A little gipsy lass

up his mind to venture to sea alone in the Jenny Wren.

Lotty was at a rehearsal of some kind, else I'm sure she would not have permitted him.

There was a slight but delightful breeze that day, and he did not mean to go far. The wind seemed very steady too, so he gained heart as he went out. 'It is so easy,' he said to himself, 'and so jolly, that'—well, yes—he would smoke.

Then he made the all but fatal mistake of fastening the sheet until he should light up.

It wouldn't matter for a minute or two he thought, and surely a boat is no more difficult to manage than a bicycle.

But a boat really seems to be like a horse, and knows when there is a lubber at the helm.

It was not a squall—a real squall—only a bit of a puff, but Antony couldn't let fly the sheet in time, and the tiller got in the way. It is to be feared that he said, 'Hang the thing!' but he found himself in the water next moment in a dreadfully awkward position, with the Jenny Wren on her side.

He sank, and perhaps it was well for him he did, for he managed to clear his feet; and although the water was roaring in his ears, and he had swallowed a lot of it, he got to the surface and at once struck out for the boat, which was only a short distance off.

He thought he could right her. He was mistaken, for he only puffed himself, and the Jenny filled and slowly sank, sail and broken mast and all.

Antony could not have believed it was so difficult to swim a long way with clothes on. At first it appeared to be so easy. But, instead of getting nearer to the shore, it looked receding from him. He tried floating. Oh, it was horrible, so he began to swim again; but soon got excited and put more strokes into it than there was any necessity for.

He tried treading water, but the cruel waves lapped up over his face and almost suffocated him. Poor Antony was drowning!

He knew not that, at this very moment, two men in a camp-boat were dashing rapidly on towards him.

Drowning!

Did the events of his past life come up in review before him? No, that is but landlubbers' nonsense. There were the horrid noises in his ears, flashes of bright confused light in his eyes, a terrible sensation of choking, and a feeling of pain in the top of the head, then—nothingness.

. . . . . . .

Mary and Skeleton and Chops, with others, were on the beach when, through the surf, the rescuing boat sped in and grounded. The two men leapt quickly out and dragged her high and dry, then, to poor Lotty's horror and anguish, the apparently lifeless body of Frank Antony Blake was lifted out and laid on the sand.

One of his arms fell right over a tuft of green benty grass whereon a bush of sea-pinks was blooming. It looked as if in death he was hugging the flowers.

'He is dead!'

That was Biffins's remark. And he stood there callous-looking, touching the body with his toe.

The terrible truth is that this matter-of-fact gipsy was wondering how much he would get for the 'Gipsy Queen' caravan when he resold her.

'No—no—fa—father, he is not dead!'

Lotty could hardly speak for the time being. She felt choking, and tore at her neck, while her face grew hot and flushed.

But in a few seconds she gasped and recovered self-possession. She now remembered that she had a book in the caravan which gave instructions how to restore the apparently drowned. Part of the instructions she could repeat, and did to the men.

'Do that,' she cried, 'till I come back with the book.'

Then she tore off to the 'Silver Queen,' and, book in hand, when she returned, she proceeded to issue instructions to the men, which they tried to obey to the letter.

But she had time to call Chops. 'Mount,' she said, 'mount my horse Renegade and fly for Dr Wilson.'

In a minute or two more, though white and breathless, Chops was off like the wild wind along the sands.

On how very small a thread the life of a human being sometimes—nay, but often—hangs! Lotty, it is true, was doing her best by the rules to revive the English stranger, if indeed there were the slightest sparks of life remaining in his heart; and wonderfully calm and determined she was, determined to do her little utmost until the doctor might come. And this, too, in spite of the words of discouragement cruelly meted out to her and her assistants every now and then by Biffins Lee.

'I don't think, boys, you can do much more. It is easy to see the man is dead. Better carry him up now. Poor fellow, he is in a better world than we are!'

Long after this these very words seemed to come back to Lotty in all their heartless force. But at present, hoping against hope, she bade the men persevere.

'The chances are'—this was Lee's last shot—'that Chops won't find the doctor at home at this time of the day.'

Now, the fact is, that at this very time good Dr Wilson was on his way walking to see a case about a mile from the camp.

Chops met him. He slid rather than jumped off the good Renegade, and the well-trained horse stood instantly still.

