would be free'd from his wife: he would be practically a single man again, with all the world before him and, secondly, a good position and salary would be assured to him. The prospect of these things fired Dick's brain, and in a moment his mind was fully resolved upon carrying out the daring idea. Then he went to work with a will. The stiffening form of John Hardcastle was stripped naked, not a scrap of his garments being left upon him. And when the odious work was accom- plished, when Dick Orrell had donned the blue clothes and leather cap of the manager, and his own garments were transferred to the dead man, he rested and waited for what might come. Sitting there, Dick wondered if Lomax or any of the other minor officials would either notice or suspect the fraud he had perpe- trated. He did not think so, for with Hard- castle out of the way no one would be able to compare the real Hardoastle with the unreal one, Presently Orrell was startled by the olatter of feet. Thinking it was Lomax and the rescue party, he flung himself on the oold, hard floor and pretended to be insensible. But the rush of hurrying feet he expected to hear came not. All he could hear was the slow clatter of one pair of feet, as if their owner was dragging them along in pain. Then he heard a ory. If Who's there ? Who's there ? Help! Help For God's sake help! The cry came down the gallery near which Dick lay, and he knew then that it must be one of the survivors of the disaster who cried for aid. Dick's impulse was to rise and rush to the unfortunate miner's succour. But he did not desire to do that. He wanted to be found lying apparently senseless by the dead man-wanted those who came to acknowledge that he was the manager, John Hardcastle, and the deceased Dick Orrell. Just as Orrell was thinking of this, and the n escaping man's cries were ringing out again, there was the loud patter of ironed ologs, and Fred Lomax, with fourteen or fifteen men, came dashing up to the spot. With cries of amaze and fear,' the miners thronged around the prostrate forms; some of them attempting to revive the supposed manager, while others turned their attention to the dead man, who, of course was taken to be Dick Orrell. "The manager is alive Lomax exclaimed. II Mr. Hardcastle, wo are here. You are safe!" The man in the leather cap and blue pilot clothes opened his eyes slowly, wearily, and glanced around, as if he.ivere just awaking from a long and painful sleep. "Where's Dick Orrell ?" he cried lowly, hoarsely, disguising his voice as much as possible, and imitating the dead man's tones. Orrell's here, but dead, Mr. Hardcastle the under-manager answered. "What has happened ?" Orrell went along the level. He was struck by the black damp. I went after him and dragged him out, and then I fainted. And is poor Dick dead ? He is, I'm sorry to say. Hush There's someone shouting." Again the cry of the man Dick had heard be- fore rang out, and a number of the men ran along the gallery whence the sound issued, and they came upon a miner who had fallen bruised and maimed in the centre of the road. The miners lifted him tenderly, and bore him to the spot where the apparently recover- ing manager, Lomax and the rest stood. It turned out to be John Denton. He had been working in one of the places not far from the spot where the explosion had originated, and his escape appeared miraculous to those who crowded round him and listened to bis tale. Denton owed his life to the fact that his place was shut in, and out of the direct line of the explosion. But although he had escaped the flame of the burning gas, the shook bad flung him violently against the coal, crushing his body and almost breaking his ribs. He had succeeded in making his way out in the dark only with great difficulty, having to pick his road over heaps of fallen roof, past over-turned tubs, dead pitmen, and through a rushing cloud of the deadly after- damp. He had only come across one living man, and he was even more badly injured than himself-was in fact too weak to be able to crawl after Denton, who was unable to help him in any way. That man was Reuben Cal- vert, and they would find him near the entrance to his drawing road. A cold sweat broke out on the new mana- ger's brow, as he heard that Reuben was still alive. Of all men, he feared his old foe most; and he felt that if any living being would be able to detect the imposture he was lending himself to that person was Calvert. But after all his foe might die. Denton's story went to show that Reuben was ter- ribly injured and even if he lived he might never suspect the great fraud Orrell had entered upon. Dick Orrell-or shall he be oalled John Hardcastle" in future ?