at the prospect before him; and when they started off and had turned the corner, Milly gave a little hop, skip, and jump, and cried,—

"Oh, how nice it is to get away! I am so glad that Prissy isn't coming!"

Esther was very nearly saying, "So am I," and she saw that the words were on the very tip of Pickle's ready tongue. But she was glad that he did not speak them, but only looked at her with a laugh in his eyes, and Puck asked solemnly,—

"Has she been lecturing you all round?"

"Oh yes," sighed Milly, "ever so much worse than father and mother. Father was very kind indeed, though he made me feel more sorry about it than anybody. But he understands about what we feel like—I mean, he knows that it is nice to do things, and to get away from people, and to play we're sailing off to coral islands and places like that. I don't think he's going to stop our going out in the old boat to the city of refuge."

"Isn't he? How jolly of him!" cried Pickle; "I thought our city of refuge was gone forever."

"I don't think he minds a bit," cried Bertie, "for I talked about it a lot, and he said he'd come with us some day and see it. I said I thought the avenger of blood would always be coming after us now. I meant Prissy, you know, and he knew it. And then he laughed and said he thought the avenger of blood would think a long time before following us there; and I'm sure he meant that Prissy would be frightened, and I dare say she would."

"Besides, if we have the boat she can't come," cried Puck. "I was afraid Mr. Earle would be the avenger of blood, and would come in the Swan."

"I don't think anybody will come," said Milly. "I heard father telling mother that he was very glad we had some games like what he and his brothers used to play. He said he'd rather we got into a scrape now and then, than grow up afraid to wet our feet, like so many little cats."

Pickle burst out laughing, and the party felt inspirited by the feeling that Mr. Polperran's sympathy was with them in their love of adventure, although not in their disobedience to definite commands. They distinguished very clearly between the two.

It was a perfect September day, and they had a delightful time wandering through the great copses on Mr. Trelawny's property, filling their baskets with blackberries, and feasting themselves at the same time.

At noon they had a delightful surprise, for Mr. Earle found them out, and brought them a big jar of cream and some excellent cake, and shared their picnic with them at their own eager request. They were all very fond of Mr. Earle by this time, and they wanted to know about Mr. Trelawny too.

But Mr. Earle could not tell them much on this score. He was still kept in bed, and was not allowed to have the bandage off his eyes. Esther was very sorry indeed to hear this. She could not think what Mr. Trelawny would do. He had always been so active and independent, and she did not think he had ever spent a day in bed before.

"He will very likely be up again to-morrow. He does not like stopping there, I can tell you," said Mr. Earle, "but there is nothing that makes people feel so helpless as not being able to see. But for that he would never be so quiet."

"Would he like some blackberries?" asked Puck, opening the basket and looking in. "Let's pick out some of the very best for him, and you tell him we gathered them for him, and hope he'll like them."

So Mr. Earle departed presently with the pick of the spoil, and the children sat and talked about Mr. Trelawny, thinking how sad it was for him to be half blind and not able to do anything, and wondering if they could do anything to cheer him up.

"Children can't do things for grown-ups," said Milly, rather disconsolately. "It's only grown-ups who do things for children. But you did something for Mr. Trelawny, Essie, when you got him out of the cave. I should like to have done that. You saved his life, didn't you?"

"Yes!" cried Pickle; but Esther said,—

"No—at least I mean it wasn't really like that. I went and told the servants, and they got him out."

"But if you hadn't gone in when he called, if you'd run away as some silly people would have done, he'd have been a deader as sure as a gun," chimed in Pickle eagerly. "Mr. Earle said so his very self."

This act of Esther's was very interesting to all the children, and certainly she found that all her old fears of Mr. Trelawny had vanished away.

The very next day she was admitted to his darkened room, where he was lying on a couch with a bandage over his eyes, and his hand and arm bound up too. She sat beside him quite a long time, telling him all about her own adventure that day, about what had befallen the boys on the same afternoon, and about their doings these last days—how they had been often up in the woods getting nuts and blackberries, and how they were enjoying their holiday.

Esther found that Mr. Trelawny was a very nice person to talk to, although his voice was still rather loud, and he had a quick, imperious way of asking a question which sometimes made her jump. But he was always interested in what she said. He made her explain exactly where they went each day, and how the trees were looking, and what things they found in the woods, and what all the live creatures were doing.

Indeed Esther found that she had to notice things much more closely than she had ever done before, and this was rather interesting, she thought. She and the boys all began noticing everything, so that Esther might tell about it to Mr. Trelawny; and she was sure he liked it, though he did not exactly say so, but made his funny snorts, and seemed trying to trip her up with his questions. But she was not afraid of him now, and she did not mind if she did make a mistake. She found she was learning a great deal more than she had ever known before about the world she lived in, and that in itself was very interesting.

One day at the end of the week, she came in to her mother and found her with an open letter in her hand and a rather perplexed face.

"Is anything the matter, mama?" she asked.

"O my dear! I hardly know. No, nothing is the matter, but it is such a sudden thing to suggest. I have got a letter from Mr. Trelawny."

"O mama! then can he see again?"

"No, my dear. It was not written by him, but only at his dictation. There is a good deal of reason in what he says, but it is all so unexpected."

"What is it, mama?"

"He asks if I will shut up the Hermitage for the winter, and come with you all and stay at the Crag."

"O mama! Why?"