Chops had just strength enough to slip the bridle quickly into the doctor's hand. 'Ride,' he cried. 'Ride, doctor, for the love of our heavenly Father.'

The doctor was mounted.

'Back, sir, back to our camp. The beach—drowned—Lotty is'——

Dr Wilson was off at the gallop. And such a gallop, for the good animal appeared to know that it was a case of death or life.

But Lotty—that was the last word he had heard—was a favourite with the doctor, as with every one who knew her. Oh, to think that she, in her beauty and youth, should be lying stark and wet and stiff upon the sands!

Neither whip nor spur needed Renegade, and a real shout went up from those on the beach as soon as the rider appeared.

He rushed into the crowd. It was only Mr Blake, and he felt relieved. But he was to do his duty, and had it been Biffins Lee himself, whom the surgeon neither respected nor loved, he would have done that duty faithfully and well.

'Back, men, back!' he cried.—'Biffins, keep your people away,' he added almost angrily, for he could see callousness in this gipsy's hang-dog face. 'We want air—air.—Mary, go at once and prepare the gentleman's bed. Heat blankets and boil water.—Lotty, my darling'—this was spoken most tenderly—'run and assist Mary.—Now, off with your warm coats, men; strip off the poor gentleman's things; roll him up and keep rubbing. I'll do the rest.'

In two minutes' time there was blood mantling in Antony's face and a gasping sigh. In a short time natural breathing recommenced, the pulse was beating, and slowly, though somewhat irregularly, the wheels of life were once more moving, and he was able to swallow.

Next morning, though hoarse and in a little pain, Antony was well enough to be up. He had been very bad during the night, however, and fat Mary had taken it in turns with the child Lotty to watch by his bedside all throughout the long, still hours.

Chops brought in his breakfast. Lotty, he told our hero, had gone to lie down, so he was a little anxious. But about twelve o'clock, lo! the little gipsy lass herself came tripping up the steps with a lapful of autumn wild-flowers. Then Antony thrust out both his great strong arms and pulled her right up and pressed her, flowers and all, to his heart.

'You dear, sweet child,' he said, 'I'll never know how to thank you for my worthless life. You're the cherub, Lotty, who sits up aloft to—to'——

'But I mustn't sit up aloft,' she said naïvely, and wriggled down.

Yet in his gratitude he had kissed her brow and her bonny hair, and now he set her to arrange the flowers, watching her every action as she did so.

There would be nothing doing in Biffins's camp to-day; and as the doctor forbade Antony to go out, that same afternoon Lotty and Wallace came to the 'Gipsy Queen' with the violin. Wallace did not play, though he looked clever enough for anything; but during the performance of his little mistress he lay on the sofa on a rug which Antony had put there for him and never took his eyes off the child, often heaving big sighs, and one cannot really help wondering what dogs are thinking about when they behave in this way. Does the playing actually bring them pleasure, or do they but suffer the music in silent sorrow? Who can answer? One thing at least is certain: man's friend the dog knows far more than people who do not know him would give him credit for. But Antony was really and truly thrilled by this child's remarkable performance. He was much surprised, however, when presently she suddenly laid down both fiddle and bow and burst into a flood of tears. Antony was astonished—thunderstruck, one might say; and if there was anything more than another that could appeal to this young fellow's manly heart it was the tears of grief. But she was quickly better and smiling again; only, although he tried to find out the cause of the sudden outbreak he utterly failed. All she would say was, 'It is nothing. I will tell you some time, or Mary or Crona will tell you.'

But the truth was not far to seek; for, just as she was playing, she happened to look out of the window and her eyes fell on her father. His face was hard-set and stern; and this, coupled with his language at the time when Antony was brought to the beach apparently dead, caused Lotty to believe now that he was really not over-well pleased that his guest had been brought back to life again.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MYSTERY OF THE MERMAN.

It remained, however, for the king of the gipsies, Biffins Lee, not only to see one, not only to capture one, but to exhibit the creature in a huge tank at the Queerest Show on Earth.

It was many months before Antony Blake came north here to buy the beautiful saloon caravan 'Gipsy Queen,' and upon an evening in summer, when two fishermen were slowly pulling their boat across a rock-girt bay, that a mermaid suddenly appeared to them.

