It occurred to Antony to look out just once before retiring for the night. So he passed through the saloon and gently opened the door. The white tents moving in the moonlight, the big black barn of a theatre, the gray, uncertain sea touched here and there with the sheen of moon and silver stars. Was that all? No; for not far from his own great caravan was a cosy, broad-wheeled gipsy-cart, from the wee curtained window of which a crimson light streamed over the yellow sand.

It must be Lotty's and Wallace's he believed. And there was a sense of companionship in the very thought that they were so near to him. So Antony locked his door and retired.

. . . . . . .

'Hallo! hallo!' roared Antony. 'What on earth'——

Then, remembering where he was, he jumped out of bed, flew through the saloon, and opened the back-door.

A great, fat young face beamed up at him from the foot of the steps like a setting sun.

'It's only me, sir. It's only Chops, come for your boots, sir.'

'Here you are, Chops lad. But mind you don't black these; they're patent leather.'

'Lo'd love ye, sir, I knows to a nicety. I never does black patenters. Only just spits on 'em, sir. Back presently, sir, wi' your cup o' tea.'

The figure retreated, taking the fat face and the patent leather boots with it, and Frank Antony Blake yawned a bit and then proceeded to dress, wondering to himself what pleasure, if any, the coming day might bring him.

CHAPTER IV.

'EVER BEEN AN INFANT PRODIGY?' SAID LOTTY.

'There, there, you're a thoughtful lad, I'm sure; but—er—if you don't mind, I'll wait for my boots.'

'Gemman wants ter see ye, sir,' said Chops a minute after.

The 'gemman' was the porter from the station, carrying Frank Antony's bag on his left shoulder. He was smiling and pleasant, quite in keeping with the sunny morning.

'I thank you, porter. This is ever so kind of you.'

'First train no' due yet, captain, for an hour and mair. Thought ye might be needin' something oot o' the bag, and so here it is. No, as sure as death, I'll no' tak' a penny. Weel, captain, as you are so pressin'. Thanks; and I'll drink your very good health as soon's the train's oot o' the station.'

The porter had barely gone ere Skeleton hove in sight with a small tray and the morning cup of tea.

Skeleton was very tall, very thin, and so sloping were his shoulders that his jacket seemed slipping off him. His poor face was like that of a snipe, and his eyes the eyes of an owl; two little spots of red were on his high cheek-bones.

No need to be told that this was the Living Skeleton of Biffins Lee's 'Queerest Show on Earth.'

'Are you very ill, poor fellow?'

'What, me? No, sir, I'm first chop. Could get stout in three weeks.'

'Then, for pity's sake, take a three weeks' holiday and fill yourself out.'

'What, me? And spoil the whole show, and lose my income?'

His voice was like that of some one speaking up from a vault.

'I know what you 're thinking, sir.'

'Well?'

'I could see your lips moving, and you seemed to be mumbling a morsel of the Immortal William to yourself. Would you like to have a look at my wife, sir?'

Antony was sitting on a camp-stool, enjoying his tea.

'No, I don't want to have a look at her. What should I want to have a look at your wife for?'

'Oh, she would please you all to pieces.—Mary, my sweet little darling,' he cried, 'flutter this way a moment that our newly come Gipsy King may feast his optics on thy fairy form.'

And Mary did flutter in sight, and presently stood beside Skeleton, smiling and comely.

And this fairy must have turned the scale at five-and-twenty stone! But, so merry her smile and the twinkle in her eyes that, rude though he felt it to be, Antony could not help bursting into a hearty laugh. And she kept him company too.

'I'm really not laughing, you know; but—ha! ha! ha! I'——

'And I'm really not laughing,' cried Mary. 'But—he! he! he! I'——

'This isn't your wife, Skeleton? Now, really, is it, you know?'

'In course she is,' cried the Skeleton. 'You don't mean to go for to think that I'——

'No, no, my good sir, I shouldn't think so for a moment.'

Mary now hit her memento mori of a husband a ringing slap on his bony back.

'Go and do something,' she exclaimed.

Skeleton was evidently accustomed to obey, and bolted at once to do something.

Mary looked after him with a satisfied sigh.

'I've taught my hubbie what man's chief duty is: to do what his missus bids him. Beautiful morning, isn't it, sir,' she added.

Antony made no attempt to deny it.

'You seem very happy here, on the whole,' he remarked.

'Oh, very, sir. But, of course, we all look forward to something better.'

'Beyond death and the grave, eh?'

'Who said anything about death and the grave? Who's going to talk about graves on a day like this? No, sir; but hubbie and I, after a time, look forward to retiring from the show-line and taking a little poultry and milk farm. Then he'll grow fat and I'll grow lean, till we meet like, and live happy ever after. But here comes Chops.'