-now roused himself, and took the command. Bui he spoke only in low, hoarse tones, and those about him attributed this little change in the manager's voice to his being nearly suffocated by the black damp. Another gang of men remounted the gallery —and, making for the spot Denton had indi- cated, they found Reuben Calvert lying maimed and helpless where the fury of the irresistible blast had flung him. He groaned in anguish as the men lifted and carried him down the road to the place where his friend John Denton s;tt and the dead man lay. Then the members of the rescue party rushed after the manager and Lomax, who had gone to explore other portions of the workings for survivors. As the miners sped away, John turned to Calvert and said. fie is dead, Reuben." Who, John r" The man we both had suoh reason to hate —Diok Orrell." Diclr,!dead! Reuben oried weakly, still excitedly." How's that happened ? He didn't work about here, John." He was one of the exploring party, they say, and got choked by the afterdamp. There he is. Look, and satisfy yourself." Reuben dragged himself painfully to the rigid form to which John had pointed, and raising tho rough piece of brattioe cloth which covered the dead man's features, he glanoed silently, and not without emotion, on the cold, dark, and placid face. Poor Dick!" he murmured, as he re- placed the rude veil and crept back. Much as I have cause to hate him, I feel sorry for him now." It would have been better—much better for us both, had God taken him sooner!" John Denton cried, thinking of his ruined name, his dead wife and obild. Reuben made no reply. Tho thought that, Mary was free filled Lis mind at that time. CHAPTER XXX.—Two LKTTERS. The sensation which the explosion at the Park Fold Colliery bad created in the town and neighbourhood of Luxbury was fast dying away, for nearly a fortnight had elapsed since the day that disaster occurred, Dick Orrell had played, and was still playing, the role of "Jobn Hardcastle" well After the inception of his daring scheme, and its partial fulfilment, as set forth in the last chapter, he had decided upon a oourse of action which not only decreased any chance of detection, but added greatly to his credit as manager. For two full days and nights after the ex plosion he had remained underground, direct- ing the operations of the gangs of explorers. When the other miners were fagged out by their exertions, they had gone up the pit, and their places were taken by fresh hands. But the manager had deolined to move from his post. Even when Fred Lomax had been forced to retire, his superior had re- mained behind and he had stayed in the mine until the whole of the bodies of the un- fortunate miners, six in number, who bad perished in the disaster, were recovered and brought to the surfaoe. Then he had gone home, that is, had gone to John Hardcastle's lodgings. He had been there before more than once, iu the company of the dead manager, and was fairly familiar with the house and its landlady. Then he had fallen into a long and heavy sleep, and when he awoke he had repaired at onoe to the exploded mine, descended into it, and remained there for many hours, having left word at home that his meals were to be sent down the pit to him. For nearly the whole of the week John Hardoastle" had spent the greater part of each day in the mine, going down in the dark of the winter morning, and returning there only when the short day had drawn in and it was dark again. While in the mine he was never indolent. In the company of the underlooker, or some of the inferior offioials, he made inspeotion of different parti; of the two seams day after day, his ostensible reason for this aotivity being a desire to see for himself that no re- petition of the late disaster was possible. The real cause of this indefatigability was this. He wanted to familiarise himself with every position of the mines—wanted to put himself in touch with everthing he was now called on to supervise and very soon he was as intimate with every nook and gallery, every miner, official, and duty, as if he had been manager of the place for years. This devotion to his duty won for John Hardcastle" the praise of everyone—from the meanest labourer who worked under him to the proprietress of Park Fold Colliery herself. The latter was a oomely widow, of whom more will presently be written. II Ilardoastle had never any misgivings as to his ability to perform the duties of the position he had undertaken. The colliery was only a small affair; the seams were not diffi- .cult to work, and the efficiency of biiJ subor- dinates would have prevented mistakes on his part, had he been at all likely to make any. But that was not likely to occur. He was a very shrewd and olever man, had been a miner for many years, and once, before his fall from the paths of rectitude, had actually studied hard for the purpose of obtaining the certificate of competency mine m £0 nagers must hold. Of one thing only was John Hardoastla afraid. Two men were alive and living in Luxbury whom he would have preferred to see dead or living elsewhere. These were Reuben Calvert and John Denton. Both of them had been severely shaken by the explosion, but they were each at their respective homes now, and slowly recovering, and in another week or so thry would be at work agaiu. The manager bad often asked himself how he was to get rid of these two. If he could only get them away from Luxbury he need fear nothing. But if they stayed on at the Park Fold after they were well again, there was no telling what might happen. Both Reuben and Denton had known him from the moment he set foot in Kingsmoss they might be able to recognise him when evteryone else had failed; and the slightest slip on his part might arouse their suspicions. But he could do nothing yet in the matter, and he must perforce wait. At the inquest held on the bodies of the miners a verdict of accidental death