The reader must understand that two sides of this deep-water bay are entirely walled in by precipitous rocks without any shore or beach big enough for even a bird to perch upon. When it was low-tide the water was still deep all along the base of these cliffs, for it simply rose against the rocks when the tide was in and fell again at low-water.

The place where the strange being was seen to rise from the dark, watery depths was far away from any place from which a human being could have swam, except on the surface of the water. Hardly even a seal could have remained under long enough to have enabled it to swim to a distant point.

But one boatman had clutched the other. He was pale as death with the fear that grasped his heart.

'Oh—look—John! lo—ok!'

And yonder, sure enough, had suddenly come to the surface a figure all draped in dark seaweed apparently, but with the bare arms and face of a woman or mermaid. It was not more than a hundred yards from the boat, which at first it did not appear to see. When it did, after one wild, frightened glance, it uttered a strange, terrified cry like that, the men said, of a lost sea-bird. It should be remembered that a sea-gull at night, when out on the waves, utters a very plaintive cry or wail. But now, after making a few evolutions, the creature suddenly dived and disappeared, showing, as it did so—both men swore to this—a tail like that of a monster fish. They gazed and gazed again at the spot where the apparition was last seen, but it never returned. Then the fishermen rowed as perhaps they never in their life had rowed before, and in due time rounded the point into the bay, which opened out into the sandy beach where a cottage stood. As soon as they set foot on shore, it is said, both fainted or swooned.

Now, neither of these men ever drank anything stronger than water, and both were hardy young fellows, very unlikely, indeed, to be the victims of optical illusions. Moreover, they were churchgoers and highly respected. But in spite of this their story gained but little credence, and it was believed they were only trying to have a joke at other people's expense.

Yet, just three evenings afterwards, and at the self-same time and place, as a boat was coming from B—— with no less than five men on board, they were startled by seeing the apparition not seventy yards from the bows. It was precisely as the first two men had described it. After it screamed and disappeared the boat was rowed right up to the very foot of the cliff, but nothing was observed that could possibly lead to a clue to the strange mystery.

A whole week passed, and though the cliff was watched almost the whole time there was no further appearance of the mermaid. Then it suddenly appeared again; but this time it had a very much changed appearance, for its hair was not long and dark nor its face beautiful. On the contrary, it was so hideous in its grinning ugliness that some who saw it shrieked as if in a nightmare. Then the old fisher-folk shook their heads and said that the first apparition was evidently the mermaid and this the merman.

This explanation was accepted all round the coast, and soon so-called scientists got hold of the story and visited the village and the bay. They tried in vain to get the men to confess it was but a huge practical joke. Then they set themselves to watch, and were rewarded in time by a glimpse of the terrible merman. The creature even went so far as to show a dreadful mouthful of teeth, and to shake a very human-like fist at the scientists before it plunged and was seen no more.

So the scientists returned sadder, if not wiser, men, and wasted quires of paper in trying to account in a natural way for what they had seen. But no theories of theirs would sufficiently account for the dread apparitions, not even that of the manatee. This is an Arctic seal that has some semblance to a human being; but a manatee has not a real human face nor a long skinny human arm.

The people in that beach-village were now in a state of mind to believe almost anything, and the minister had his 'ain adees' trying to restore them to a state of something like equanimity. But no youngster would now venture out of doors after gloaming fell for fear of seeing or meeting anything 'uncanny.' The cry even of an innocent sea-gull flying home at night to its nest on the cliffs made them tremble with fear.

'A mermaid or merman couldna hairm ye, 'oman,' said Tammas Reid, endeavouring to allay his wife's fears, 'even if it cam' on shore.'

'Augh!' she cried, 'fat [what] ken ye? Didna that awfu' apparition wodge its neive [shake its fist] and spit fire at the hale [whole] boat's crew?'

Tammas said no more.

But one night, not long after, a late boat came in and reported terrible and fearsome doings in the bay. They had clapped on extra sail and sped homewards, and they would not go out again that night for anything in the world.

What had they seen?

'Fat [what] is't we ha'ena seen?' was the reply. And then they described blue lights and red lights gleaming against the cliffs around the bay, and things like fiery serpents running across the surface of the water, and fearful screaming and shouting and firing of guns, and a 'scomfishing' [stifling] smell of burning brimstone, followed by a silence deep and awful! And here they were alive to tell their story!