"To keep him company, he says. To cheer him up. To make a little life about the old house for a poor blind man."

"But, mama, he isn't going to be blind, is he?" cried Esther, distressed.

"I hope not indeed, dear. He has seen the oculist again, and hopes are held out—strong hopes, he says—that he will recover the sight of one eye, at least. But recovery will be slow, and it must not be forced, or he may lose his sight altogether. For the next few months he will have to be content to use other people's eyes more than his own. Of course that is much better than being always blind. But the poor man feels it a good deal, one can see."

"And he wants us to go and stay with him?"

"That is what he asks—to stay for the winter months, and see how we get on. As he says, he is very dependent upon Mr. Earle, and it would be much more convenient if the boys were living in his house, so that the lessons could be given there; and then, as he cannot read or study or employ himself as he has been used to do, a silent house, with nobody to speak to for the greater part of the day, would be very dreary for him. He says that he has no kinsfolk except ourselves. Your father was the last blood relation of whom he knows anything, and he seems to feel that we belong to him in a certain sort of way. What do you think about it, Esther, my dear? Do you think we ought to go?"

Esther's face was quite flushed and eager.

"O mama, if we can help him, I think we ought!"

"He says we might bring Genefer as my maid, and make any arrangements we liked about the other servants, and he would see that the house and garden here were properly cared for. Of course, it would be a great saving of trouble and expense in a way, but it would not be quite like living at home. Mr. Trelawny would be the master, and we should all have to keep his rules. But that might be a good thing for the boys. I sometimes think they want a stronger hand over them."

"I think it would be a very good plan," said Esther; "they are getting so much better, and they are fond of Mr. Trelawny. He would make them obey, and they would like it. They always obey Mr. Earle now, and they like him better than anybody almost."

"It would be more the sort of life they have been accustomed to—a big house and a man's authority," said Mrs. St. Aiden reflectively. "And Mr. Trelawny is a sort of guardian to you, and has been a most kind friend to me since your father died. We must not forget that. He asks it as a favor to himself. You can read the letter if you like."

Esther did so, and looked up with the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

"O mama, you will go, won't you?"

"I suppose so, dear, if you like the plan, and think you could all be happy there. As he says, it is a big house, and we should have our own rooms, and the boys' noise need not trouble him more than he cares about. I don't think their father would mind. After all, it is only a long visit. He only asks us just for the winter months."

"He wants us to go as soon as we can," said Esther.

"Yes, you see he feels his blindness so much, and a merry houseful about him would cheer him up. Well, dear, would you like to run up and tell him that we will try the experiment? It will save me the trouble of writing, and I think he will like to hear it from your lips. And Mr. Trelawny is always in a hurry to carry out his plans."

Esther smiled a little at that. She knew very well that Mr. Trelawny never waited an hour if he could help it. It was his impatience of delay that had caused the accident which had partly destroyed his sight, and might have caused his death.

"I should like to go, mama, if you like me to. I have done my lessons for to-day. The boys are having their navigation. I don't do that with them."

"Well, then, run off, dear, with the answer. I don't see how we could refuse. And I always think that this house in the winter is just a little damp. I shall be glad to be out of it before the fall of the leaf."

Esther had her hat in her hand, and was soon on her way to the Crag. How strange to think that before long she might be actually an inmate of that house! And how much stranger still that she was not a bit afraid of the prospect!

It was a beautiful afternoon—as warm as summer; and when Esther approached the house, she gave a little jump of surprise, for there was Mr. Trelawny lying on a couch on the terrace, his eyes still bandaged up so that he could see nothing, but at least he could breathe the fresh wind blowing softly off the sea, and Esther knew how he would like that.

She ran forward, forgetting all about her old shyness.

"O Mr. Trelawny, how nice for you to be out of doors!"

"Ha! is that my little Goldylocks?" said the invalid, stretching out the hand he could use. "So you have found your way up to the old blind man, have you? I suppose you have not brought me any letter from your mother yet. That would be too soon."

Esther clasped her two hands around that of Mr. Trelawny, and said,—

"Mama said I might run up and tell you. She has got your letter, and we think it so kind of you. We should like very much to come and pay you a nice long visit, if you don't think we shall be in your way."

His strong fingers closed over her little hands in a tight grip; she could see that his mouth was smiling, and that there was pleasure in every line of his face.

"Is that so, little woman? Have you taken counsel together over the blind man's request? Of course your mother would not settle anything so important without the leave of the 'little manager.'"

Esther did not mind being teased now, not one bit. She gave a little soft laugh as she answered,—

"We think it would be a very nice plan, if you like it too. I know the boys will be just delighted. They think this is the very nicest house in the whole place, and I think it will suit mama. She will enjoy this nice sunny terrace in fine weather, and the view of the sea. We can't see a bit of the sea from our house."

"And will somebody else enjoy it too?" asked Mr. Trelawny. "What about my little Goldylocks herself?"

"Oh, I shall like it!" answered Esther softly, stroking the hand she held. "I think it is beautiful up here, and I like being useful. Do you think I can be useful to you, Uncle Robert, if I come?"

"I mean to make you very useful, little woman," he said. "It was partly for that reason I thought out the plan. I want a little niece or granddaughter of my own to wait upon me and take care of me. As I haven't got one quite of my own, I have to do the next best thing, and try to steal one who will do instead."

A little while ago Esther would have shaken in her shoes at the notion of being stolen by Mr. Trelawny, but now she listened to these words with only a little thrill of pleasure.