had been returned. "Diok Orrell" bad been buried quietly with the rest of the miners, the only mourner who followed his remains to the grave being a heavily veiled woman, whom no* one present knew, This woman was the farmer's daughter. Mary had received intelligence of her hus- band's death from Reuben Calvert, who had made it his first business, on being carried home after the explosion, to acquaint her with the fact of Dick Orrell's tragic end. And never suspecting the deep duplicity her canning husband was, practising, the wronged wife had journeyed to Luxbury; had soanned the lineaments of the dead; the re- markable similarity had deceive! her as it had deceived all others; and without a shadow of doubt in her mind she saw tht; coffio lowered into the^earthV.and believed herself to be free of the scamp she had ceased both to love and respect. The dead man had been buried in the name of Kichard Orrell. Mary 'bad insisted upon that, and as most people who knew James Jackson were aware by that time that the name was an assumed one, there was no diffi- culty in making the change. After the burial, Mary had taken posses- sion of her husband's belongings. The few pounds he had saved were handed over to her, and then she returned to her native village, there to commence the battle of life afresh. She was young, strong, and hopeful now, being free'd from the chains she had fastened around her neck when she married Dick Orrell; and she bad not a fear about her ability to support herself and her child. While in Luxbury, Mary had heard that Heuben Calvert was confined to his bed owing to the injuries be had received at the time of the explosion and she was sorely tempted to pay him a visit, and whisper hur heartfelt sympathy in his ears. But she had curbed her desire and denied herself that pleasure. A little reflection had told her that it would be unwise at that junc- ture to pay a visit of condolence to a former sweetheart. And so she had come to the place and left it again without ever seeing Reuben. And he, tossing on his bad, had heard of her coming and going with strangely mixed feelings of pain and pleasure. At first his impulse was to attribute her omitting to see him to indifference, but second thoughts, and the remembrance of that scene between them when they last saw each other at the farm, whispered to him that Mary's apparent neglect was due to the very opposite feeling. Then he was joyous, for his old love for the sweet woman was stronger than ever it had been. The death of Dick Orrell bad roused all the slumbering passion in his breast; and its force seemed greater than of yore, because of the greater certainty of success. Reuben had not given the rein to his imagination in this matter without consider- able deliberation and ample reason. Mary's refusal to follow her runaway husband to Luxbury—even when he had asked her to join him, told its own tale very plainly, It was clear, from that refusal, that the wronged woman had lost all faith In her vil- lainous spouse, and that her love for him had perished, as her faith had done-both having literally been starved to death. Thinking thus, Reuben had oftep thought of writing to his old sweetheart. Again and again, while he was confined to his room, he had begun a letter to Mary; and just as often he had torn the unfinished epistl up, deeming it better to leave the sorely-tried woman in peaoe for a while. But one evening when Calvert was strong again and had resumed work, he again took up his pen, and the missive begun so fre- quently before was at last concluded and sent off to Kingsmoss. That letter of Reuben to Mary ran in this manner— December 15th, 1876, II 7, Nelson-street, Luxbury, Mary,—I hardly know how to begin this letter to you. I oannot, even upon paper, address you by the name you bear. I there- fore call you by the old name that has always been in my heart and so often on my lips during the last score of years, That man who robbed me of you is dead, and of him I will only say this, You had lived to regret the choice you made between Dick and me. I think so, Mary. If I am mis- taken you will perhaps tell me. e He is qad, and you are fyeei That is why I write to you. My love for you has never changed. It is the same to-day as it was that night beside the stile, when I im- plored you to marry me. Your troubles seem to have made me love you more. That is all the change, Mary, so far as I am concerned. The change that has been worked in you I can only guess at. "I venture again to ask you to be my wife. If you say you will, I shall be the happiest man in the world. If you say no," 1 shall have to bear through life the burden I have had to carry since you became another man's wife. You will write to me, I know; and when you write, do not forget, Mary, how much your answer means to me. Yours faithfully, REUBEN CALVERT. P.S.-I had intended to wait a month or two months before I wrote, but I could not. You will, I think, excuse my hastiness, knowing the source it springs from.