But early next morning came wonderful tidings to the little village, and it was soon spread from mouth to mouth to every place round about.

The news was brought by Skeleton himself, who was riding Renegade like, the old wives said, 'Death on a black horse.'

It was to the effect that after a tremendous battle which no tongue could describe, he himself, with Biffins Lee and Chops, had succeeded in capturing the merman, and had taken him to camp and placed him in a large tank of sea-water. The creature, Skeleton said, had made a terrible resistance, and he was now wounded and sulking in a corner under water; but as soon as he was better and became tame enough to eat fish he would be exhibited almost every night.

A whole week passed by. Neither the mermaid nor merman were again seen, so Skeleton's story was believed. It was believed also that the mermaid had either died of grief or been so frightened that she had left the coast.

Hearing the story, the scientists came back, determined not to believe even their own eyes. To them in the gloaming of a summer evening the merman was first shown. The tank was about fourteen feet deep, and electric light was flashed down from above, and there, sure enough, the awful creature could be seen crouching in a corner at the bottom.

'But,' the scientists said, 'that might be a mere doll or dummy.'

'No, Mr Biffins Lee, we can't swallow your mermaid, or rather merman.'

'Gentlemen,' replied Lee in his grandest manner, 'I should be very sorry indeed if you did swallow him. There he is, nevertheless; and if you will be kind enough not to swallow him I will have the honour and pleasure of showing him to all the crowned heads in Europe.'

'Has he ever been to the surface of the tank yet?' asked a disbeliever.

'That he was, sir, only this morning. He swam up and took down two fish, and'——

At this moment these savants were standing, confronting Biffins, about ten yards from the tank, and with their backs thereto.

Suddenly, 'See! see!' shouted Biffins. He seized the foremost scientist and wheeled him right round; and although the man evinced a strong inclination to fly, Mr Biffins Lee held him there as in a vice.

The other scientists retreated in a body many yards away, and stood staring at the tank in terrified astonishment.

And no wonder. For, above the surface, the head, shoulders, and bare arms, with fingers ending in claws, had appeared. The face was very old-looking and wrinkled, but the scream it gave would have done honour to a mountain curlew. Then it swam to the side of the tank.

The scientists were shaking with dread.

'Se—se—send him d—d—down, Mr Lee. Have you no co—co—co—control over him?'

'Not a bit,' cried Biffins. 'Serve you right if you're frightened, I say.'

But Skeleton now rushed in with a live fish and threw it towards the water. The merman caught it and disappeared. Then the scientists stood there for ten whole minutes as if turned into stone, with their watches in their hands.

'If you care to have him up again, gentlemen,' said Lee, 'I think I have only to throw in another haddock.'

'No, no—not for the world. We mean, we are perfectly satisfied, Mr Lee.' It was the mouthpiece of the party who spoke.

'I think, my friends,' he went on, 'that we must now thank Professor Lee for his great kindness, and—and retire; for verily, verily, gentlemen, there are more things in heaven and earth than—er—we dream of in our—er—philosophy.'

Biffins followed them out beyond the compound, and as he bade them good-night he said, 'You'll give me a paragraph in your papers, won't you, my friends?'

'My good fellow, we will give you a leading article. You are a benefactor to science!'

The scientists then had had the honour of the first view. The clergy came next. They said but little, were a trifle timid, but evidently satisfied.

Then Biffins Lee had set about completing the great show that he felt would draw visitors from all parts of the country. He erected a wire fence a few yards back from the tank, and surrounded the whole with a strong high wooden palisade, and placed a pay-box by the door, at which Mary sat to collect the half-crowns and shillings, and it was between the palisade and the wire fence that the onlookers had to stand.

But wise Biffins made a proviso that no batch of sightseers were to remain longer inside than a quarter of an hour, and that even if the monster did not appear on the surface during that time it was not his—Biffins Lee's—fault, so he would not return the money. However, as the merman usually appeared two or three times during the night, and as when not on the surface he could be seen at the bottom of the tank, the people were content, and the great show became a marvellous success.

But the creature, it soon turned out, would only please to appear once a week, when hungry, and so the merman's night had to be duly advertised. Beyond this, Biffins said, he could not go. Only, strangers from afar could visit the Queerest Show any time by appointment made a day before, and take their chance of seeing the 'great sight of the century,' as Lee called it.