"I should like to be your little granddaughter," she said. "You must tell me what you want me to do."

He drew her down beside him on the couch, and passed his hand over her head.

"You will have to learn how to be eyes for me, for a little while at any rate, Goldylocks, and to do the same for me that the dog does for the blind man—lead me about, and take care that I don't fall. Will that be a great nuisance, little woman?"

"Oh no! I like taking care of people," answered Esther earnestly; "only I am so sorry you want taking care of at all. But it won't be for very long. You will be able to see again soon, won't you?"

"I hope so, my little maid, I hope so. They give me good words when I ask the question myself. But they all tell me I must be patient—be patient; and, Esther, though I am an old man, and ought to have learned that lesson long ago, I find that I have not done so. I find it harder to be patient than anything else in the world, and it is harder to learn lessons when we are old than when we are young. Hallo! hallo!—what's this?"

This exclamation was caused by Mr. Trelawny's becoming aware of something warm and damp dropping upon his hand. Esther hastily dashed the drops from her eyes, but her old friend knew whence they had come, and something like a quiver passed over his face.

"Child, child, you must not cry," he said.

"I was only wishing I could be blind instead of you for a little while," said Esther, with a little catch in her voice.

Her hands were held very closely by Mr. Trelawny's strong fingers; his voice was not a bit gruff as he answered,—

"I believe you, my dear, I believe you. You are like your father, and he was the most unselfish man I ever knew. I believe you would give me the eyes out of your head if you had power to do it; and as you have not that, you must learn to use them for my benefit, and I shall expect them to see a great deal. Tell me what you see now."

Esther looked round and scarcely knew where to begin, but she was thinking too much of Mr. Trelawny to be self-conscious, and soon she was telling him just how the sea looked, with the great burning track of yellow light across it, as the sun slowly sank; and how big and golden-red the sun grew as it drew near to the horizon; and how the little fishing boats were all coming home; and in which direction the clouds were sailing; and how the white-winged seagulls were fishing in the bay, and wheeling round and round, calling to each other with their strange, mournful cries.

It was very interesting, she thought, to try to make somebody else see it all; and Mr. Trelawny evidently could, for he sometimes interrupted to tell her things she had not noticed herself, so that she often looked quickly at him to make sure that he really was not "peeping." For she knew he must not try to use his eyes yet, even though he might be able to see by and by with one of them at any rate.

"If the sun is dipping, you must run home, childie," he said at last. "Run home and tell your mother that I am very grateful to her for humoring a blind man's fancy, and that the sooner she and her tribe can come and take possession, the better he will be pleased."

"I will tell her," answered Esther. "I think we could come quite soon. There will not be so very much to do, and if we should leave anything behind, we can easily fetch it away afterwards. I will talk to Genefer about that. She and I will do the packing, you know."

"Of course, of course; the 'little manager' will manage all that. I shall soon be managed out of house and home, I expect. What a wide field the Crag will give to such an enterprising little woman!"

"You are teasing me now," said Esther, laughing, and bending down she kissed him on the lips, and then talking her hat, ran lightly down the hill towards home, a very warm feeling in her heart towards the redoubtable owner, who had once been the very terror of her life.

Half-way down she encountered the boys, who were running to meet her, brimful of excitement.

"O Essie! Essie! is it true?"

"Are we going to live up there?"

"Did he really ask us too? Oh, won't it be jolly? Won't it be scrumptious? Aunt Saint said you'd gone to settle it all. Do say that it's all settled now."

"Yes, quite," answered Esther; "Mr. Trelawny wants us to go as soon as ever we can. He says the house seems so empty and lonely now that he can't read or go about or amuse himself as he used to do. And he wants Mr. Earle so much more now; that is another reason. You must be very good and nice, boys, and not give trouble. We mustn't worry him now that he's ill."

"We won't," cried Pickle earnestly. "We'll be as good as gold. I mean, we'll try to be as good as we can.—Won't we, Puck?"

"We will," answered that young man solemnly. "I should like Mr. Trelawny to like us. Perhaps, then, he'll let us stay always. I mean till Crump—no, till father comes back or we go to school. I don't like it when Mr. Earle is angry with us, and I don't want Uncle Bob to be either."

"I think it'll be awfully nice," said Pickle, as they wended their way home again through the wood. "I shall try and help Uncle Bob too. Aunt Saint said he wanted you, Essie, because you would be like a pair of eyes to him. I know why he thought that. You're always doing kind things for other people, and you don't care about yourself if other people are happy. I just know if I were to be ill, I should like to have you come and see me and sit with me. It can't be just because you're a girl, for that Pretty Polly is a girl, and she thinks herself very good too, but I'd sooner have a toad come to sit with me than her."

"O Pickle, don't talk like that!"

"I'd twice as soon have the toad," cried Puck; "toads are nice things, and they have such funny eyes—like precious stones. She's just a prig, and I can't abide her. We won't ever ask her up to play at the Crag. I shall tell Uncle Bob about her, and he won't let her come then."

"That would be unkind," said Esther gently. "I don't think we ought to be unkind to Prissy. She tries to be very good, you know, and she is always obedient."

Pickle and Puck were silent for a minute. They had been thinking, very seriously for them, about obedience of late. They had recognized their own failure, and had been sorry for it. In the old days they had taken this matter too lightly, but they were learning better now.

