itself. Yes, life was a glorious thing--with Gluck

mann.

A bee buzzed in at the window and out again into the garden down to the syringa bush. Gustavus' glance followed it. There sat the Frau Landlady, sewing! It was market day, surely. Aha! Now she had thought of it; and, in her haste to be off, had startled the old grey cat that had been sleeping under the syringa bush. How lazy and self-satisfied he looked! If Gustavus could but get down into that garden-well, Herr Laziness would go on a visit to a distant relative-or to market, mayhap. A noise in the room made Gustavus turn his head. There was Rosli, the maid, coming to dust the room and-she had left the door open! He slipped down stairs and out into the garden. There lay the old gray cat. A white syringa petal circled slowly down and settled on his fur. Would he wake? No, he still slept, blissfully unconscious of the on-creeping enemy. Then a sputter and a hiss, and the old gray cat stood behind the bush, his whiskers rigid with indignation. Now one more charge, one grand rush, and Gustavus would win the day. He braced himself, his tail quivering, his eyes black with the love of battle. Now for it! Ah joy! this was living!

Gluckmann paused at the entrance of the courtyard. A pair of skittish horses blocked the way, prancing and shying at an oleander tree that grew in a big green tub nearby. Himmel! Would they never start? And he had to scrub those filthy hands of his and dress for that stupid ball! Ah! Now they're off! Gluckmann followed them impatiently up to the door. Suddenly he saw a flash of tortoiseshell across the court, the flash of an iron hoof, and then, before he knew it, he was picking up a limp little body from off the cold gray pavement. the dauntless Gustavus Adolphus.

It was

"Ah Gusti! So circumstances overcame thee at last, little one, and thou dids't put up a brave fight," Gluckmann murmured; and then, placing him tenderly in his soft felt hat-"Sleep well, mon brave, sleep well-and-sweet dreams."

The Prodigal

HE old man stirred uneasily in his sleep.
He was dreaming. It was the same old

dream. He thought he saw himself upon a high mountain, far up among the clouds. Winding up the slope was a gleaming highway, hidden from his view at places by clumps of trees, the green standing out so clearly against the white of the road. And, as he knelt up there, for he was praying, he saw, far away, at the foot of the mountain, a dark spot that moved along the path. As it ascended, the spot evolved into a figure-the figure of a man. At times it halted, for the road became more arduous. Anon, the figure paused, as if doubting whether to go forward or no. As it came nearer, the old man could discern the features. It was his boy, his only son coming back to his longing father.

The old man's heart swelled with joy. He ceased his praying, and arose to fling himself upon his son's arms. He stumbled, the vision faded, and the old man awoke.

He lay still; throughout the old house was silence. Suddenly there came to him sounds, as of someone moving downstairs. He climbed out of bed, slipped on a few garments, reached for his revolver, and stealthily crawled through the hall and down the stair. The noise was on the first floor, in the rear. As he went downwards he could see a faint light there.

He stole into the front parlor, and drew aside softly the curtains that separated the two rooms. Carefully gazing through, he saw a figure at work at the little safe in the corner. Suddenly the intruder ceased working. He had heard a noise. As he turned around the old man saw his face. He gave a shriek and involuntarily fired wildly. At that moment there was another shot, and the old man fell on his face.

The coroner's verdict was, "Suicide on account of dementia."

H. L. S.

L

Henry Flanders

T'S not long, but mighty sorrowful. Guess you've never heard the like in your day, and I hope as the good Lord 'll keep me from a-hearin' another sich yarn in mine. It's well up on ter fifteen year this June. I knows the date well-it was 'bout a month after we landed that prize pickrel. She was a beauty-an eleven pounder, and every bit of it! But you want the other yarn I'm guessin'!" Captain Will, as usual, was whittling. He stopped a moment and watched a large splinter fall from his knee on to the dock and then roll into the water before he continued.

"Yer see, Henry Flanders was as fine er lookin' chap as any gal 'ould want ter set eyes on. Surethere was a young city woman as called him the 'Pollo o' this lake'-whatever that be. There was a time I didn't hanker after the sight of the youngster's face. Guess that were when he came round the missus--took her ter meetin' or somethin'. Bu Henry did keep his best looks fer Rose Jamesonan' yer can be mighty sure I told this to the old women more than once. I-er, never was much on looks, as yer can see! Well, Rose Jameson and Henry Flanders was hitched one spring mornin', and she as pretty as a picter, I tell yer! Folks did say she hed led him a gay lark before a-fixin' the day; but that's not this end o' the line or t'other. I never did put much bait by them gossipers, as I told the missus this very mornin'! Well, well, yer wants yer yarn, and I do get mighty off sometimes!

"Considerin' the tom-boy of a gal that Rose had been, and the gayness of young Flanders, they got 'long mighty fine, they did. He worked ahead like the very best of them, and Rose she had as neat a little place as you'd find on this lake ter day. They had two rollickin' young uns, a boy and a gal. Guess they weren't more than two or three when Flanders got the job of foreman in the Dover Pow