Even in the middle of the summer, when the season was at its height, and everybody went to see the merman once at all events, there were doubters as to the genuineness of the affair. All admitted that Biffins Lee was exceedingly clever, and the show was anyhow worth the money even without the merman.

One individual from the Granite City was known to have stated at a public dinner that the merman, whoever personified it, had no doubt a tube, artfully concealed in the corner of the tank, through which it breathed air. This man was soon sorry he had spoken; because not only were there people at the dinner who had watched the sleeping monster with its face upturned for more than twenty minutes, and could swear that during all that time no tube or pipe that could conduct air was anywhere near to it. 'Besides,' they said, 'the merman and a mermaid had appeared to dozens of fishermen up from the depths of the dark sea itself.' And so the mystery of the merman remained unsolved.

Antony Blake, when he first came on the scene, was duly introduced to the merman, and was so mystified that he became, like everybody else, a believer—for a time. But before the winter passed away he fancied he had discovered a clue. He thought, moreover, that Lotty knew more than she dared reveal. But he had promised never to ask her—never, never, never!

CHAPTER IX.

'THE NEW JENNY WREN.'

'Exactly, Chops; but—what were you saying?'

'I was a-sayin’’——

'Oh, look at those woods, how lovely they are, Chops. Don't they inspire you, boy?'

'Ah! you've been a-readin' o' Shakespeare again; but I'm a bit o' a pote myself, Lotty, and prisintly, w'en we feeds the gulls'——

Woods and forests are romantic everywhere and at all seasons of the year: on the banks of quiet streams in summer time, where in their shade the wild-flowers hide and kingfishers dart to and fro; by the lake-sides, in rolling clouds, their greenery mirrored in the dark water; spreading over valleys and climbing over hills or high up the mountain's side itself, till checked by Nature's warning hand. But far north here, November is the artists' month par excellence, because, though touched with the frosts, the forests are not yet bare, and on the braes rising in loveliness on every hand the foliage, touched by the sunlight, gleams with every hue and tint, crimson of maple, bronze of beech or oak, brown of the elm, and dark-green of the waving pine, with higher up the silver stems of the weeping-birch.

No wonder that this enthusiastic little gipsy lass stood for a while with face upturned, the wind lifting and toying with her hair, to gaze around her and admire. But yonder, sailing tack and half-tack, and coming nearer and nearer to her, were her friends the gulls—sea-birds of every size and species. During the summer months they might have been seen far up the rivers and streams, sometimes seventy miles from their native ocean, whitening every stone or boulder, or in rows on fences around farmyards patiently waiting until it was feeding-time with the fowls, that they might share their meal. But even in the fa' o' the year, up among the mountains, storms and blizzards howl and blow, and the sea-birds are glad to seek the sands by the shores.

Chops opened the basket. Here were all the morning scraps from the camp, enough to feed a thousand wild-birds, and down they now crowded, swaying and screaming around the maiden as she tossed the pieces in every direction of the compass, that all might have a share. Among them were many of her own particular favourites or pets, and they had special tit-bits which they took from her hands or shoulders and even from her lips. But not all sea-gulls were they, for a sprinkling of rooks flew amongst them, and even warty-headed old carrion-crows and hoodies. These, however, had none of the dash and daring of the more elegant and shapely gulls, nor would they approach so closely to be fed. But the last particle had been distributed and devoured, and the birds went circling farther and farther off, until they seemed to melt away in the gray haze of distance.

Then Lotty threw the basket on the benty grass, and sat down for a few moments to look at the sea. It was of a darker blue to-day, because

white clouds were casting great shadows down, and the breeze blowing from the east so rippled the surface that it had the appearance of some mighty river rolling on towards the land of the setting sun.

'But w'ich I were a-sayin' of, Miss Lotty, w'en you spoke like Shakespeare, I'm a bit o' a pote myself.'

'Indeed, boy!'

'I isn't so much o' a boy as I looks, Lotty. Lor' bless your innercent soul! I be sixteen an' carried for'ard again. Yes, I be a bit o' a pote, and 'as my dreams, just as the Immortal Willum had his'n.'

'And what may your dreams be, Chops?'