And Mary floated away.

‘’Am an' heggs, sir; grilled salmon, sir; an' 'spatch-cock! An' w'ich will yer 'ave?'

'What is 'spatch-cock, Master Chops?'

'First ye catches yer little cock, sir, no matter w'ere. Then, w'en 'e's dead an' trussed, ye divides 'im down the back like a kippered 'erring, an' does 'im over a clear fire—gipsy fashion.'

'I'll have 'spatch-cock, Chops.'

'An' please, sir, I was to take the boss's compliments, an' would ye like to 'ave yer meals in the big marquee or in the caravan all by yerself like?'

'My compliments to your master, and please say I'm too shy yet, and so I'll feed where I am for a day or two.'

'Right ye be, sir, an' I was to 'tend on ye like. An' Mrs Pendlebury will make yer bed an' tidy up, an' Lotty Biffins Lee 'erself will put in the wild-flowers.'

'Capital! But who is Mrs Pendlebury?'

'Why, she as 'as just gone hoff—Skeleton's wife.'

'Oh, I see.'

After breakfast Antony was wondering what he should do with himself when there came a rat-tat-tat to the little brass knocker, and, without waiting for a 'come in,' enter Biffins Lee.

'Morning,' he nodded.

'Morning, Mr Lee. Take a seat.'

'That's what I came to do.'

He excavated a huge cigar and was just about to light up, when——

'Hold a moment,' said Antony. 'If ever I become master of this charming palace-on-wheels I will not permit even a duke to smoke and spoil the beautiful curtains.'

'Right ye are, Mr Blake. I desists. Now,' he added, 'I want you to do just as you like in my camp.'

'Thanks, old man! But I should have done what I liked anyhow. Always have done. Always will.'

One does meet men sometimes, and women too, that one feels it impossible to take to at first. From Antony Blake's point of view, this Biffins seemed to be one of these.

In his heart of hearts he trusted he was not wronging the camp-master. Rudeness young Blake could understand and forgive, but offensiveness never. He, Antony, could not forget that he was a gentleman and one of high-caste compared to this showman, and so he was prepared to keep him in his place. Skeleton was a king compared to Biffins, and Mary was a queen.

The man began to whistle an operatic air to himself—more of his ill-manners—and Antony felt he should like to pull him up off his seat and give him one good kick that should land him on the grass among the sea-pinks.

But at present the caravan really belonged to Biffins Lee, and one must think twice before kicking a man out of his own caravan.

'Well, Mr Blake,' said the showman presently, 'whether you buy the "Gipsy Queen" or not, you'll make yourself at home with us for a week or so, won't you?'

This was more kindly spoken, and Antony began to think he was behaving like a cad to Biffins.

'Certainly, certainly, Mr Lee. Excuse my horrid cantankerous bluntness. But I'll buy the "Gipsy Queen." There! That's settled. Cheque when you like.'

'Spoken like a man, young fellow,' and Biffins held out his hand to shake.

Antony could not well refuse this, but the grasp was not a warm one on either side.

'Morning, Mr Blake. Must be going.'

'Morning, Mr Lee. Pray don't mention it.' And, whistling again to himself, Biffins tripped down the stair and walked off.

Antony opened all the windows.

'How that man,' he said to himself, 'can be the father of that sweet lady little Lotty is past all comprehension. However, the caravan is mine now.—Yes, Mrs Pendlebury, come up and do the rooms. I'll walk by the shore for half an hour.'

The tide was running in upon the yellow sand, each tiny wavelet wetting it higher and higher up the beach, its long wavy line showing the tide was beginning to flow. Scarce a whisper from the sea to-day, and its oily reflection almost pained the eyes that received it. Out yonder on this glassy mirror a little boat was bobbing, but so indistinctly that Antony could not at first tell whether it was on the horizon or nearer hand. Presently, however, he could see an arm raised and something flutter. A cry, too, or 'coo-ee!' came across the water, plaintive almost as that of a sea-bird.

Antony waved his handkerchief in return, and almost immediately noticed that the boat had changed its direction, and was putting back towards a point of dark rocks that stood out into the sea about three hundred yards to the west. Thither he bent his steps, the little craft appearing suddenly to get very much larger and more distinct, and he could see now that the single figure who sat therein was Lotty herself.

Next moment he was out on the point-end, the dingy's bows rasping on the black, weed-covered boulder on which he was standing.

'Good-morning, dear. How well you row! Can I assist you up?'

'Oh no, Mr Blake, I am not landing yet. I have had breakfast ever so long ago; and, look, I have caught all these fish! Mind you don't step on them.'

'Am I to come on board, then, and take the oars?'

'You may come on board, but not take the oars. You are just to sit in the stern-sheets and be good.'

'Be good?'

'Yes, Mr Blake; you must not wriggle about, because the Jenny Wren is small, and you are big. If you wriggled much you might capsize.'

'I won't wriggle a bit, Lotty. You are so good!'

'Well,' she told him, 'sit right in the centre aft there, and lean forward, so that your weight may be divided.'

'This way?'

'That way, Mr Blake. Thanks.'

'It isn't a very comfy way to sit, Lotty, and I can't see you without bending back my head.'

'You needn't see me. Keep your face down if you like, and look at the fish. Once,' she continued, 'I took Chops out; but he wobbled and wriggled so much I had to tell him to go; and, of course, he went.'

'What! Jumped into the water?'

'Yes, Mr Blake; he could see I was cross. But Chops is the best swimmer in the world, so he soon got back to shore.'

'I hope, Lotty, you won't tell me to go.'

'Not if you sit still. That's it. Now, you can raise your head and shoulders just a little, so that I can see you talking. Speak!'

'I've nothing to say, Lotty.'

'If you don't speak you'll have to sing, and that will be worse for you, perhaps.'

'Well, child, I'm sure you love the sea.'

'Oh,' she cried enthusiastically, 'I love it! I love it always! I love all of it! It is always speaking to me and saying things in calm and in storm. And all the birds too; they are mine, you know. Watch that gull, Mr Blake, with his clean, clean white wings. He knows me, you know, because I feed him. He is coming nearer and nearer, tack and half-tack. You hear his wings now, don't you? Whiff—whiff—whiff they say. Now, look, but don't move.'

This little gipsy lass lay on her oars for a moment, put half a tiny milk-biscuit between her red lips, and held up her face. It was a sweetly pretty picture. Bare arms, feet, and neck; tiny red hands that held the oars; hair like dark seaweed afloat on her shapely shoulders.

Whiff—whiff—whiff went the clean white wings—it was underneath they were so radiantly white, and ever and anon turned the bird's graceful head to gaze red-eyed at Antony. Next moment the biscuit was whisked from the child's lips, and the bird was sailing for the rocks.

'You have been very good to sit so still, Mr Blake. The birds will know you now. I may take you out some time again. Sometimes I hoist a mainsail, but not a gaff. You know what the gaff is, don't you, Mr Blake?'

'Oh, yes, a hook-thing you land salmon with when you'——

Lotty was laughing merrily. 'I see you've never been much to sea,' she said. 'If I shipped the rudder and hoisted sail I suppose you couldn't manage the tiller and the sheet of the main as well. You know in a little bit of a skiff like this it wouldn't do to make fast the sheet, else if an extra puff came, then, before you could ease off over she would go.'

'Precisely, Lotty, precisely.' He didn't know what else to say.

Lotty was silent for a moment. 'You know so little about boats, Mr Blake,' she said demurely; 'but I know what I can do with you if I take you for a sail.'

'Yes?'

'I should make you lie down fore and aft right along the keelson, on your back, head to the bows so as I could see you. But quite still you know.'

'Certainly, quite still. I understand that.'

'Then I would have you for company, and you would do for ballast as well.'

'Quite a charming arrangement, Lotty. But I wouldn't see much, would I?'

'You would see me managing the sail and holding the tiller as I tacked or took her about.'

'But tell me this, Lotty. Aren't you afraid of catching cold without shoes or stockings?'

'Oh no. Besides, you see, shoes and stockings are properties, and I mustn't spoil properties with salt-water and fishy slime.'

'No, that would never do, dear.'

'You're not making fun of me, are you?'

'I shouldn't dream of such a thing.'

'Very well. Now you may sing. "Row, brothers, row" will do.'

Luckily, Antony knew this beautiful hymn-like song, and he had a splendid soprano voice. Lotty joined him, and there were tears in her eyes. She lay on the oars again to wipe them.

'I think I must have caught a cold,' said this queer little gipsy girl. 'I say, Mr Blake, have you ever been a freak?'

'A freak? Well, not at a show. My father called me a freak once, I think.'

'I'm a freak now, Mr Blake, and have been for many, many long years. Heigh-ho!'

'Where does the freak come in, child?'

'Oh, I am a violinist, you know. Father says I used to sit up and play in my bassinette. Then I'm a freak telling fortunes; but father takes the money.'

'No doubt.'

'Have you ever been an infant prodigy?'

'No, only an infant prodigal.'

'But when I was only four—ages and ages ago—I used to stand on one leg on my father's hand when he was galloping round the ring on his Araby steed. Then he would jerk his arm, and I would spring high in the air, turn a somersault, and alight in the hand again with my arms turned up and my eyes looking to heaven. And the people cheered, and I used to be handed round for the ladies to kiss. I hated that part. Heigh-ho! We've only a little show now, and if it wasn't for the merman we couldn't live.'