"Well," said Puck at length, "she may be obedient, but she's nasty too. You're obedient and nice, Essie. I like you. But if you say we've got to ask Prissy, we will; only I hope Uncle Bob will laugh the priggishness out of her if she comes."

Great excitement reigned in the little house during the next days, for there seemed no reason to postpone the arrangement if it were really to be carried out. Esther and Genefer were busy putting away household things, and packing up personal belongings. The boys flitted hither and thither, helping and hindering, and made daily excursions to the Crag to get news of Mr. Trelawny, and tell him how they were getting on.

Lessons were not to be recommenced till the party got up to their new quarters, and the cart came daily to fetch away boxes that were ready for removing.

Milly and Bertie were rather sorrowful at the thought of losing their playmates, but Puck brought good news from the Crag.

"Uncle Bob says you may come up every Saturday afternoon and play with us. He doesn't think we shall go sailing in the Swan very often now, because the sea gets rough in the winter; but there are no end of jolly things to do up there, and Uncle Bob says we may have you up whenever you can come on Saturdays. Esther can ask Prissy too, if she wants her, but you are our friends. Prissy never cares to play with us."

This was delightful news, for the Crag had never, been anything but a mysterious region of wonders to the rectory children. Mr. Trelawny had sometimes asked the parents to send them; but Mrs. Polperran did not entirely approve of Mr. Trelawny, and she was half afraid lest some harm should come to her brood through his love of practical joking. It was very exciting to think of visiting there now, and seeing all the strange things that were said to exist in that house.

"Is he really a magician or a wizard?" asked Milly with bated breath.

"I don't believe he is," answered Pickle. "I believe he's just a nice, jolly old gentleman; only he's very clever, and people don't understand, and call him names. I don't believe there are any magicians left now. I believe he's just the same as other people."

"But the pickled skeletons in the tanks," urged Milly.

"I don't believe there are any really," answered Puck, with a note of regret in his voice; "I don't think he pickles anything except specimens that go into bottles. We shall find out all about it when we go to live there. But I don't believe he's a bit of a magician, and Essie doesn't think so either. She isn't a bit afraid of him now."

The day for the flitting arrived in due course, and the carriage and a last cart were sent down to the Hermitage to convey Mrs. St. Aiden and her belongings. Genefer remained behind to shut up the house, and the boys preferred to climb the hill by the path through the wood. But Esther drove up with her mother by the zigzag road, and as the great easy carriage rolled smoothly along, Mrs. St. Aiden said with a little sigh,—

"We must persuade your Uncle Robert to go driving with us, Esther. He is one of those men who have never cared to drive, but it would do him good, I am sure. This is a most comfortable carriage. It will be delightful to have the use of it, and I am sure it will do him good to get out as much as possible."

"I dare say he would drive with you, mama," answered Esther. "We will try to coax him. But I don't think anybody would care very much about driving all alone."

Mr. Trelawny was standing in the hall to welcome them. He had a stick in his hand, but he laid it down and drew Esther towards him and kissed her.

"You will be a substitute for that now, my little maid," he said. "We are going to have some good times together, are we not?"

The boys came rushing in at this moment, helter-skelter, bringing an atmosphere of life and jollity with them.

"Uncle Bob!" cried Puck, rushing up and seizing his hand, almost gasping and choking in his eagerness and excitement, "we've thought of such a plan for you. We'll do lessons by ourselves for a little while, and Mr. Earle shall make you an electric eye to see with, till your own gets quite well."

CHAPTER XII.
A NEW CHARGE.

Esther found out very soon that Mr. Trelawny's threat of making her his "little white slave" was not altogether an idle one.

She had laughed when he spoke the words upon a former visit to the Crag, but she soon found that he did take up a great deal of her time and care, and very willingly was the service rendered that his helplessness made needful.

It seemed to be less irksome to Mr. Trelawny to be led about by the little girl than by any other person—even Mr. Earle; and, of course, a good deal of Mr. Earle's time was now taken up by lessons.

Esther found that her regular studies were very much interrupted by the demands made upon her time by Mr. Trelawny; but on the other hand, she thought she was learning as much with him, as though she had been in the schoolroom all the time. His mind seemed like a perfect storehouse of information; and as he took his leisurely walks abroad, he would teach Esther all manner of things—history, geography, physiology, geology, and all sorts of things with long names that Esther never learned. All she knew was that she was learning interesting things every day of her life, and that the world seemed to be growing a bigger and more beautiful and wonderful place than she had had the least idea of before.

Mr. Trelawny was a wonderful teacher; but he expected his lessons to be understood and remembered. Again and again he would put a sudden question to his little companion, asking her about something he had told her on a previous occasion, or making sure that she understood the bearing of some new piece of information he was giving her. Esther soon conquered her first shyness, and was not a bit afraid to ask questions and to say when she did not understand. She found that Mr. Trelawny, though not quite so well used to teaching as Mr. Earle, was never impatient or vexed at being asked to explain himself. What did vex him was for anybody to make believe to understand a thing he was saying, and then show later on that it had not been understood at all.

As long as the fine weather lasted there were delightful things to do. Sometimes it was a long drive, which Mrs. St. Aiden generally shared; sometimes a sail in the Swan with Mr. Earle and the boys, which was always a great pleasure. Then there was a great excitement for a few days in the place, for the mackerel had come into the bay in shoals; and the Swan went out with the other boats, and the little Polperrans went in her, and they all had spinners, and caught mackerel by the dozen, and fine fun they had out of it till the fish disappeared as suddenly as they had come.