'Oh, I dreams, Miss Lotty, wot I du's'n't 'ardly tell you.'

'I've known you for long, long ages, Chops, so you needn't mind what you tell me.'

'Yes, Lotty, for long, long ages. Lor'! don't I remember, w'en you was a wee kinchin, a-carryin' o' you on my back, an' sometimes a-buryin' o' you, kickin' legs an' all, among the 'ay or among the 'eather.'

'But that isn't your dreams, Chops?'

'No, miss; but I've often dreamt when a-carryin' o' you on this 'ere back o' mine that w'en you growed hup, and w'en I growed hup an' I'd saved a bit o' money like—you—you won't be angry, will you, Miss Lotty?'

'No, no, Chops; but it is nearly time for rehearsal, so be quick.'

'That I might lead you to the haltar, miss.'

Lotty burst into a childish fit of hearty laughter. Then, afraid she might have hurt his feelings, this strange infant prodigy grew suddenly serious, and patted Chops's brown, fat fingers.

'You're a good boy,' she said, 'but dreadfully foolish and funny. You won't mind me laughing, Chops, but you do look droll like that. Have you written some verses, Chops?'

'Oh yes. I began a whole pome, an' some day I'll mebbe finish it, like the Immortal Willum finished his'n.'

'And how does it begin?'

'It begins—ahem!—ahem!'

'What! begins "Hem, hem"?'

'No, no, Lotty. I were honly a-clearin' o' my throat. Let me see—yes, this is it:

Lotty had to laugh again in spite of herself.

'Wait a bit, miss,' said Chops. 'I think I've got 'em a bit mixed. It were the cheeks—no, the lips, that was'——

'Chops, look down yonder. The recall is hoisted. I'm off for rehearsal.'

And away ran Lotty down the brae, singing, with Wallace barking in front, and poor Chops nowhere. She hadn't got half-way down the knoll, however, before she stopped, and, shading the light from her eyes with her upraised hand, gazed seawards. By her side hung in their case a pretty pair of small field-glasses, a present from the whole strength of the company on her last birthday. These she now speedily focussed on a boat that was just rounding a point of land and standing in for the bay—a tiny dingy skiff of yellow polished oak or teak apparently, and under snow-white sails: a main, a gaff, and a saucy bit of a jib.

'What a darling little boat!' cried the child, clapping her hands with delight, 'and coming towards our camp too!'

Lotty, when glad, could no more help bursting into song than the mavis can on a bright May morning.

Not very grammatical verse, it must be owned, but poets are allowed liberties with the English language. Anyhow, Lotty took some.

Chops was by her side now, looking seaward also. She handed him the field-glass, and he took but one 'squint,' as he termed it, and immediately his behaviour became most mysterious. He suddenly doubled himself up like a jack-knife in a seemingly uncontrollable spasm, straightened up again, thrust his handkerchief into his mouth and laughed 'in'ardly,' as he would have called it, until his fat face grew as purple as a pickled cabbage.

Lotty, quite alarmed, smote him on the back and hurt her hand. 'Chops, Chops, what can be the matter?'

'W'ich it's me as knows all about it, Miss Lotty; an' I told Mr Blake as 'ow I wouldn't tell you, no more I won't if I goes to death on't, Lotty.'

But the girl was far enough away by this time, leaving him to finish the sentence to the wind. Lotty and her companion, Wallace, who was quite as excited as she, never halted until they reached their own little caravan; and here, coming down the back steps, every step creaking with her weight, was good-natured, rosy-cheeked Mary herself.

'Have you seen it, Mrs Pendlebury—seen the lovely boat?'

'Just been looking at it, my dearie; but it's time for rehearsal, and there's going to be a ploughman's ball to-night, and rare doings, so'——

'Never mind rehearsal,' cried Lotty; 'rehearsal must wait. Come to the beach with me, Mary. I'm all in a twitter and fluff.'

She made the fat lady almost run, but both were in time to see the bonny wee craft lower sail and come floating up the stream. Two well-dressed sailor youths in blue worsted nightcaps manned her, and the foremost had his boat-hook up and caught neatly on to the small shed in which Lotty Lee's skiff used to repose. The steersman touched his forelock a little shyly to Mary.

'This is Biffins Lee's camp, I'm thinkin'?'