'Have you a real merman?'

'Father must tell you all about that,' she answered hurriedly. 'But mind, Mr Blake, you must never ask me anything about the show. You promise?'

'I promise.'

'Never—never—never?'

'Never—never—never,' said Antony.

She quickly put about the boat. 'You see the flag half-mast, don't you? Well, that is my recall. It will only be an hour's rehearsal to-day. Then, if you please, Mr Blake, we'll go for a walk with Wallace.'

CHAPTER V.

THE QUEEREST SHOW.—A DAY IN THE WILDS.

'It is no business of mine,' he told himself. 'I like a little mystery so long as there is poetry and romance in it, and so long as I am not asked to solve it. Elucidation is a hateful thing. Let me see now. I used to be good at transposing letters and turning words into something else. "Elucidation?" The first two syllables easily make "Euclid," and the last four letters "not I." There it is: "Elucidation—Euclid. Not I." Suits me all to pieces, for I never could stand old Euclid, and I was just as determined as any mule not to cross the pons asinorum' (the bridge of asses).

There was a quiet but heavy footstep on the back stairs, and when Antony opened the door the beautiful Newfoundland walked solemnly in and lay down on the saloon carpet.

'Hallo! Wallace, old man, aren't you at rehearsal?'

Wallace never moved, nor did he wag even the tip of his tail; but not for one moment did he take his wise brown eyes off Antony. The dog was watching him, studying him, and without doubt trying to get a little insight into his character. The scrutiny grew almost painful at last, and Antony, to relieve the intensity of it, went and fetched a milk-biscuit from his little cupboard.

'Wallace hungry, eh? Poor dog then!'

But the 'poor dog' would look neither at the biscuit-box nor at the biscuit, only quietly at the young man's face.

Antony laid the biscuit on the poor dog's nose. The poor dog did not even shake it off, so that Antony, half-ashamed, took it off again and even dusted the soiled part of the nose.

'I wonder if he thinks me a fool?' said Antony half-aloud. 'Of course, I know I am; but how should a dog know it?'

But, much to his relief, Wallace gave vent to a satisfied sort of a sigh at last, and sat up. Presently he put one enormous paw on Antony's knee, and from that moment friendship was established.

'Will you take the biscuit now, Wallace boy?'

Wallace boy showed his condescension, and took it and two more, and two more after that.

He licked Antony's knuckles with a soft, warm tongue, then asked to be let out.

Down the steps he trotted, but was not gone three minutes before he returned, accompanied by a huge red-and-white cat. There was no shyness about puss. He took Antony for granted or at Wallace's recommendation, and rubbed his back against Antony's gaitered legs.

Then, as the cat cared not for biscuits, but must have something, Antony opened a tin of sardines which he found among his stores. Perhaps they had belonged to the Duchess. Pussy liked them anyhow, and jumped on the sofa now to lick and wash his great paws, as cats always do when they've had anything greasy.

Wallace wanted to get out again.

'I wonder,' said young Blake, 'if he is going to bring some more of his friends? Shouldn't be a bit surprised if he turned up with the merman.'

It wasn't the merman he came back with, however. Only about five minutes after he had gone there was Wallace's sonorous voice, and Antony's glasses rang in the cupboard, so loud and strong was it.

At the same moment there was the sound of the bagpipes, and once more Antony looked out.

But he drew back quickly. For here, at his very door, was a huge bear on his hind-legs, wearing no muzzle, though he had fangs like fixed bayonets. He wore an artilleryman's pork-pie cap very much on one side, and had a very droll, half-drunken leer on his huge face.

Skeleton stood by with the pipes.

'Gee hup!' he cried, and played.

Then that huge brown bear began to dance, and evidently did so for fun and love. No torture had been applied to him, it appeared afterwards, to make him caper.

But as soon as the music—well, the bagpipes—ceased, Bruin faced round towards the back-door and opened a mouth wide enough to have taken in a Dutch cheese.

Antony threw all the rest of the sardines in, and all the biscuits; but as the red mouth was still open he went back to the cupboard and discovered a loaf of bread, and rammed that well home. Bruin gave a hoarse cough of satisfaction, and, lowering himself on all-fours, went shambling off.

. . . . . . .

The whole of the Queerest Show was surrounded by a rough kind of palisade just enough to

insure privacy except from the ubiquitous boy of an inquiring turn of mind. But Lee had fallen upon a good plan to get rid of this nuisance.

Had the urchins merely come to have a look across the fence and gone away quietly it would not have mattered very much; but it had been their custom not only to look but to settle down to games, and shout and scream. Wallace had often been sent to reason with them; but they got used to him at last, and even Bruin lost all petrifying power over them. But one day, behold a placard stuck up some distance from the camp, which read thus:

BEWARE

OF THE

DREADED DOOROOCOOLIE.

The usual crowd of urchins seemed to gather that afternoon from all directions simply to read this notice, and various were the theories advanced concerning it.

'Mebbe there's nae dooroo—— What is't ca'ed, Jock?'

'The dooroocoolie, Wullie,' said Jock, spelling it out.

'Maybe it's just put up there to frighten us,' said another boy. 'I'm gaun to stop and ha'e some fun. I'm nae flegged at [afraid of] dooroocoolies.'

'And so am I.'

'And so am I.'

Presently Skeleton was seen coming towards them, with a face about a yard long.

'Hallo, Skelie!'

'Hallo, cheeks-o'-branks!'

'Hallo, auld death's-heid!'

'I've come to warn you boys to go away quietly. The dreaded dooroocoolie hears you, and at any moment he may break his clanking chains and devour you.'

'Bah! Skelie. Boo! Skelie. Gang aff an' bile yer heid, Skelie. We're nae feart at your dooroocoolie.'

'See that heap o' stanes?' said a bigger ragamuffin. 'Weel, if you let your doorie oot we'll brak his banes, and maybe ye'll get a stane behin' the lug yersel', into the bargain.'

'Hoo mony o' us could the doorie eat at a time? He maun be gey [very] big an' gey hungry to eat a hale [whole] laddie.'

Said Skeleton, 'I'm your friend, boys, and I wouldn't like to see your life's blood "dye the heather." The dreaded dooroocoolie is a species of antediluvian alligator. He is as long as the Kirk of Hillhead. He would devour one boy easily, and kill all the rest for to-morrow's consumption.'

'Gang hame to your wife, Skelie; ye have consumption yersel.'

'Ha'e ye a pictur' o' the doorie?'

'I have that. Wait a minute.'

They did wait, while two men came forward and proceeded to put up a poster of a terrible-looking dragon, bigger and uglier than that which St George of Merrie England was supposed to have slain. When about the same time the roaring of some strange wild-beast was heard coming from near the bear's enclosure the boys were awed into silence, and one or two proposed going off to play in a neighbouring field. But presently, with a strong rope about its neck, the end of which appeared to be held back by all the men in the camp, the fearsome monster himself stalked awkwardly forth into the open—an alligator or dragon-like animal, with a mouth that could have swallowed a calf. The noisy boys were now paralysed with fear. They found their feet, however, when the beast opened his great red mouth, with its rows of sabre teeth, and roared like a lion. The workmen dropped their hammers and bolted, two fisher-wives with creels on their backs fled screaming, and the boys were off like March dust.

The dooroocoolie was a dread reality then. And never after this was the camp annoyed by the yells of naughty boys at play.

The dooroocoolie was often to be heard but very seldom seen. It was firmly believed in, nevertheless, by the good country people far and near, and had become in time a capital advertisement for the show.

Stronger palisades were placed round what was supposed to be the animal's enclosure, but he was not allowed to come out. There was a peep-hole, however, through which any one coming to the show about dusk and staying for the evening's entertainment could have a look at the awful monster lying apparently asleep.

How many of Biffins Lee's company, or his 'properties' as he called them, were in the secret it is quite impossible to say; but in case this part of the story should seem to be mere romance it is as well to explain how the dreaded dooroocoolie was got up and placed on the boards, so to speak.

The antediluvian reptile, then, was merely an automaton, its skin pumped full of air like an india-rubber tire, and its springs wound up to set him agoing. Lee had a large gramophone with a very loud lion's roar record on it, and this was the dreaded dooroocoolie's voice. It had cost Lee some money and trouble to get that record from a German Zoo, but it must be confessed it was very effective.

On this lovely August forenoon Antony had heard the wondrous beast roaring, and marvelled not a little.

But Lotty was sent off to tell him, and explain all about it, after enjoining secrecy.

The child patted his hand as if she had been some old aunt of his.

'You were not afraid, were you, Mr Blake?' she said.

'Well, Lotty, a voice like that isn't calculated to raise the drooping spirits of a lone man like me. Have you done rehearsal?'

'Oh yes, and now, if you please, we can ramble off to the hills with Wallace. But we could ride, Mr Blake, if you prefer it. There is one big, wild black horse that only I can manage; but I have taken Skeleton up behind me sometimes, and I'm sure I could manage with you.'

Antony laughed. He didn't quite fancy this style of riding, being really a good cross-country man, and having taken part in many a steeplechase.