-R.C." That letter from her old lover touched the gentle-souled woman to tears. Its manly and generous tone, the pathos and restrained pas- sion which found vent in every line, the under currents of old pain and new hope running through it, moved her as nothing else could have done. As Reuben hinted she bad lived to regret in the bitterest way the choice she had made between the two men. She had learned the awfullest lesson a true woman can learn, that of giving her heart, her life into the keeping of a man who was unworthy of an honest thought. And fate had been very kind to her after all: The scamp whose name she and her ohild bore was dead, and the noble hearted lover she had refused was suing for her love and hand once more. There was no doubt now as to what her answer to him would be. Her trouble had been in thinking that Reuben would never again ask her to be his wife. That he had done so was enough to blot out the black past, and fill the future with brightest hopes. Her letter was short and not very definite, still it was sufficient to flood Reuben's breast with an overpowering gladness. It ran thus. Kingsmoss, lG-12-'76, "Dear Reuben.—God bless you for your generous letter. I have bitterly repented of the choice I made. It is much too early yet for me to say rpiore. Will you wait?—and hope? 11 "MARY." (To be continued.)

Water Colours—Rainbow hues. WheHii«y.a» bill like a gan ?.-I'VLeii it is presented' ¥nd discharged. What to do to obtain white hands— Nothing. What is the legal expression for a love- letter ?-A writ of attachment. A wise Bridget says that, when a potato is cooked, "it's atin' and not waitin' that it wants." Lord Li is the name of the Chinese Minister at Tokio. If there is anything in a name, he ought to prove a successful diplomatist. Caller: Is Mrs. Brownston at home ? Ser- vant: Yes'm. She'll be at home all the evenin'. It's my night out. How much trouble he avoids who does not look to see what his neighbour says, or does, or thinks, but only what he does himself, that it may be just and true. In this little casket," said a man to a friend the other day, I have preserved all these years the dearest remembrances of my honeymoon. It is the hotel bill." Scene-Dra.per's establishment. Shopman (to lady customer): You see, mum, although the red predominates, the white predominates more so, and yet the blue predominaies most of all. She What a fitting token of married love is the wedding-ring fle It is. A ring has no end, and it also has no beginning. It is absolutely without variety, and is much easier put on than taken off. He (ardently) I love you. She (compla- cently) I know it. Ile I cannot live with- out you. She I know it. He I want you to be my wife. She: I know it. He Weil ? She I « No it, The Rev. Dr. Bull, Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, being asked if he would like to have the Bishoprio of the See, replied that he had but one objection, which wag that, instead of signing his name "John Bull," he should have to sign John Oxon." Returned traveller French people always seem so pleasant! I noticed that every one I spoke to while I was in France smiled at me. lu-iend: Indeed In what language did you speak to them ? Returned traveller: French. Friend Perhaps that acoounts for it. He only is great of heart who floods the world with a great affection. He only is great of mind who stirs the world with great thoughts. He only is great of will who does something to shape the world to a great career. And he is great who does the most of all these things and does them best. 91 The late President Grevy was very popular in the mountain district of the Jura. On his last trip to Mons-sous Audrey, a centenarian who had known him as a boy wanted to see him after his high promotion, and drove off to the chateau. M. Grevy gave him a kindly weloome, and shook hands with him. The poor man was quite overcome with joy. He tried to thank the ex-President, but could only stammer out the words, "Ah, M. Grevy, now I have seen you, you may die." A New York business man was cleaning out his desk the other day and tearing up his old letters, when the coloured porter, who was in the office, spoke up and 8aid, Boas, gimme one ob dem letters ?" "What do you want it for ?" I promised to write a letter to my old mammy in Norf Car'hna but, as I hasn't lahned to write it, I can jess send one ob dem letters you hain't got no use for. Hit will make her feel good, hit will P The gen- tleman gave the affectionate son a patent medicine anti-fat circular, which was duly mailed and addressed. Mr. Mozley, in his Chapter of Recollec- tions," relates a good story told him by an Irish-Australian Bishop, who presented a letter of introduction to a squatter from whom he expected hospitality for the night. But the squatter—an exception to his class— bade the bishop "pass on." The bishop, determined to conciliate the occupant of the next station, noticed some body linen, marked t. Hogan," hanging on a bush. With this clue he went to the door with a confident air, when the following dialogue ensued How do you do, i-logan P,, "How do you know me P" Ob, nobody c.ould mistake a Hogan. I know all ;j?our relations." "That's im- possible; I was-born in a workhouse in Liver- pool, my mother died the day I was born, and nobody knew^ who was my father," He was a Cork man, the bishop said, naming the quarter where the Hogans abounded. They are all like one another, and you are just one of them. The man had heard that his parents came from Cork, and, knowing nothing about the bishop's clue, was con- vinced, and gave him a hearty weloome,.

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whom they bartered, and who would warn them of any coming danger. Their gardens and fields were in a flourish- ing condition, for the ground about these parte is very rich and don't want much scraping to yield, so that a couple or three days a week of labour was all they needed to do, and the rest of the week they spent in junketting, love-making, or hunting for game in the forest. We all helped in the gardens and fields on the working days, and enjoyed ourselves the rest of the time. I've heard tell of Paradise and the Garden of Eden, but it couldn't have been a better place than that village, and I want no better heaven when f die than the months I spent with Oviro and her people. Every day the Bun blazed down warmly on the earth, sending us into the gardens and forests for cool shel- ter-in the gardens, where the palm and sago trees waved, and the banana and mammy apple trees hung over us like umbrellas; in the woods, where Oviro and I went bird- oatohing and creeping our way under bushes fairly weighed down with waxy-looking flowers, while the paradise birds flew away up amongst the close, dark branches of the high trees which shut out the sky, too far for even a gun shot to reach them, and lower down the parrots and cockatoos perched and chattered along with the wood-pigeon. What rambles these were that we had to- gether in that forest, stopping now and then to kiss as we saw the humming birds and butterflies doing on every side of us—butter- flies of all colours, like gaily-painted Chinese fans and lamps, big patches of blue and scarlet and yellow all fluttering and mixing about through the dark green shadows. And then the nights when the moon was up, when the lads and lagses went out in bands to the fields to court, and no couple troubled themselves about the other, for all was liberty there; we could come and go as we liked, and sleep when the inclination came on or do without. There we walked, with arms about each other, while the old folks sat round the wood fires to watch the moon rising redly over the trees and changed from yellow to white as it mounted that deep blue star-oovered sky, while the bushes and grass lay wet and cool as we brushed past them or walked over them with bare feet; that was a holiday, mates, and no mistake. They hadn't heard a whisper about the Germans taking their oountry as yet. That was to come by-and-bye; they would have laughed at me if I had told them that the land they were so fond of and so proud about had been given away, for who could give what belonged only to them and their fathers for generations past the counting ? So I never told them what I knew. I thought it best not to disturb them. Well, after Oviro had made up her mind that she loved me enough to marry me, we got married with all the oeremonies of the tribe, and had a regular feasting and jollifica- tion, and then I was made one of them and could take my place at the councils with the other husbands. They helped me to build my honse, and as ray wife had a bit of ground of her own with some fruit trees on it, that was where we worked together. I had no ground of my own, for all the land was portioned out, and had been for ages, and none of them would sell or give up their share even if I could have bought it'; but I was quite contented with what I had won, and had never a fear of coming to want in my old age, for there were no such things as paupers in that tribe. So the months slid on without me hardly noticing them pass, so happy was I with my wife and her relations, and with that little st cuss," my nephew, running about our shanty, and I was going to be happier still from what Oviro told me was coming, when the thunder- bolt fell in amongst us. The accursed Germans were coming to break US up, (To be concluded.)