Mr. Trelawny was getting quite strong again, but he was still forbidden to make any attempt to use his eyes, and went about with a bandage and a shade. Perhaps it was this that made him stoop a little in his walk, as he had never done before. Certainly his hair had begun to grow white rather quickly. He had never seemed to be an old man before. Esther had never thought of him as old until just lately, although he used to speak of himself in a half-joking way as an old fellow; but he did begin to look old now, though he seemed strong and well in himself.

He liked to be out of doors as much as possible, and Esther was nearly always his companion. She found this interesting in many ways. One was that she had her lessons in a new and interesting fashion from him. Another was that she got to know a great many fresh people, and heard a great many interesting things about them.

Mr. Trelawny owned a good deal of land all round the Crag, and the people who lived in the cottages were his tenants. He had known them all his life, and they had known him. There had been Trelawnys at the Crag for several hundreds of years. Esther found out that Mr. Trelawny, in spite of his gruffness, was very much respected and loved. She liked very much to go with him to see the cottagers and fisher folk, and listen whilst they talked to him and told him all about themselves, their troubles, their bits of good luck, their perplexities with their sons and daughters, and all the different things which went to make up the sum of their simple lives.

She grew fond of the simple people herself, who always had a smile and soft word for "the little lady." She thought it must be very nice to have Mr. Trelawny's power to help them in times of need, to advise them in their troubles, to rebuke those who wanted a sharp reproof, and to warn those who were in danger of falling into bad habits or idle ways.

Often after these visits Mr. Trelawny would talk to Esther a great deal about the family they had just visited, telling her its history, what sort of people they had shown themselves in the past, and what kind of treatment they had required.

Some children might have been bored by this sort of thing, but Esther was never bored. It seemed to her very interesting, and she always listened with great attention.

"You must help me at Christmas time this year, little woman," he said one crisp December day, as they were walking home together. "There are a lot of old fashions we keep up at Christmas here. It's one of the relics of old times that no Trelawny has had the disposition to do away with. Some people say that the time has gone by for that sort of thing, and that it is obsolete and only a form of pauperization. Perhaps they may be right. But in my day I shall change nothing. I'm too much the old Tory for that. And you will help me this year, won't you? You ought to see how everything is done."

"I should like to," answered Esther eagerly; "what is it you do?"

"Give a great feed—dinner, the people call it—in the hall at the Crag, to which every tenant and his family is entitled to come, even to the babies, if the mothers choose to bring them. No questions are asked, nobody is turned away. Every tenant has the right to be there, and to eat and drink to his heart's content. Five o'clock is the hour for the feed, and after that they sing carols or old songs and make speeches. I come in and drink a glass with them, as the Trelawnys have always done; and when they can eat and drink no more, there is a great giving of presents all round. Bran pies or a Christmas-tree for the children, and clothing or nets or tools for the grown folks. We keep it up till ten o'clock, and then sing 'God save the Queen,' and send them all off to their homes. It used to be done on Christmas Eve or on Christmas Day, but now it's on Boxing Day, as we think that home is the right place for folks on Christmas Day itself. You will have to be my right hand, little woman, in all the preparations we have to make."

Esther was skipping along gaily: her face was aglow.

"How nice!" she exclaimed; "I shall like to help and to see them all. May I come with you, Uncle Robert, when you go to see them at dinner-time?"

"Of course you may, my dear. Indeed I particularly wish you to be with me. I want to present you to the people then. It will be the best opportunity for it."

Esther raised her eyes with a questioning look, but then, remembering that he could not see, she said softly,—

"I don't think I quite understand, Uncle Robert."

His clasp upon her fingers tightened; he did not speak for a while, and then he said slowly,—

"No, childie, I know you don't. I am debating in my mind whether or not to tell you."

Esther looked up again with the same shade of perplexity in her eyes, but she asked no further question. She knew she would be told if Mr. Trelawny thought it well.

At last he spoke, but rather as though to himself and not to her. It was as if he were debating some point in his own mind.

"I don't know why she should not be told. The Queen was no older when she found out that in all probability she would one day have a kingdom to rule, and her first wish and resolve were that she might grow up a good woman. I believe it would be the same with this child in a very little kingdom. I want her to grow up feeling what are the duties which will some day be hers."

Esther's heart was beating rather fast by this time. She felt as though something momentous was going to be spoken, and she was not wrong. They had reached the terrace by this time, and with the shelter of the house behind them, and the sunlight falling full upon it, the place was quite warm—so warm that Mr. Trelawny seated himself under the veranda, and drew the little girl between his knees.

"My dear," he said, "I suppose you are too young ever to have wondered who will live at the Crag after I am gone."

Esther did not speak. It had certainly never entered her head to think about such a thing as this.

"I am the last of the Trelawnys," continued the old man; "I have not a single blood relation of that name to come after me. Once I thought it would be otherwise. For three happy years I had a wife living with me here, and a little boy who had just learned to call me 'daddy.' Then they were both taken away. It was all so long ago that the folks here have almost forgotten, and some of them speak of me as a bachelor. But I have never forgotten. I never could care for anybody else. I have lived my life alone, and I have nobody to come after me—nobody to love me now."

Esther suddenly raised the hand she held and carried it to her lips.