'I'm a little afraid,' he said modestly. 'Had we not better walk?'

Lotty was dressed for the hill, and very charming she looked in her bright but light half-gipsy cloak, her kirtle of red, and silken bandana gracefully worn on the head, which did not hide her marvellous hair, however.

She carried a long but pretty shepherd's crook; and, with the huge raven-black Newfoundland with the pink tongue and alabaster teeth bounding and flashing round her, Lotty was really a picture.

Everybody, fisher-folks and farmer-folks, had a kind word and a smile for the child, and doubtless they meant what they said.

Here are the remarks Antony could not help hearing from two fisher-wives:

'Oh my! does it no' do your heart good to look at the lammie?' [little lamb].

'An' what a bonny callant yon is! He'll be fae [from] the sooth, I'se warrant ye.'

There was one tall hill rising up behind the forest, and it was towards this they bent their steps. They were going to climb it, to look around them on the landscape and seascape.

But they had not journeyed more than two miles, and were high up on a heather-clad brae, when Lotty stopped and called Wallace. At the same time she took a satchel from her shoulder and strapped it round the dog.

'Go to granny's,' she said. 'Good boy—away!'

Wallace trotted off. But he stopped when at a little distance, and looked back.

'Yes, Wallace, we'll wait,' cried Lotty, and the noble fellow disappeared.

'Where has he gone, Lotty?'

'To the witch's cottage—my fairy godmother's.'

Lotty threw herself on the sward, and Antony too sat down.

She culled a bunch of bluebells growing near, and tying them deftly with a bit of grass, she pinned them to her kerchief. They were just the colour of the child's eyes. As she did so she sang:

Lotty was not an affected child; perhaps in culling the bouquet she hardly knew what she was doing; only beauty is ever attracted by beauty and to it.

See yonder great velvet droning bee. Fox-glove-bells are swinging crimson against the green of tall fern-leaves. He enters a bell to drink of the honey. Beauty to beauty. And yonder again a splendid steel-blue, gauzy-winged dragon-fly has alighted on a pink bramble-blossom, and is trembling all over with the joy that is in him; and there are bees on the white clover, bees on the reddening heather-bloom, and a blue-butterfly on the flat yellow blossom of a frog-bit, while a hawk-fly has just alighted on the blood-tipped orange of the bird's-foot trefoil.

But the charm of the early August day who dare to try to paint! Afar away the blue sea dotted with brown-sailed boats here and there, a sea calm as the sky above it, only breaking here and there into circling snow where a rock lifts its dark head; a beach that is all green because the tide is high; sailing sea-birds everywhere; dark rooks in crowds, for the love-time has long gone by; nearer and beneath this brae-land the heads of swelling, stately pine-trees; forest to the right and left, forests in the rear, and afar off the brown mountain raising its stern and rocky head up into the heavenly ether; and a gentle breeze fanning all the flowers. 'An' it's oh to be young!'

CHAPTER VI.

'THERE IS THAT IN YOUR EYE WHICH CRONA LOVES.'

'Ye-es. At least I suppose so. But I think my mother must have ceased to be a property some time before I came.'

'Do you love your father, Lotty?'

'Except when he beats me.'

The child was lying back against recumbent Wallace, and on her bare arm above the elbow Antony thought he saw a wale. He seized her by the hand and uncovered the streak.

'Lotty,' he said, 'who struck you with a cane? And, Lotty, I saw a blue mark on your leg while in the boat. Who kicked you, child?'

'Father. Oh, don't tell! He'd kill me. And I'm only a property, and sometimes so awkward and naughty.' Her eyes were swimming in tears. 'I'm sure I have a cold,' she said, wiping them. 'But you won't tell father, ever, ever, ever?'

'Never, never, never,' promised Antony.

She grew calmer and happier now, and told him all the story of her young life as far as she knew it, and a deal about her many strange wanderings from the silvery Tweed to the rapid Spey with the Queerest Show.

It was a fascinating story, but there was much sorrow in it; and the tiny lace handkerchief was quite wet before she finished.

'How old is Wallace?'

'Oh, only a year; but he is mine—my friend, although of course he is only a property.'

'And Skeleton and Mary?'

'They've always been with us. I should die if they left. Will you stop long, Mr Blake? Do; and Mrs Pendlebury and I will try to make you happy—especially I.'

'You droll child! But won't your fairy godmother be expecting us?'

Crona came to her cottage-door to welcome them. She wore the 'mutch,' but was daintily dressed to receive company. Close by was a little shed or bower entirely thatched with green rushes; and underneath this, on a table covered by a snow-white cloth a most dainty repast was laid out, and the witch herself was asked by Antony to preside.

Tod Lowrie hid himself into a ball, and was asleep in the sunshine, with his tail right over his face. Perhaps Wallace thought he was in the way, for he got his nose under the fox and rolled him right away into a dark corner. No doubt Tod Lowrie was awake; but, fox-like, he pretended not to be.

Joe the raven was perched on a rafter, looking sly and demoniac. Every now and then he would say with a sigh, 'Well, well, such is life!' then hold back his head and laugh weirdly.

At first Tim the tame mouse was not to be seen, but Lotty pointed him out to Antony. Tim was seated on the edge of the cat's dish, and every now and then he stretched a little white hand or paw down into pussy's milk, then drew it up and licked it clean.

Crona's white scones and butter, and the meatpies which no doubt had been in the parcel that Lotty sent by Wallace, were very delicious. But there were fried mountain-trout also, and fruit to follow. But the wine was the water from a neighbouring rill.

There was something so very unreal about all Antony's present surroundings, and one thing with another, that more than once he thought he must be dreaming, especially when Tim suddenly appeared on the table, and Lotty quietly fed him from a teaspoon.

The raven kept on saying things with that eldritch, screaming laugh. Presently it was, 'Joe, Joe, don't you!' He had hopped down to the ground, and was slyly approaching a hassock placed there for pussy, and the cat was asleep on it, but her tail hung down.

'Joe, Joe, don't you. He! he! he! Joe, go back to perch. Joe, see what you'll catch!'

He was near enough now, and gave the floating tail a most cruel pinch.

Pussy screamed. Joe only backed astern and was beginning to laugh when he received a smack on the face that made him stagger.

'You—you—you wretch!' he screamed; but he flew back to his perch and laughed now till the welkin rang.

Tim disappeared.

The cat was angrily wagging her tail, and no doubt making up her mind to pay Joe out first chance.

Tod Lowrie got up and stretched himself, and Wallace placed his great wise head on the tablecloth close to Crona's elbow. Then every pet had a tit-bit, and peace was restored once more.

'Come over often to see poor Crona,' said the witch to Antony when leaving. 'There is that in your eye which Crona loves.'

He held out his hand to shake 'good-bye.' Crona took it and looked at the palm. Then her face clouded.

Antony Blake was not slow to mark the change, and laughingly asked if she saw anything strange in his palm.

'It was but a cursory glance,' she said. 'I could not say. There may be nothing in palmistry, but, again, there may be something. Come again, and come alone.'

The last words were spoken in almost a whisper, and Antony went away wondering.

. . . . . . .

Biffins Lee was an up-to-date gipsy, and did not trust entirely to horses to take the Queerest Show around the country when he made up his mind to change ground. He had a very smart and pretty steam-engine, which hauled three immense vans. Others came on behind with horses.

The engine at present was stored on his own camping-ground here—which, by the way he rented from a neighbouring 'laird'—and was carefully housed and taken care of. His horses were farmed cheaply enough. Whatever the man's character may have been, one could not help admiring his business capabilities—that is, if admiration can be bestowed on mere cleverness in making money.

Frank Antony was not long in finding out that the man had one other reason for pitching camp so far north as this: he did a roaring trade in Shetland and Icelandic ponies, and had agents even in Shetland and Iceland picking these up and shipping them south.

But the Queerest Show paid even here, because seldom a week in winter passed that he did not have some strange addition to it; and when he got tired of this he let it go and had a change. Once, indeed, during the summer holiday season—so Mary the Skeleton's wife told Antony—he hired for exhibition purposes the whole of a celebrated hunter's trophies in the shape of skins of lions, elephants' skeletons, and marvels no end from the far interior of Africa. He had dwarfs too, sometimes, and wild men from every region on earth.

Biffins Lee knew the secret of making his dwarfs look still smaller and his wild men wilder.

In brief, everybody visited the Queerest Show from every town within a radius of a hundred miles, always certain they would see marvels well worth looking at and remembering afterwards.

But he had palmists as well, and nearly every one in the camp did a little bit of fortune-telling. Girls from cities and towns afar off came to have their future told, and, strangely enough, many of the forecasts came true.

Over and above all its other attractions, there was a 'grand ball' every fortnight in the large marquee, and lads and lassies came very long distances in order to attend it, for even the youngest English schoolgirl must know how very fond the Scots are of music and dancing.

The camp was well situated for this sort of winter entertainment, as it lay half-way between two rather important towns, the 'longshore pathway being shorter far than the journey by train, and ten times more pleasant.

These neighbouring towns were on very friendly terms with each other. They challenged each other to games of cricket, 'gowf,' football, and to curling on an adjoining lake when the ice was strong. Moreover, the weekly half-holiday was not on the same day in these towns, so that visits could be more easily exchanged.

