inwardly. “I have lost the Cloak and the Cap and now the Book, and at last I am disenchanted.” Wendell was glad she felt so good about it. He stayed invisible, never-the-less, and hurried out after his slave, who was now nowhere in sight. His trail could be followed, however, by a long line of small boys, stringing out after him as if they were running to a fire. As it seemed impossible to overtake him on foot, Wendell took an electric for home. Evidently, his slave was there before him, to judge from the excitement that still reigned among the boys on his block. “Say, Wendell,” they hailed him, “you ought to ’a seen the guy that just went into your house!”

Wendell found the front door intact, and went up to his room. There on his study table lay the Book. The slave had vanished. Wendell’s first impulse was to read it from cover to cover, but he was mindful of the Pixie’s warning. He had already had one demonstration of the wonderful power and immediate operation of its charms. This once, it had turned out very neatly for him, but he might not be so fortunate another time. So he opened the Book very gingerly and pressed his lips tight together, for fear of being betrayed by his intense interest into reading some powerful and dangerous passage aloud.

The first thing that Wendell noticed was that it was all written or printed by hand and was evidently the work of different persons; that is, the letters, some in print, some in script, changed their character from page to page, and the ink was in varying degrees of paleness, as if the transcription had been made at different epochs. Wendell observed also that the pages of paper differed. In fact, some of them were not paper at all. There were pages of very thin leather of different shades, and a sort of tough fibrous substance (that was parchment, had Wendell known it), and some strips of bark, like bark of the birch or ash. And there were paper leaves, also, but yellowed and old, none of it modern. The Book was evidently a bound collection of old manuscripts, brought together from what sources, by what means, and through how many ages, the boy could not even guess. But it was a fascinating thing for magic-loving Wendell to examine, even though much of it was unintelligible, and much more of no possible use to Wendell. He turned the brittle, fragile pages with the utmost care, fingering each at the right-hand top corner, and turning the entire page with his flat hand, very, very carefully.

The titles of the chapters, or charms, or whatever they were, delighted him beyond measure:—

“There you are, Wendell, my boy,” said a friendly voice, and Wendell looked around and found that the Pixie was looking over his shoulder at the Book.

CHAPTER XV

A CHOICE OF CHARMS

“HELLO, old sport!” said Wendell; “I didn’t expect you till Monday.”

“Oh, I just dropped in,” said the Pixie. “Great book, isn’t it? But, go easy, son, go easy. Danger, you know.”

“Yes, I am going easy,” said Wendell. “I haven’t read one word out loud. It’s some book, though!”

“Let’s read that thing about giants,” suggested the Pixie. “That ought to just suit your case.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in reading this aloud,” said Wendell, hesitatingly. “Just sort of directions, you see.”

“Go slowly,” commanded the Pixie. “And if you see any charm coming to meet you, stop short.”

Wendell read:—

“‘Method ye first:—To kill a giant—’”

“Put salt on his tail,” interpolated the Pixie.

“Please listen,” said Wendell, and went on,—

“‘Dig a hole deeper than his height a few steps from his door. Cover it with branches of trees. Standing on the further side, away from his house, taunt him in a loud voice. When he rushes out, he will fall into the hole, and can be easily despatched.’”

“By whom?” inquired the Pixie, after deep thought. “I vote, not by me.”

“Well, here’s another,” said Wendell. “‘Method ye second:—Assume the disguise of a wayworn traveler. Knock at the giant’s door and ask for a night’s lodging.’—I can’t do that,” said Wendell. “He knows me by smell.”

“Never mind. Read it through,” said the Pixie.

“‘He will tell you that he has no extra bed, but that you are welcome to share his son’s.’—Yes, but he hasn’t a son,” said Wendell.

“Never mind. It’s interesting. Go on,” said the Pixie.

“‘When you go to bed, he will put a gold chain around his son’s neck and a hempen rope round your neck. As soon as he has left you, put the hempen rope round his son’s neck and the gold chain round your own neck, and then feign sleep. After a time, the giant will return. He will feel for the gold chain, and finding it on your neck, and the hempen rope on his son’s neck, he will cut off his son’s head with his sword. You must then wait until you hear the giant’s snores, and rising quickly’—”

“Taking care,” suggested the Pixie, “not to step on a tack.”

“‘—make your way to his bedside, and lop off his head with his own sword.’”

“Too much shortening in that recipe,” said the Pixie. “Try another.”

“‘Giant-killing as recommended by Puss-in-Boots,’” read Wendell. “‘Invite the giant to a feast at your castle, and after he is in a good humor, make a wager that you can change yourself into an animal more quickly than he can. Change yourself into a cat; and whatever form the giant assumes, whether that of lion, tiger, leopard, or what-not, let the onlookers declare that the contest is a draw and that the trial must be made again. Convince the giant that in order to insure a perfectly fair trial, both contestants should change to the same shape, and choose that of a mouse. At the word, allow the giant to take the shape of a mouse, while you retain that of a cat, and immediately devour him.’”

“That sounds rather good,” said the Pixie approvingly. “You’d have to practice your transformations at home, first, of course, and be sure you have the charm down pat.”

Wendell did not answer immediately. “Say, that gives me an idea,” he finally declared. “Why kill the Giant, anyway?”

“To please the Beauteous Maiden, of course,” said the Pixie.

“Yes, but why kill him?” questioned Wendell. “Why not just change him into something good and harmless and useful. The Beauteous Maiden would like that just as well, wouldn’t she?”

“Well, you can ask her,” said the Pixie. “This is the age of labor-saving. Only, killing seems more definite, somehow, more final. But you can ask her.”

“I’ll try to get her on the ’phone, now,” said Wendell, “and you be thinking up something to change him to. And say, look in the Book and find the charm for it.”

Wendell was gone for some time. “I couldn’t get her,” he said when he returned. “But I’m sure she’ll be willing. We’ll go ahead and plan something anyway. Did you find a charm?”

“Oh, yes, loads of them,” said the Pixie. “Just listen to these:—

“Hold on,” said Wendell. “We don’t want any of those. Find a general one, to change him into any old thing. We can decide what afterwards.”

“All right,” said the Pixie. “I’ll keep on looking, and you keep on thinking.”

“We might change him into a janitor,” suggested Wendell, who had been looking idly out of the window until his eye fell on the janitor of Sammy’s apartment house. “He’s useful, you know. He puts out ashes and runs the furnace.”

“Oh, that would never do,” cried the Pixie. “That Giant has shown he can’t be trusted in any position of absolute authority and unlimited despotism. You must curtail his powers instead of enlarging them.”

“A cook would be good,” said Wendell, who really had a very practical mind. “My mother and all her friends say there aren’t enough cooks to go ’round.”

“I told you,” said the Pixie wearily, “you must curtail his powers. Just use your brain a little. Isn’t the cook the greatest power in the household? Might as well leave him a giant and be done with it!”

“Well, I can’t think,” said Wendell. “I don’t know anything useful. A victrola, perhaps. I wonder if the Beauteous Maiden has a victrola. I’m sure she can think of something, anyhow.”

Sure enough, the Beauteous Maiden was resourceful enough to meet the situation. She called Wendell up herself, after school Monday, just as he was going to the telephone to try to get her.

Of course, Wendell had not been idle over Sunday. He had made himself thoroughly familiar with all the various charms for transforming people that he could find in the Book. There was one first-class charm that suited him to perfection, because it was adaptable. With this charm, you could change anything to anything else, anywhere, at any time. Wendell practiced with it, in a harmless sort of way, quite a little, to be sure he could work it. He changed his eraser to a bean-shooter, first, and shot beans at some cats on the back fence. Then he changed a very handsome and unread copy of Macaulay’s History of England that his aunt had given him into a gold watch, which, however, he was careful to keep out of sight of the family, especially Cousin Virginia. He changed an old pen-wiper into a box of caramels. That was an inspiration. And in Sunday school he changed a hymnal into a mouse that ran across the Sunday school room and made quite a diversion. That was one of his successes. He did another interesting thing. He changed Sammy’s janitor into a crab just as he was crossing the street. That was an easy change, because Sammy’s janitor was something of a crab, anyway. He changed him back again, though, because a street on Beacon Hill is no place for a crab. By the time he heard from the Beauteous Maiden, he felt quite ready to carry out any suggestions she might offer.

CHAPTER XVI

THE HAPPY FAMILY

“I HAVE so much to tell you,” said the Beauteous Maiden’s happy voice over the telephone. “Listen. I’ve heard from Mummer. She ’phoned. My Cruel Stepmother, you know, only she isn’t any more. She says she is entirely disenchanted, and she was perfectly lovely to me. I told her all about you, and she was so pleased. She wants to meet you, of course, but I thought it was safer to wait until you had killed the Giant. Mummer says he’s terribly hard to get on with, now that she’s stopped being a witch. He doesn’t like it a bit. When do you think you can kill him?”

“I want to ask you about that,” interrupted Wendell, and he laid his plan before her. “The Beauteous Maiden was very enthusiastic over it.”

“Better!” she exclaimed. “Oh, much better! Now what shall he be changed to? Something useful, as you say.”

“I thought of a victrola,” urged Wendell, who was fond of music. “You haven’t a victrola, have you? And every family needs one.”

“No—o, we haven’t,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “That’s rather good, if we can’t think of anything better. But, let me see. What we really need in our family, more than a victrola, even, is Social Placement,—Background,—that sort of thing, you know. Even with Youth, Innocence, and Beauty, you do need Background, too, if you know what I mean. And it’s been an awfully hard thing to manage—impossible, really—with a Giant and a Witch right in plain sight in the family. Now what can you change the Giant to that will be most useful for Background?”

“Mayflower Society?” said Wendell. “Sons of the American Revolution? We have a lot of those in our family. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“In a way,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “But those things aren’t any use unless they are handled properly. I’ll tell you the kind of thing I mean,—a Harvard professor, say. That would give us Atmosphere as well as Background.”

“But they’d have to create a special Chair for him, wouldn’t they?” hesitated Wendell.

“Why, no,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “You’ll change him down small, of course, and then he can use any chair they have.”

“Well, all right,” said Wendell. “I’ll do it this afternoon, if you like.”

“Oh, will you?” cried the Beauteous Maiden. “That will be simply wonderful. And we’ll go out to call on them to-morrow afternoon if you can.”

So it was settled. Wendell was to work the charm at once and meet the Maiden at the Frog Pond after school next day. Of course, it was a perfectly easy thing for Wendell to do, after all his practice; so he was sure the charm had worked, and felt entirely safe in going out to Brookline with the Beauteous Maiden next afternoon. She looked very charming when he met her at the Frog Pond. Even though not liking her general style, Wendell had to admit that she was good looking.

“I’m making a tremendous success,” she told him. “And listen. I have such good news for the family. I’ve got a job for my sister in character parts. Isn’t that fine! Poor thing! Of course she never could play anything calling for Youth, Innocence and Beauty, but she has just the face for character parts. Don’t you think so?”

How very strange it seemed to Wendell to be alighting from the electric at the familiar corner, to be retracing his hazardous steps towards that dangerous house, in perfect safety, on an entirely conventional errand. He said so to the Beauteous Maiden, and she smiled and answered softly.

“I know you ran some frightful risks for my sake. Believe me, I am not unappreciative, as time will show.”

Wendell wished he hadn’t mentioned it.

The neat white house was unchanged without, but the moment the Beauteous Maiden opened the door with her latch key and called, “Mummer, I’m here,” Wendell was conscious of an entire change in the mental atmosphere. The Good Stepmother came running out from the kitchen to meet them. Her gray hair was arranged in a recent and becoming fashion; she had had her projecting teeth out and had some new pivot teeth that looked much better; and she wore an inexpensive but tasteful afternoon frock. But the greatest change was in her sweet motherly face. She put her arms around the Beauteous Maiden, half laughing and half crying, called over her shoulder, “Daughter, Daughter, here’s your dear sister,” and then drew her into the living-room for one more kiss. The Beauteous Maiden, for her part, looked up at her mother with all her Youth, Innocence, and Beauty shining in her eyes, and said,

“Mummer, dear, you must meet my Deliverer, Wendell Bradford. I can’t tell in one breath how much he has done for me, but when you know it all, you will welcome him as a son even as you welcome me as a daughter,” and Wendell found himself folded in the Good Stepmother’s embrace.

He was very much alarmed, and before he could escape, he found the Stepsister giving him a sisterly kiss too.

“You know,” he explained, in horrible embarrassment, “I’m not old enough to think about marrying.” He hoped this would end the matter, but the Good Stepmother said, “I know she will wait for you, dear boy;” at which Wendell writhed, but tried to hide it.

Then the ex-giant came in, and such a family reunion as took place then! The present professor was a scholarly looking man with a benignant face. He welcomed the Beauteous Maiden with great affection, and shook Wendell’s hand cordially and called him a noble fellow.

The family had so much to talk about, after their long separation, that they hardly knew where to begin. The Beauteous Maiden had told her mother over the telephone all about her success in the pictures; but of course her Stepsister had innumerable questions to ask her, for movie-life is always fascinating to non-professionals. When the Stepsister heard that the magic doors of movie-land had been opened to her, too, through this excellent offer to play character parts, she almost wept for joy.

“And to think of my envy and jealousy of you, dear Sister,” she said, “and what kindness you are showing to me now, in spite of it all!”

“Hush! do not let us speak of that!” said the Beauteous Maiden. “You know, my Youth, Innocence, and Beauty are equalled only by my Beauty of Character.”

Then the family plans had to be discussed. The ex-giant was very happy in his professorship, and talked enthusiastically of the courses that he was to give, and an annotated text-book that he had been asked to edit.

“Then there is the question of my library,” he said. “Have you any idea of the size of a college professor’s library?”

Wendell said he hadn’t.

“Well, I haven’t either,” said the Professor. “But I’ve been shopping for a library this morning, and I talked with a very intelligent second-hand-bookstore man. He said five feet was the standard length for a student’s library, and he showed me several five-foot-lengths that had been turned in to him by college students—in excellent condition. Some of them, indeed, looked as if they had never been opened. I bought ten lengths. Don’t you think fifty feet of library should be about right for a professor, if five feet is required for a student?”

Wendell and the family, after some intelligent discussion of this point, agreed with him.

Wendell was feeling quite at home with his new acquaintances by this time. The Professor sat in a big Morris chair with the Beauteous Maiden on a cricket at his feet, while his hand strayed lovingly among her curls. The Stepsister perched with one arm around the Professor’s neck. On the sofa, the motherly Stepmother sat beside Wendell and leaned over occasionally to pat his hand. It was altogether a charming scene of family happiness, such as is too rare, alas! in these modern days of automobiling, jazz, and summer camps. Wendell was thinking how happy they all seemed, when the Stepsister suddenly said,

“You’ll have me for bridesmaid, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, dear, if Wendell agrees with me,” said the Beauteous Maiden, smiling.

Poor Wendell! With all his heart he wished that he had never become involved in his heroic role. Of course, as Deliverer, he had to marry the Beauteous Maiden, but he did not conceal from himself the fact that he had never really fancied her. “Even when she was a Frog,” he thought, “I didn’t want her around.” He was thoroughly unhappy.

CHAPTER XVII

SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND

THE Stepsister brought him some lemonade and delicious nutcakes before they left, and Wendell felt better after he had eaten five of them. Still, he was glad when the affectionate farewells were over, and he and the Beauteous Maiden were once more on their way to Boston.

By chance, they met on the electrics a friend of the Beauteous Maiden’s, a moving-picture friend, her leading man, in fact. He seemed very, very glad to see the Beauteous Maiden. After being introduced to Wendell, he sat down on the other side of the Beauteous Maiden, and began to talk to her very low and earnestly. The Beauteous Maiden was evidently uncomfortable. She kept turning around and trying to include Wendell in the conversation, and she laughed a good deal at whatever the young man was saying, and tried to make light of what was apparently to him a serious matter.

Now Wendell had the Cap of Thought in his pocket, and as he couldn’t hear one word that the young man was saying and the Beauteous Maiden evidently didn’t wish him to be left out, he took out the Magic Cap and slipped it on under his own cap as a convenience.

Around him rose the confused babble of many thoughts; but to his utmost amazement, close beside him was a sound of sobbing, of heart-breaking sobbing, although the Beauteous Maiden was laughing gayly.

And what was she thinking? “Oh, my dear Deliverer, I must marry you when you grow up. The Deliverer always expects it. And never, never, shall I let you suspect that this young man who plays my leading parts is the only man in the world for me, that I love him as maiden never loved before. No, though his heart and mine shall break, I shall uphold the traditions of all fairy tales and marry you according to the book.”

An old gentleman, reading his paper across the aisle, received a great shock at this moment. His paper was suddenly dashed from his hand by a boy’s cap, which descended suddenly from above. It was Wendell’s cap,—not the magic one,—and he had thrown it in the air with a sudden “Hurrah!” as he heard what the Beauteous Maiden was thinking.

After he had picked up the old gentleman’s paper and apologized, he pulled at the sleeve of the Beauteous Maiden and said,

“Listen here a minute. I heard what you thought.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Maiden.

“I have on the Cap of Thought,” said Wendell.

“Why, so you have,” said she.

“And I wish you wouldn’t feel so bad,” he went on. “You can marry the young man just as well as not. I don’t want you to wait for me. By the time I’m grown up, I may like some other girl better. Anyway, you just needn’t consider me. Suit yourself entirely.”

“Do you mean that? Really?” she asked.

“I certainly do,” said Wendell fervently.

“Oh, how perfectly wonderful!” she cried; and then Wendell took off his Cap of Thought, for her thoughts of the young man grew so enthusiastic that Wendell was rather bored by listening in.

“Well, that’s well over,” he said to himself gayly “And I’m certainly coming out of this adventure all to the good. There’s the Pixie doing my fractions for me. There’s the Cloak of Darkness and the Cap of Thought whenever I want to do a little sleuthing, and there’s the Magic Book for all-’round enchantment. I certainly am in luck.”

At Park Street he said good-bye to the grateful Beauteous Maiden and her leading man and started along Joy Street for home, with a light-heartedness that he had not known for days. He turned into his own street and there was Sammy Davis, shinnying up a street lamp.

“Hi, Sam!” he called. “Come on over.” He suddenly realized that he had lost track of Sammy lately, with so many magic tasks on foot.

“Come on in, Sam,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Sam came in.

“It’s up in my room,” said Wendell. “Come on up.”

Once there, Wendell brought out the Cloak of Darkness.

“Is that all?” asked Sammy.

“That’s enough, I guess,” said Wendell. “You just wait.”

He threw the Cloak around his shoulders. Sammy stared open-mouthed. He gazed around the room, then started up in fright and rushed to the open window.

“Here I am,” cried Wendell, and stood there grinning, visible once more.

While Sammy still stood staring, Wendell pulled the Cloak around himself again, and laughed outright at Sammy’s face. Then he came into sight again and asked generously,

“Want to try it yourself?”

Of course Sammy wanted to; and the boys took turns being “it” in a novel kind of blind-man’s-buff, which was a great deal more fun to Wendell than when he had played the same game with the Giant.

After that, Wendell brought out the Cap of Thought and adjusted it to his head. “Now think of something, Sammy,” he said.

“Think of what?” asked Sammy, his mind immediately becoming a perfect blank, as Wendell could feel.

“Oh, say a verse,” suggested Wendell. “That’s right:—‘Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.’”

“Gee, Wendell! How do you do it?” asked Sammy in bewilderment.

“Try it again,” said Wendell. “I get you. ‘The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rockbound coast.’”

“I know something,” said Sammy. “You hold on a minute. I got you stung this time.”

Sure enough! Though Wendell could get the sounds perfectly, they were too unfamiliar for him to repeat.

“I can’t say it,” he explained, “but I can hear it all right. It’s some foreign language. I’ll bet it’s Yiddish.”

“Yes, it is,” said Sammy. “Now let me try.”

So Wendell put the Cap on Sammy’s head and thought, “Sammy Davis, you’re a nut!” and Sammy grinned and enjoyed the joke on himself.

“Gee, Wendell!” said Sammy. “You certainly are in luck. You can go anywhere and find out anything. You are a lucky dog!”

“Yes sir!” said Wendell. “And I’ll never have to study again. I can just wear this Cap in school and when the teacher gives out a question, I’ll read the answer right in his mind, and say it right off. I’ll do that all through school and all through college, and then when I’m in business, I’ll put on the Cloak and go right into the offices of all the big business men, Rockefeller and Henry Ford and everybody, and wear the Cap and find out just what they are thinking and how they make their money, and I’ll make mine the same way.”

“Gee!” said Sammy again and could find no further speech.

“And that isn’t all,” said Wendell. “Here’s the biggest thing yet.”

“What is it anyway?” demanded Sammy, looking suspiciously at the magic volume.

“A Book of Spells,” said Wendell impressively.

“Huh! A spelling book, eh?” echoed Sammy unenthusiastically.

“NO, no,” said Wendell. “Spells. Charms, you know. Enchantments. Look here,” turning the pages: “‘HOW TO TURN BASE METALS INTO GOLD.’ ‘THE EASIEST WAY TO DISENCHANT A DUMB PRINCESS.’ ‘SOME TRIED METHODS FOR KILLING GIANTS.’”

“Hey! Lemme see,” cried Sammy. “Some book, I’ll say. ‘HOW TO PLACE A LOST RING IN A FISH’S MOUTH.’ What do you know! ‘HOW TO LOCATE THE PLACE WHERE TREASURE IS BURIED.’ Some book, I’ll tell the world! Say, some of this don’t make much sense, does it? ‘Abacadabra, alaka, balaka,—’” he spelled out a word or two.

A horrible odor filled the room,—like burnt scrambled eggs, thought Wendell. There floated before his eyes a dimness as of smoke. It took shape of an awful humanness, and took color as of white ashes. It slowly took on a dull glow, which brightened until before the boys’ terrified vision stood a horrible demon, angrily glowing a fiery red. He gave out heat like a kitchen stove on ironing-day, and the rug where he stood began to smoke.

“What are your commands?” he hissed.

There were none. Both boys were through the door and downstairs before he had finished the question. Sammy fled in terror before that frightful apparition, and Wendell went to bring Sammy back,—but he didn’t think of that good reason till afterwards. Neither boy paused in flight till the street was reached.

“Did he have hoofs and a tail?” gasped Sammy.

They stared up at the top windows. A jet of flame shot up. The muslin window curtain was on fire.

“Fire!!!” yelled Sammy, dashing down the street to the alarm box. Wendell—this to his credit—ran back into the burning house and alarmed the family. Mrs. Bradford rushed for her jewels. Cousin Virginia, with great presence of mind, put in a fire call by telephone. Sammy’s alarm had already reached the fire station on Mt. Vernon Street. Almost as Virginia left the telephone, the clang of the engines was heard, and a line of firemen carried the hose upstairs, with their formula, “Is everybody out?” The servants rushed clamoring to the street. Virginia ran to help and reassure Mrs. Bradford, and Wendell followed the last fireman up to his room.

The smoke was so dense that at first he could see nothing. Then he saw that the stream of chemical had extinguished all the flames, and was now directed at a fiery pillar in a sort of human shape that glowed redly through the smoke. Wendell alone knew what it was. Little by little the angry glow faded to white ashes. Gradually it dimmed to floating smoke. The fire was out. The smoke cleared. The firemen withdrew. The family assembled to view the blackened walls, to sniff the depressing odor, as of a burnt-out district, to exclaim over the havoc and ruin wrought in those few minutes.

“How did it happen?” everyone asked, and

“I don’t know,” said Wendell helplessly. How could he explain?

“Wasn’t that Sammy Davis in here?” asked the cook. “You two boys were up to something, I know.”

His pretty room was a thing of the past—completely burnt out. The walls were black. A few charred rags had once been window curtains. A sodden rag underfoot was his rug. The closet was burned through. Blackened shreds of garments hung on the nails. Wendell’s desk was but charred timbers. His books were paper ashes.

“I know why Wendell looks so woe-begone!” said Cousin Virginia. “His school books are burned.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” said his mother. “Everything is covered by insurance. You wanted your room re-decorated, you know, and it is easy to replace the clothes and books.”

Ah, yes, but who could replace the Cloak of Darkness? Who could restore the Cap of Thought? What insurance would cover the Book of Spells? Wendell was doomed once more to the drudgery of other mortals, to learning his lessons like other boys, to plodding his toilsome way through college, to making his own business success, unaided by the great minds of the world’s financiers. No wonder he stood there glum and almost tearful amid the blackened ruins of his room and of his future.

Then suddenly, as he stood by the window, his eyes fell upon the street below and the crowd of neighbor boys still lingering about the scene of the fire, and upon the stone post that stood at the entrance to the court over the way. And his eyes brightened to something like happy anticipation as he said under his breath,

“Well, anyway, I have one wish left on the Wishing Stone.”