"We all love you, Uncle Robert," she said softly.

He stooped and kissed her, putting his arm round her and holding her close. For with all her clinging, affectionate ways, Esther had never yet spoken of loving her father's old kinsman.

"Thank you for telling me so, childie. Yes, I believe you, my dear. Esther, do you know that you are the only blood relation I have in the world?"

She shook her head, and he felt the motion.

"But that is so, my child. Your father was my only kinsman. At one time I looked upon him as my heir. Then he too was taken. I brought his wife and child to be near me, but I do not think I at once formed any plan for the future. The estate and income are my own property. I can dispose of them as I will. But I want to find a successor who will love the old place, and who will be a merciful as well as a just monarch in the little kingdom which lies around the Crag."

He paused, and Esther neither spoke nor moved.

"Kingdom is perhaps an obsolete word in these leveling days, yet down here amongst these simple folk the owner of the Crag wields no small power. It is a power I should fear to put into any but just and merciful hands. Little Esther, do you think you could be a just and merciful ruler here some day? Would you try—like our good and gracious Queen—to 'be good,' to love your people, to be a wise and God-fearing ruler, if ever that power were to be entrusted to you?"

She hid her face upon his shoulder. She was startled, overcome, almost frightened. He felt her shiver through all her little frame. He saw that she had understood, and that it was all a very solemn and sacred thing to her.

He held her very closely as he went on speaking.

"Little Esther, it is a great charge, and you are but a little girl now, but you will grow older every year; and I believe I shall be spared many years longer myself, though I do not expect ever to be the same man that I was before my accident. I have talked to your mother about this, and she is willing that you should continue to live with me, to learn the ways of the place, and how to be its mistress one day. My will is drawn up, leaving all to you. I am just waiting till I have my sight back to sign it. I think you are learning every day to love and understand the people better and better. Perhaps some day you will take my name, so as to keep the old name with the old acres; but there is time enough to think of that. You have always been used to having the charge of something or somebody. It will only be adding a new one to the list. Do you think your little shoulders are strong enough to bear the burden? Will you be my little girl now, and be good to the people when I am gone?"

Her tears came at that, not loudly or noisily, but raining down very fast.

"O Uncle Robert, I will do what I can. I will try to be good. But, please, don't talk as though I were going to have it all. I can't bear that. I only want to help you, and learn to do things as you do them."

"That is all I ask, my dear. I hope that is all that will be laid upon you for a good many years to come. Indeed, you would never have the sole burden in your childhood and youth, of course. But I should like to feel that you were growing up in the traditions of the place, knowing what is before you, just as you would know it if you were in very truth the little niece or granddaughter that I call you."

For a few days after that talk Esther went about with a very grave face, and was absorbed in a multitude of new thoughts. But children quickly grow used to an idea, and so it was here. The little girl never spoke of it to anybody but Mr. Trelawny and her mother, but she began to have an understanding of the new charge which would one day in all probability be hers; and she followed Mr. Trelawny about more assiduously than ever, waiting upon him, watching him, trying to forestall all his wants and to understand all that he was doing; whilst he, on his part, took her more and more into his confidence, both feeling that a new and very tender bond had been established between them.

The coming Christmas festivities kept the boys fully engrossed. They had leave to go into Penzance with Mr. Earle to make their purchases, and they were full of mystery and excitement for days before and after.

At last they could bear the burden of their great secret no longer, and pulling Esther into their room one day, a little before Christmas Day, they whispered the tremendous secret.

"Esther, we've got it; we got it all by ourselves. Nobody knows—not even Mr. Earle. Would you like to see it? It is such a funny thing; but we know what it must be, and we've bought it. It was very expensive, but we don't care if only he likes it. Would you like to see it first?"

"What is it?" asked Esther, infected by the air of mystery around her. The boys' room was almost dark, for the light was fading fast. Puck was quivering all over in his excitement. He seemed able to contain himself no longer, and burst suddenly into speech.

"It's an electric eye—an electric eye for Mr. Trelawny. We found it at last in a bicycle shop. Come here, Esther, and look. You know people do have such accidents on bicycles. I expect they knock out their eyes and have electric ones put in. It's rather big, but Mr. Trelawny has such big holes for his. I expect it'll go in.—Pickle, open the door and we'll show her."

Pickle was fumbling under the carpet for a key, which was hidden in some crevice in the boards and when that was brought to light a cupboard was unlocked, and then suddenly one of the boys did something, and immediately a bright ray of white light shone forth from a small glass ball which had somewhat the look of an eye.

"There, there, look!" cried Puck, dancing up and down in his excitement; "there it is—an electric eye! Do you think he'll like it? Don't you think he'll be pleased? Just see what a light it gives! He'd be able to see with that in the dark as well as in the light."

Esther was immensely impressed, though rather perplexed. The eye was certainly very wonderful, and could be turned on and off at will; but whether it would help Mr. Trelawny in his present condition she did not feel quite certain, but the boys had no manner of doubt.

"Won't it be jolly when he can go about without that horrid old shade, and without a stick, or anybody to lead him? I can't think why he didn't have one before, but I suppose he couldn't find one. We hunted all over, and people only laughed when we asked. But one man told us he'd seen something like one in the bicycle shop, and sure enough there it was. Sometimes it gets empty and has to be filled up, but Mr. Earle could do that, I'm sure. He can do lots of things with electricity. I can't think why he hasn't made Uncle Bob an electric eye all this time, but I'm glad he hasn't, because we shall so like to give it him."

It was hard work waiting for Christmas Eve, when the presentation was to be made; but the preparations for the great feast took up much time and attention, and drew off the boys' thoughts from the engrossing subject of the electric eye.

But when the dusk of Christmas Eve had really come, and when Mr. Trelawny suddenly appeared in their midst, showering parcels about him in the twilight, like a miniature snowstorm, then the boys made a rush upon him, and the electric eye was produced and exhibited, Pickle being the principal speaker, though Puck kept up a running, breathless commentary, almost choking in his excitement and ecstatic hopes.

Mr. Trelawny received the gift, and felt it all over. Then he turned his head towards Mr. Earle, and said,—

"Come, Earle; we must retire and see what we can do with this wonderful eye. You're a bit of a genius, according to these young men, and we'll see whether you understand adjusting it or not."

Mr. Earle's face lighted up, and he marched off with Mr. Trelawny, whilst the servants brought in lamps, and the children, in breathless delight, opened the parcels which had been showered upon them.

The fairies must surely have whispered in Mr. Trelawny's ears, for the secret desire of every heart seemed to be gratified.

There were the daintiest of working and writing materials for Esther, together with just the very books she would have chosen for herself had the whole world's library been at her disposal. There were model boats for the boys, and tools, and knives, and charts, and books; and the children had little presents for one another, which had to be opened and explained and admired; and Mrs. St. Aiden had not forgotten, or been forgotten, and her couch was the center of the busy, happy group.

Then suddenly the door was thrown open and in stalked Mr. Trelawny, without his shade, and walking erect, with his eyes looking just as they did of old, save that they were protected by a pair of spectacles with thick glasses.

The children did not know that there had been any previous rehearsal of such a scene as this, and that Mr. Trelawny had been permitted to try to use his eyes by degrees for the last week or more. Even Esther did not know this—it was to be kept for a Christmas surprise; and now, with the glint of the light upon the spectacles, it was small wonder that Puck broke into a shout of triumph, and yelled at the top of his voice,—

"The electric eye; the electric eye! Three cheers for Uncle Bob and Mr. Earle and the electric eye!"

Esther had run forward and was grasping the hand of her kind old friend. Her eyes were brimming over with tears of joy.

"O Uncle Robert, can you really see?"

"Yes, my little maid; I can see everything clearly again, thank God! Let me have a good look at the face of my little woman, for once I thought I should never see it again."

It was hard to say who was happiest that night—Mr. Trelawny with his newly-restored gift, which, if somewhat impaired, would still be strong and serviceable again; or the boys, in their conviction that they had found the means whereby this result had been achieved; or Mrs. St. Aiden, who had found a safe shelter for herself and her child under the care of this kind and wealthy kinsman; or little Esther, who somehow felt that, though another charge had been given her, yet the burden which had rested rather heavily upon her since her father's death had somehow been wonderfully lightened. There was Uncle Robert now to care for them and think for them, and she was so glad it should be so. And she somehow felt almost certain that the Crag would always be their home now.

She was more sure of it upon the night of the feast, when Mr. Trelawny took her by the hand and led her into the big hall that was filled from end to end with people she knew, crowded together at the long tables. She did not understand all the speech that Mr. Trelawny made, for he spoke it in the broad dialect of the country and fisher folk. But they understood, and they shouted and cheered; and then Mr. Trelawny put his hand upon her head, and said,—

"You must make them a little bow, my dear, and I will make a speech for you. Don't you understand that they are paying homage to you? They are accepting you as my little grand-daughter, who will one day rule here in my stead, and they are promising to love and be loyal to you, as I hope you will be loyal and true to them."

And then Mr. Trelawny stooped and lifted her up in his arms and kissed her before them all; and Esther, as she ran away, overcome with all the honor and notice she was receiving, felt as though such a wonderful Christmas-tide could never come again.

THE END.

A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONS
For Young People
BY POPULAR WRITERS,

97-99-101 Reade Street, New York.

Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G. A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a Jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches Paris, and serves with the French army at Dettingen. He kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of Prince Charlie, but finally settles happily in Scotland.

"Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'Quentin Durward.' The lad's journey across France, and his hairbreadth escapes, make up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. For freshness of treatment and variety of incident Mr. Henty has surpassed himself."—Spectator.

With Clive in India; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. At its commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and of the greater part of Southern India. The author has given a full and accurate account of the events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interest to the volume.

"He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. Young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume."—Scotsman.

The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars of Religion. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by John Schönberg. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the Thirty Years' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in Germany. The army of the chivalrous king of Sweden was largely composed of Scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story.

"The tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited."—Times.

The Dragon and the Raven; or, The Days of King Alfred. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. Staniland, R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his home, takes to the sea and resists the Danes on their own element, and being pursued by them up the Seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of Paris.

"Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader."—Athenæum.

The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. Staniland, R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

Boys reading the history of the Punic Wars have seldom a keen appreciation of the merits of the contest. That it was at first a struggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of Carthage, that Hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he defeated the Romans at Trebia, Lake Trasimenus, and Cannæ, and all but took Rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their knowledge. To let them know more about this momentous struggle for the empire of the world Mr. Henty has written this story, which not only gives in graphic style a brilliant description of a most interesting period of history, but is a tale of exciting adventure sure to secure the interest of the reader.

"Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."—Saturday Review.

In Freedom's Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story the author relates the stirring tale of the Scottish War of Independence. The extraordinary valor and personal prowess of Wallace and Bruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry, and indeed at one time Wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. The researches of modern historians have shown, however, that he was a living, breathing man—and a valiant champion. The hero of the tale fought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure.

"It is written in the author's best style. Full of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one side."—The Schoolmaster.

With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving his sympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less courage and enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events of the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness and, in two cases, the devotion of a black servant and of a runaway slave whom he had assisted, bring him safely through all difficulties.

"One of the best stories for lads which Mr. Henty has yet written. The picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story."—Standard.

By England's Aid; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse, and Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting Veres." After many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the Armada, and escapes only to fall into the hands of the Corsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain under the protection of a wealthy merchant, and regains his native country after the capture of Cadiz.

"It is an admirable book for youngsters. It overflows with stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of the scene are finely reproduced. The illustrations add to its attractiveness."—Boston Gazette.

By Right of Conquest; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey, and Two Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.50.

The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under the magnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightly ranked among the most romantic and daring exploits in history. With this as the groundwork of his story Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an English youth, Roger Hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship Swan, which had sailed from a Devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the Spaniards in the New World. He is beset by many perils among the natives, but is saved by his own judgment and strength, and by the devotion of an Aztec princess. At last by a ruse he obtains the protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of Mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming Aztec bride.

"'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that Mr. Henty has yet published."—Academy.

In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by J. Schönberg. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of a French marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to Paris at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. After hairbreadth escapes they reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned to death in the coffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy protector.

"Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict.... The story is one of Mr. Henty's best."—Saturday Review.

With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In the present volume Mr. Henty gives an account of the struggle between Britain and France for supremacy in the North American continent. On the issue of this war depended not only the destinies of North America, but to a large extent those of the mother countries themselves. The fall of Quebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race should predominate in the New World; that Britain, and not France, should take the lead among the nations of Europe; and that English and American commerce, the English language, and English literature, should spread right round the globe.

"It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and field."—Illustrated London News.

True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who took part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which American and British soldiers have been engaged did they behave with greater courage and good conduct. The historical portion of the book being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins on the shores of Lake Huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven with the general narrative and carried through the book.

"Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against American emancipation. The son of an American loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very Huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of Hawkeye and Chingachgook."—The Times.

The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. He contributes largely to the victories of the Venetians at Porto d'Anzo and Chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the daughter of one of the chief men of Venice.

"Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark.' Mr. Henty has never produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious."—Saturday Review.

A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by W. B. Wollen. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to Australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. A few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter.

"Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully constructed, or a better written story than this."—Spectator.

Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages.

"A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, one would think, to turn his hair gray."—Harper's Monthly Magazine.

By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. His hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompanies the English expedition on their march to Coomassie.

"Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'By Sheer Pluck' will be eagerly read."—Athenæum.

By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Maynard Brown, and 4 Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story Mr. Henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of an English boy in the household of the ablest man of his age—William the Silent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea-captain, enters the service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes through the great sieges of the time. He ultimately settles down as Sir Edward Martin.

"Boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students in spite of themselves."—St. James' Gazette.

St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction of the Spanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie rising; these are treated by the author in "St. George for England." The hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a London apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the Black Prince.

"Mr. Henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labors of Sir Walter Scott in the land of fiction."—The Standard.

Captain's Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor Boy. By James Franklin Fitts. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy Portuguese and Spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes—sinister-looking fellows who once on a time haunted the Spanish Main, sneaking out from some hidden creek in their long, low schooner, of picaroonish rake and sheer, to attack an unsuspecting trading craft. There were many famous sea rovers in their day, but none more celebrated than Capt. Kidd. Perhaps the most fascinating tale of all is Mr. Fitts' true story of an adventurous American boy, who receives from his dying father an ancient bit of vellum, which the latter obtained in a curious way. The document bears obscure directions purporting to locate a certain island in the Bahama group, and a considerable treasure buried there by two of Kidd's crew. The hero of this book, Paul Jones Garry, is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water New England ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press.

Captain Bayley's Heir: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. Paget. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a considerable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves England for America. He works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with Indians to the Californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader.

"Mr. Henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of John Holl, the Westminster dustman, Dickens himself could hardly have excelled."—Christian Leader.

For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes. By G. A. Henty. With full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the Malays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding to join the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the force under General Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried to Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and takes part in the final defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan.

"The best feature of the book—apart from the interest of its scenes of adventure—is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the Afghan people."—Daily News.

Captured by Apes: The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal Trainer. By Harry Prentice. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

The scene of this tale is laid on an island in the Malay Archipelago. Philip Garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of New York, sets sail for Eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. The vessel is wrecked off the coast of Borneo and young Garland, the sole survivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. The lad discovers that the ruling spirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic and vicious baboon, whom he identifies as Goliah, an animal at one time in his possession and with whose instruction he had been especially diligent. The brute recognizes him, and with a kind of malignant satisfaction puts his former master through the same course of training he had himself experienced with a faithfulness of detail which shows how astonishing is monkey recollection. Very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapes death. Mr. Prentice has certainly worked a new vein on juvenile fiction, and the ability with which he handles a difficult subject stamps him as a writer of undoubted skill.