Antony had not been more than a week here before he formed a resolve, a strange one perhaps for a young Englishman; but then he was no ordinary young man, hating London society as we have already seen, and with it everything Cockney. He loved Nature in all her shows and forms—quite as much so, perhaps, as the poet Burns or that divine naturalist Richard Jefferies. To Antony Blake the most modest, wee, God-painted beetle that crawled on the grass or cornstalks was not a 'creature' but 'a little person,' with its own living to make in its own way—all so different to our own ways—its own loves and fears, and troubles and trials quite as hard to bear, perhaps, as those of human beings. He was not of their world, but that did not prevent him from sympathising with them. There was one other trait in Antony's character which surely was an honourable one: he was careful not to inflict pain.

So the resolve he made was to stay in his caravan all winter; not quite close to the gipsy camp though. He had his palace-on-wheels removed to a pitch about five hundred yards off, and had his own little enclosure. This would be quieter, and enable him to study more of the seaside flora and fauna.

'If you like, captain,' said Biffins Lee, 'to have a little quiet companionship at times of a winter's evening, you know, I'll tell you what I propose.'

Antony would listen.

'Well,' said Biffins, 'I don't mind the "Silver Queen" lying at anchor in your enclosure. There will be nobody in it but Mary the stout lady and little Lotty. They'll do for you in the way of cooking and that sort of thing, and the child can thrill you with her violin whenever you long to be thrilled.'

'This is really kind of you, Mr Lee,' said Antony, 'and I gladly accept. And I suppose Wallace can come too?'

'Oh yes; Wallace is as much a property of Lotty's as Lotty herself and Mary are properties of mine.'

Antony smiled faintly. It was the first time in his life he had ever heard a daughter designated as a property. And at this moment he could not help thinking of those wales on Lotty's arm and leg.

So the 'Silver Queen' and the beautiful saloon caravan 'Gipsy Queen' were both anchored together inside Antony's compound, and he settled down to enjoy a life that promised to be almost idyllic.

The word 'anchored' used in the last sentence is quite the correct one, because, on this wild coast, so terrible are the storms that at times sweep inland from the sea that no caravan not firmly attached to the ground by pegs and ropes could stand the wind's fierce force.

Chops himself could be spared to run messages, and could often visit the little camp to see how things were going on.

Bruin, it soon appeared, was also going to be a pretty constant morning visitor, for no animal ever seemed to enjoy a hearty breakfast more than that great bear did.

Had Antony Blake desired to enter society there were many old and wealthy families in the neighbourhood who would have given the youthful Englishman a right hearty welcome; but he determined from the very first to be the recluse and the student, so mildly and pleasantly, but firmly, refused all invitations.

Not far from the camp, almost running past it indeed, was a stream which flowed right into the sea; and in the sea, some distance beyond, our hero was fond of having a morning swim. Wallace the Newfoundland used always to go with him; and once, but for this strong and faithful fellow, he would never have reached the shore. For he had swam out that day as far as his strength would permit, and foolishly attempted to land against the current of the river, not knowing that it was of great force a good way out to sea.

The dog did not, on this occasion, seize him and drag him in, but permitted Antony to lay hold of his collar and so be assisted or towed.

But only a week after, this athletic young Saxon had an adventure which, as it has a bearing on the progress of this 'ower true tale,' must be related in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VII.

POOR ANTONY WAS DROWNING!

But, athlete though he was, Antony was no sailor; nevertheless he wished to be, and was glad enough to be taught even by so young a little skipper as Lotty. On fine days she took him out with her on purpose, and with a very few lessons he could manage, or thought he could, fairly well.

Well, one forenoon he rashly determined to have a little cruise all by himself.

He forgot that with Lotty in the bows the yacht was not so much down by the stern as his weight, when alone, placed it. Indeed, while sailing, if she entrusted the tiller and sheet to him, she herself—the little skipper—crept right for'ard into the bows and issued her orders from that position—orders which he took very seriously indeed, for if he had not done so the Jenny Wren might have broached-to or gone slick on her beam-ends.

It was some considerable time before Antony got up to obeying all orders, or even understanding them: 'Ease sheet!' 'Down helm!' 'Luff a little!' &c. And indeed it is not certain that Lotty, mischievous little mouse, didn't sometimes invent an order for the sake of confusing her charge somewhat.

'What is it? How is it?' he would cry. 'Tell me in plain English, Lotty. What am I to do with this bit of stick?' The bit of stick was the tiller.

Sometimes she would laugh right out at the serious aspect of his face; but she would praise him when he did well.

That was an unfortunate forenoon for Antony, when, confident in his own seamanship, he made