'Ye dinna think wrang,' said Mary, in the broad Scots.

'Weel, 'oman—that is, ma leddy—ye'll be Lee's guidwife, I suppose?'

'Wrang this time, for ance; but what want ye, laddie, and fas [whose] bonny boat ha'e ye gotten beneath you?'

'This is the boat, ma'am, that Maister Blake ordered weeks ago. An' we've brocht her roun', and that's a' there is aboot it. Hiv ye a dram in the camp?'

'Oh, here comes Mr Blake himself, laddie.'

Antony's eyes were sparkling with pleasure. He took Lotty by the hand—she had been standing on the beach near to the boat's bow, which was now broadside to the shore—and led her aft, pointing as he did so to the boat's stern; and there, in well-scrolled letters of vermilion and gold were the words—

'THE NEW JENNY WREN.'

The heart of that gipsy lass was too full to permit her to speak and thank the donor. But her blue eyes were aglow and her cheeks had flushed a deeper pink, and Antony knew what she would have liked to say. That was enough.

While the three stood talking there, Biffins Lee came hurrying towards them. He looked admiringly at the bran-new boat all over, then, turning towards Antony, thanked him most profusely.

'Pon my word,' he said, 'a most charming present. Must have cost you a pot of money.' He glanced at the boat again. 'Really a handsome—er—property, Mr Blake.'

'My good Mr Lee,' was the reply, 'I'm glad you admire the shape and my taste; but as to a property, friend, take my word for it that no one shall ever own or touch her save Lotty Lee herself.'

Then Antony turned upon his heel and strode briskly off.

CHAPTER X.

A LETTER AND A PROPOSAL.

Aggie had, however, recently communicated to her brother the fact that their father was none too well pleased at his staying so long in one place. 'And among a gang of gipsies too,' the letter went on. 'These are father's own words, dear brother. As for myself, I think you must be enjoying yourself in a way that is most idyllic. I only wish I could join you for a few weeks. But, mind you, Anty, when you fairly set off in your own "Gipsy Queen" in the sweet summer-time you must get a sweet little caravan for me and my maid, and we will join you. That is settled, so don't you forget.

'By-the-by, dear brother, I had almost forgotten to tell you that our big, handsome, man-of-the-world cousin Gustie Robb has been here nearly all the time you have been away. Father seems very much struck over him; told me the other day he was a young man after his own heart, and bound to be a power in Parliament when returned on the Conservative ticket for South S——

'But father has a dream that I will marry Gustie some day. It will be like all other dreams, dear, for your sister Aggie is too fond of her liberty to give her hand to anybody to lead her through life. She thinks she knows the way without a guide.'

There was a postscript to this particular letter, which ran as follows:

Antony read the letter three times, lit a cigar, and sat down on his back-steps to smoke it while he glanced dreamily away over the blue sea. Then on the leaves of his note-book he wrote:

Frank tore the leaves of the note-book containing the above right out, and just posted them, gipsy fashion, to Aggie as they were.

. . . . . . .

Before going further in this story it may be as well to say a word or two concerning the effects of that letter at Manby Hall.

If Gustie Robb told Aggie Blake once that he loved her and had made up his mind to live so as to win her for his wife, he told her twenty times.

Now, Gustie was not a bad-looking fellow. Tall, dark as to eyes and hair, a half-aquiline nose which gave him a somewhat Jewish cast of countenance, a sweet, persuasive tongue, and groomed to perfection. He was a trifle solemn, however, and in this way so different in character from Aggie, who in manner was very like her brother—always merry, and as often as not singing like the happy bird she was.

Gustie was as poor as lobster-shell when there is no more lobster left in it. But that would not have mattered anything to Aggie could she have cared for him. But she did not, and told him so laughingly.

'I don't believe,' she said, 'in marriages between cousins, so I won't marry you. I don't believe in marriage at all, so I won't marry any one else.'

'Ah, Cousin Aggie, then I shall live in hope.'

'In hope of what?' she asked.

'In hope of getting'——

She didn't let him finish the sentence—in fact, she finished it for him, for she was feeling full of mischief just then—'In hope of getting my fortune. That's it, isn't it, Gustie?' Her fortune, by the way, was in her own right.

Then she seated herself at the piano and began to sing a verse of an old Scots song which her grandmother had taught her: