PROBATION: A TALE OF THE ANCASHIRE COTTON FAMINE:

Bl MISS JESSIE FOTHERGILL,

.Author of "Healey," "Aidyth," "The First Violin," etc.

CHAPTER XLIV. WHICH WINS?

" At any time you please," said Myles. " Then I will call at the works in the Torenoon. I can soon say what I have to say." On that understanding they parted. The following forenoon, while it was yet early, Myles saw Sebastian coming through the great yard, towards the office where he fiat. His face wore an expression of gravity —even of trouble—and he frowned thought fully as he came along. Myles took him into his private room. He could not help thinking of how he had received him on that eventful morning when he came driving up to the office at Thanshope, with Hugo beside him, and Mylcs smiled a little sadly at the change. "You camo on business, perhaps," sug gested Mylcs. "Yes; but I had no idea myself, until about an hour ago, how pressing the busi ness was. Herr Susmeyer and I were talk ing about you last evening before you came. He tells me his son is on his way home, and that he intends devoting himself to busi ness."

" Yes; I believe that is true." "Under those circumstances, I presume, yourposition would be somewhat changed." "Certainly. It would naturally become more subordinate."

"Will you like that?" Myles shrugged his shoulders. "Herr Susmeyer was talking to me about it. He gave me a very high character of you. He very much regrets your having to take a secondary position. He says he would be very sorry to part with you for many reasons, but not if you left him to your own advantage." " Does Herr Susmeyer want to get rid of me?" asked Myles. "On the very contrary. He only wishes to see your position improved. I may as well come to the point. You would hear that I have been returned as the repre sentative of Thanshope in Parliament. "Yes. I think tne Thanshope people showed their good sense there, at any rate," said Myles, with a smile. " Let us hope so. But yon will easily understand that such a position will take me from home a good deal, and mako me unable to attend to my business as fully as I have done."

" Naturally," said Myles, with a sudden, quick glance upwards, at he first saw the drift of Sebastian's re.narks. His face flushed, and ho rose from his chair, pacing about the room.

"For some time Mr Sutcliffe has been quite unfit for the post he held. I mean as regards bodily health. I have wanted very much to provide him with an assistant, but did not know how to manage it without hurting his feelings. My conversation with Herr Susmeyer decided me to ask you to take the post. Since then—in fact this very morning —I have a telegram from Wilson with the news of poor Sutcliffe's death. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I liked him well. Such faithful probity, such diligence, and such capacity arc not found in one man in a hundred. But, long ago, I thought I had discovered them all in you, and my errand to you this morning is to ask you if you will take Mr Sutcliffe's post in business. Your energy, vigour, and the talents for business which Herr Sus meyer tells me you have, would be invalu able to me, and without- doubt the connec tion would bo an advantageous one for you. What do you say ?" Mylcs had come to a stop in his restless walk, his hands plunged in his pockets, his brows knit, his eyes somewhat downcast, He did not look elated^ His first words were not an explicit answer to Sebastian's question. " I think you arc the most generous man I ever knew, sir," he said at last, almost abruptly. "That is beside the question. There is no talk of generosity, but of a business con nection, a contract entered into by us for our mutual advantage." "It would at least bo very much to my advantage. Have you uot considered that there are plenty of men, employers liko yourself, who would be glad to see sons of theirs placed with you, and would furnish capital too, as a premium ?" •'Mon Dieu! yes, I know, I havo had hints to that effect from more than one already. It does not suit me to do any thing of the kind. I 'don't want a young gentleman with capital, whom I slinll have to teach. I want a business man, who can really take commercial care off my shoulders when cares of another kind are laid upon them. lam not a fellow to do things in a hurry. The whole matter has been well-considered, and it is a great ob ject with me to secure you. As to terms, we could come to some satisfactory arrange ment, I doubt not. What I want to know now is, will you come to me, and take the place of manager of my business ?" Again Mylcs began to pace the room, biting his lips and frowning desperately. "You must think me strangely callous and indifferent, not to jump at such an offer," he began. "No; I see you don't want to come. I know your reasons. No," he added, as Mylcs started, "not your very reason, but I know that when you left Thanshope, it was in the hope never to see it, again; and tbat desire has not yet changed." "No, it has never changed," he owned. "But if I guess rightly there is no actual, tangible obstacle to your return. It is a strong private feeling of repugnance on your own part, arising from some cause or causes to me unknown. Is it not so ?"

"Yes, it is so." " Well; still I ask you to come. Come and try, at least. Fight it down, and come and revisit your city of the dead. Come and try whether there may not be new life hidden for you there." Myles shook his head,

" There is not that," said he,

"Then, to put it iv another light, come because I ask you to oblige me, Surely all that wrath and misunderstanding which once existed between us is burnt out for ever now. lam certain we can act together in most things. And—excuse me, I have no wish to be impertinent—but let me tell you that Stonegate is always empty now ; and if it were not, I have introduced you to my wife."

Mylcs turned abruptly away. Stonegate always empty! Whether empty or in habited, he had forfeited all right to ap proach it. " With tho best wishes in the world for friendship, that would have divided us, would it not ?" continued Sebastian, who, when he took up the probe, was not wont to lay it down again with the operation half-finished, deterred by the anguished face ©r fainting mien of the patient, "Yes," was the only answer.

"But it is gone. I know not what life may hold for you in the future; Ido knew that you havo suffered _n the past, and that places where one has had that kind of suf ferin« are haunted and full of ghosts ; but again I urge you-come! I think you are leading a morbid, foolish life bere, rendered, by the motives which prompt it, not a par ticularly healthy one, and-—' "Say no more, sir. 1 will come. 1 knew I should come as soon as you asked me. No wish of yours could be other than a command to me now. It was only that I could not force myself to say yes. But now I say it. I will go whenever you like -that is, whenever Herr Susmeyer will spare me," , ~ "Thatis spoken as I hoped you would speak," said Sebastian heartily. '. Let us shake hands upon it" "On my agreement to take you for my lawful master, and serve you faithfully and honestly." Raid Mylcs with rather a forced smile, as he grasped Sebastians hand. '' I suppose that is the foundation ot all such arrangements, but I trust we shall be something more worthy of us both than mere master and servant. At least you need not be afraid of rusting. I have dozens of plans wluch I have never had time or assistants to carry out. Now with my wife, and I hope you, to help me too, I shall get along splendidly.' " I am glad to hear there is plenty of work," said Myles. " I was to have left here in a couple of days for a holiday. Sup pose I went to Thanshope direct, instead of Berlin and the other places I had thought of? That would leave the held clear to Herr Siismeyer and his son, and 1 could get to work at once." ._,._. " Better take the holiday first, hadnt yon," said Sebastian, "it may be long enough before you get the chance' ot another." ~ , "Thank you, but I would rather go straight to work. The holiday was none of my seeking. It k was Herr Susmeyer s °" Very well. I will telegraph to Wil son that you will be there in a few days, and he must have the books ready for you. I will just give you an idea of how we stand at present, and leave you to shake down before I come back, eh I said Sebas tian, with as much monchalance asi if he had been proposing nothing more difficult than that they should take a stroll together. He knew — this astute youn« man — the kind of nature he was dealing with. To have proposed corn in" to Thanshope with Myles, and there standing by him and smoothing out his way for him, would have been in the highest degree distasteful to the latter. The charge imposed upon him was a heavy one; it promised him arduous and incessant occupation for some time, at least until Sebastian's return from abroad. Already the idea of Thanshope looked less like a grim phantom. The way became practic able. He brightened visibly, to Sebastian's private amusement. " Yes. How soon will you return ? "It is impossible to say. It will depend a good deal upon tho reports you send me. This is my wedding tour really, though it has had a queer beginning, and I think my wife has a right to complain of being dragged about to German manufacturing towns in order to settle business mat ters, when I promised to take her to the Italian lakes. We shall try to go there, and to Switzerland, and make a regular holiday of it, before coming back to settle really to business. You will do the best you can." "Yes, of course," said Myles. "I hope and think that my reports -will allow you to take a pretty long holiday." " Then I can go, said Sebastian. "Wc leavo to-morrow morning. Suppose you come up to Herr Susmeyer's to supper to-night, as you did last night, aud we will take an hour afterwards for business—yes ? And now I must be off."

These rapidly made arrangements were all faithfully carried out. In less than a week Mylcs, armed with Sebastian's ex planations and instructions, was on his way to Thanshope.

CHAPTER XLV.

"Yet, ore the phantoms flee, Which that house, and heath, and garden, inado dear to thee orewhlle. Thy romombrancc. and ropentanco, and deep musings are not free _■_..,._._._■ From tho inuslo of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile."

It would be difficult to overrate the com pleteness of the change which had super vened, in both tho outer and inner life of Miles Hey wood, between the time when he had left his native town, and now, when he returned to it. He was very busy, very quiet, and very lonely. Sebastian had acted with tho soundest wisdom in leaving his new manager to take his place alone, nnd alone to fight down the obstacles which he en countered, alone to striko back tho ill-will, the jealousy, and the insubordination—all of which things raised their heads and taped upon him with their mouths on his rst assumption of his new office. Mylcs had accepted tho post calmly, but he had known perfectly well that he assumed no light task. It would have been comparatively easy if there had not been the euvy and prejudices of old friends to be overcome. Thanks to the first-rate management of MiJ Sutcliffe, and to Sebas tian's own übiquitous eye, the whole machine was in first-rate working order; but this, perhaps, only left all the more room for smaller spites and jealousies to make themselves felt. There was first, of all, Wilson, the faithful old cashier, who had once been Myles's superior. He was a first-rate accountant and bookkeeper, but no manager or man of business, and utterly devoid of the faculty of arranging or regulat ing things. Nonoknew it better.hauliimself, vc^ it was something of a trial to his feel ings to see the young fellow, whom he had known from the time when ho had begun life as a " half-timer" of eleven, placed over him. In justice to both the men, it must be said that this little jealousy soon wore off. Myles won Wilson's heart by his manner of treating him with scrupulous respect in the presence of third persons, and without pretensions of any kind when alone with him. Wilson, too, was an in telligent man, who knew a clever man of business when ho met him. Myles very soon proved his perfect capacity for his post, and after that Wilson's soreness was at an end. He backed up "Mr Heywood" on every possible occasion, and suffered no appeal from the said Mr Heywood's be hests.

Myles found it a somewhat more difficult matter to dispose of others, old comrades of his own, who were working away in the same old places, no higher than they had ever been ; and who, unable to rise them selves, were lest to astonishment that he should be put over their heads. Some of them were strongly inclined to be pro. vokinglv familiar; first jocosely and then maliciously insubordinate; utterly uncon scious of the mental gulf between him and them. But the strong brain and will of the man who hadrisen beyond them was able to check these manifestations of feeling. One or two sharp examples, and a most une quivocal demonstration that no nonsense would be endured, reduced them to their natural places. Ever afterwards he had the name amongst them of having become hard, inconsiderate, and a fine gentleman. He knew it and regretted it, but accepted it as inevitable, remembering the time when he had resented the fact that the law did

not compel all men to live on the.same leThe new manager's eyes «g|<oli| übiquitous-nothing escaped them; but go_ work and goo J conduct.were* as; keenly noted by him as bad, and he let the ap proval be as distinctly felt as the dis pleasure. There was, moreover, another thin- which soon began to ell more than £_• others nut together-he was utterty unconscious of deserving IU-will; he was so evidently bent upon work, hard woik, and nothing but work, and not upon hector- Wit over those who had become his sub oraWtes, that distrust gradually sub- S Sneers-and scoffs had no effect whatever upon him; they were ignored in a manner so complete as to recoil with disconcerting effect upon their originators. That grave, absorbed face, those eyes which noted everything, that ready presence_ of mind, that scemfngly. unwearying, uiitinng. strength, that utter disregard of the amount of work which fell upon his own shoulders, soon began to tell upon individuals, and, through them.' upon the mass. Myles wrote Sebastian regular accounts of his business transactions, hoping they met with his approval. He never named any disputes with the worl_people,|kaving his master to infer that he was, asthe latter had said, "shaking down" to his new W°Outsidc that work his life rather colourless. Mary and Harry no longer liyed at Thanshope. Harry had found work ifi a manufacturing village some five nules distant; he lived in a cottage on the borders of an open moor, where the air was pure, free, and bracing. He had grown physically much stronger in stronger in consequence of the change, and thought that his hearing, if not actually better, did not become worse so rapidly as when he lived in the town. Occasionally, on a Sunday, Mylcs would go over to see them, and nurse Ins sister s little boy oh his knee, feeling a passion of tenderness which he could not express for the little round-faced thing, with us large, solemn, dark eyes—like his own, Mary said with affectionate pride. He would walk with Harry over the moors, and gratify him by shouting descriptions of his foreign life into his failing ears. But ex cept for this ono day in the week, they were lost to him ; their iocessant toil and his own prevented further intercourse. Very often his dead brother occupied a place in his mind, Poor Ned 1 What a life he could have given him now! He could have had him to live with him, and bought him books and pictures, and given him music, and made his existence a poetry to him. But it was too late. Edmund slept' his quiet sleep, killed off by the want and the sorrow which had been too much tor them all at the time of the great distress. One face was missing—that of Hoyle, his old enemy. Myles made some casual inquiries about him one day, and heard that he had left Thanshope about a' year ago. He never knew the part the man had played between him and Adrienne. The young men who had once been friends of his (it seemed as though it must have been hundreds of years ago), and to whoso debating society he had once be longed, received him with a mixture of timidity and admiration. Many of them had advocated—perhaps still did so—the Prondhonistic theory, "all property is a crime." At one time Myles had believed and ardently advocated the same delusion. He had. lived faster and grown faster than these old friends of his, and now they were divided between em barrassment at his open support of one of the most flagrant property holders of the district, and admiration of his cleverness, which had swept such gains into his own lap. Mylcs felt little sympathy with them, and had the uncomfortable sensation that, while they were shy of discussing things beforo his face, thoy were very voluble, and chiefly about himself, behind his back. He found his most congenial associate in Mr Lyttleton, the factory inspector of Thanshope and some surrounding towns, who lived in Thanshope, a middle-aged, highly-educated man, who was attracted, the first time he saw him, by tho keen yet sombre countenance of Mr Mallory's new manager; and who, when he learnt the out lines of Myles's history, became still more interested in him, asked him to his house, and there introduced him to some young professional men of a higher class, taken all in all, than those he had known in Eisendotf. The benefit was mutual, nnd Myles's circle of acquaintances, if not of intimates, thus gradually extended. Almost everywhere he pleased, but everywhere there was tho constant wonder why Hey wood was so reserved, so almost melancholy in manner, and so sparing in speech; "much more like a {Spanish grandee," observed a young doctor to Mr Lyttelton, "than a man who has risen from the ranks of the working men. I can't make the fellow out" Very few people could make the fellow out, though many seemed to find a decided pleasure in trying to do so.

Thus the time passed until Sebastian and his wife came home, and then Myles found that "master aud servant" was indeed far from expressing the relation which Mallory wished to exist between them. Sebastian's regard, once won, was dealt out with no niggard hand. He had got Myles to yield to his will; now it seemed he wished for more thah respect—regard. The best part of Myles's nature responded to'the call; his liking warmed each day, till it grew to an affection, reserved and reticent indeed in outward show, but in wardly glowing as Sebastian himself could desire. The former ill-will had burnt itself out. Master and man were on a footing of perfect amity and accord. The more Myles ficard of Sebastian's plans, thoughts, and schemes, the better he liked them, and the wiser he felt them to be. He cduld appreciate them now; three years ago he could only have have scoffed at them. He entered heartily into them all; he worked unremittingly till Sobastian declared he was afraid of his energy, and refused rest, saying he neither required nor desired it. Whatever were his own private and per sonal hopes? thoughts, or wishes (if he had any), he kept them strictly and entirely to himself. Hclona was very kind to him, and they were very good friends; she, womsn-l'ike, always thinking of that back ground in his life, that hinted love story, of which Sebastian had given her some glimpses. Occasionally she and her hus band would speak of it. " Sebastian, you know him best, and what he is capable of, Do you think he is in love with that girl yet ?" " I think, most reverend matron, that he is in love with that girl—who, by-the-by, is rather older than yourself—yet." "Then why doesn't he find her out and propose to her ?" " I have not asked him."

"He cannot think she is too good for him." " I should not be surprised if he did." "Absurd 1" "Pray take it upon yourself to tell him so. No doubt you will succeed in con vincing him." "You are ridiculous, sir."

When he (Myles) had by any chance a leisure hour he would go—even after the nights had grown dark, and the frosts of winter had set in—up the dreary length oj Blake-street to the wicket of the empty Stonegate, and .leaning upon that

support, would stand gazing at the empty ness and the desolation of it. No one lived there. A woman came some few times in the week, and spent the day there, lighting fires and throwing open shutters and win dows -, but that was all. It had always, at the best of times, been a dreary-looking, sad, cold place, but now it was forlorn in its mournfulness. If it had not been so utterly lonely, Myles would not have gone there. No one he knew [ever oame: past. He had his watch-post to himself, and pro bably found some kind of mournful, unsatis factory joy in his vigils. Always it re mained the same- empty, closed, desolate -always void of her presence^always without sign Or indication that it would ever again be gladdened by it. Her name had never been mentioned, either by him or his friends. He was absolutely ignorant of where she was, or how; of what she was doing, whether she were happy or sad; of every fact and circumstance connected with her.

(To bccontinued.J

THE PUMMERHORNS' DOG.

[BY THE AUTHOR OF "GINK's BABY."] The cast wind, roaring through the darkness, dry and cold, now in one long steady draught which pierced through every living tiling to the marrow; now in strong, wild gusts that made the glass rattle on the lamp-posts, and the chimneys roar and shudder up on high above the peaked roofs, came round the corner by the Queen's Hotel from the West Cliff, and swept clean down the long esplanade from Hastings to 80-peep. It was in February. No fhoon was visible,- though the stars shimmered dimly in the cold and worried sky. The waves, worked up by three days of steady gale, came in upon the beach with a deep, sullen boom, followed by the crashing, rattling sound of millions of pebbles chafing in the gurgling tide; or, hero and there meeting au obstacle, dashed • up high, a hissing and flying shower borne far on the breeze towards the houses pro tected by the sea-wall. It was a night when a man, if he were obliged to be out at all, would prefer walking ,vith his back to the wind; and even then would every now and then start at some sudden roar ! and! quiver of the hurrying air, or some deeper and more angry crash of waves against the breakwater. And in effect, Mr Wrexham, the senior of the firm of Wrexham, Flotsam, Jetsam, and Wink, the well-known house and universal agents, bankers, stable keepers, timber merchants, and general furnishers (including funerals) of St. Leonards, who was on his way home from a meeting of the Tory committee at the Swan Inn, found the walk not only chilly, but exciting. "A beastly night 1" he said to himself as he ambled along (his legs were short and his feet small) with the collar of his overcoat turned up and his hands well down in his pockets. "Whew! that's a roarer! How it does blow! Thank heaven I'm not at sea to-night I" As he spoke he started, and uttered a sharp, short cry. A chimney-pot which had been hesitating for years about its balance, like a man in difficulties, had at length been obliged to cede to circum stances and the laws of force and gravity; and so it came down with a crash in front of our pedestrian, just near enough for one or two flying pieces to hit him in tho ankles and knee, and to make him jump back with an exclamation of fear. Had it not been so dark anyone happening to be there —though there was nobody about—would have seen a round, pale face, as white as a bladder of lard, and a mouth open, and eyes starting with terror. "Ha !" he said, catching his breath, "that was a narrow cscapejanother two feet would have done it!" But before he could get this well out, his cars were assailed with a sharp distressful howl, and he saw a little white object which he had not no ticed before, crouching close up against the paling, directly opposite the place where the over-toppled barrel of crockery had fallen. A cry of distress will always divert, a man from his own peril, and Thos. Wrexham was no craven. He took a step, stooped down, and made out a small white dog, of that sort of indeterminate breed which seems neither Pomeranian nor poodle, and is probably something of both. Trembl ing with fear and still whining, with now and then a short bark of pain, the little thing pressed its side against the stone base of the railing, while it sat up, holding out one paw the fore-foot of which hung helpless. That was all Mr Wrexham could see, though in fact a portion of the tile, glancing from the ground, had severely cut the poor animal's fore-leg, aud another had struck him in the side. The dog looked up at the man as if he felt that his last end was coming. Its reason was not lofty enough to reach to the top of the house and the winds of heaven for the cause of the terrific and unexpected phenomenon which had just oc curred. In the dog's ideas the man who happened to find hithiself so near to the catastrophe must have something to do with it, and shutting its eyes it awaited the finishing stroke, which it was evident to its poor little imagination was about to be dealt.

What, then, was the dog's wonder to hear the voice of Thomas Wrexham, in accents gently meant, but delivered through a throat sadly roughened by the weather, say— "Pooh<_og 1 pooh dog ! what s the mat ter, eh?" and to feel Mr Wrexham's chubby hand with caution, but kindly caressing its head. " Pooh dog, then J ■ What's the matter, eh?" The hand sought the Ipaw, which continued to be tendered helplessly, but no sooner d'd he touch it than the dog yelped again, and Mr Wrexham discreetly retired his hand with some promptitude, afraid lest the dog's feelings, not sufficiently so laced by barking, should wish to relieve themselves by a nip. The dog, spoken to and touched in this way, now began to take heart, and getting on his three legs and throwing his nose up again towards the cruel blast, it hopped along 6, few paces, then whined, brought its two hind legit down to earth again, and turned ana. looked at Mr Wrexham.

"Why!" exclaimed Mr Wrexliam, sud denly bringing his fore-finger down with a clip on tbe middle digit of his right haud, a favourite gesture of his when he was, as the French say, frappe; "it's Pummer horn's dog, to be sure, and he's on his way to fetch the old woman. There's a row on between him and Mrs P. Here, Snowball! Snowball!" The dog cocking his ears, im mediately made three skips of his feet, aad laid his little nose against the man's trousers, his tail mean while waving a dis tinct signal of " all right." There was no longer room to doubt the animal's identity. At the same time he whined again, and made as if he' would like to go on, but really did not feel equal to the attempt, "Well, I never!" said Mr Wrexliam, his face getting anxious and his brows knitting. " What on earth am I to do? Old Mrs Pummerhorn's house is nigh half a mile from here—right agen the wind, too! Them two young P.'s may be a crackin' of each other's skulls while I'm a standin' here; and there's the poor dog can't stir a step to fetch the old woman, and I'm bless'd if there's anybody else between the White Cliff and Beachy Head as can quiet a quarrel

between them two when once it's fairW started. May as well try and stop this infernal wind by squalling at it as close up. their two mouths when they begin to storm at each other ! Confound the chimney-pot! Stop ; I'll see if he can walk." He took a tew steps towards Hastings, calling the dog, who hopped alofcg cheerily - but the moment the man stopped, the' animal stopped too. It was evident he did. not feel equal to the important errand on which he had set out.

"Well, I am in a fix," cried Mr Wrexi ham again. "It ain't none o' my busi ness !" he added angrily to the dog. "why the dickens can't you take your messaM yourself 1 Do you s'pose I'm agoih' tovfiSk"" all the way back to Hastings with tliisT beastly east wind in my teeth ? Why the . Old Harry didn't you keep out of the way , eh?" «

The dog, sitting on his hind quarters and' holding out that helpless joint, whined. again impatiently. He was doubtless-/ wondering to himself what the biped meant by hesitating, scowling, and talking when. he ought to walking; when he knew that; Mr and Mrs (Pummerhorii were having it out in their usual lively fashion, and that j. he, poor little self-constituted messenger, being incapacitated for service by accident, j it was absolutely necessary that the • first comer should take up the duty, and run oft" and fetch the peacemaker. He whined again. " Bless my soul!" cried Mr Wrexham to • Himself, helplessly, while the wind nearly- . drove the words down his throat; " there s J nothing for it I can see but to go myself. The dog won't let me oft', that's plain, ,' Well, come along, old fellow I" and Mr ... Wrexham, bending his head to the gale, started off. But the dog, seeing that his end was gained, and the biped had accepted his duty as a substitute, crawled painfully up into a doorway, and, sheltering himself ' as best he could from the cruel gusts, set to licking his foot, which Nature had taught him was the way to cure it. Wrexham turning, and seeing the animal had disappeared, struggled on, cursing him self all the time for being so good-natured;,! but now that he had undertaken the job determined to carry it through like a man. It was not so long after all before he was standing on the steps of old Mrs Pummer horn's boarding-house, and, having rung \ the bell, was waiting with his back to the wind. When the door opened, after a delay that sorely tiied the impatient man, the widow herself appeared, shading a candle with her hand, and looking out curiously into the troubled darkness. ; "Why, Mr Wrexham," she cried, "whatever brings you here at this time of night—and such a night too ?" " You may well ask, Mrs Pummerhorn j and I've just been within a hair's breadth of bein' killed by a fallin' chimbley." "La bless me, Mr Wrexham ! come in side here dp out of the wind. What's the matter, are you hurt ?" f

"Oh, no, ma'am, thank you," said Mr Wrexham as he stepped inside the door and shut it. " I'm all right, but your little friend Snowball ain't. I'm afraid he's got it pretty badly." " Snowball hurt!" exclaimed the widow with sorrow in her voice. "Why, how's that? Where has he been ?"

"He's been, Mrs Pumraerhorn, where even a dog ought not to ha' been on such a night as this, replied Wrexham, " a me anderin' on the promenade ; and the cdh sequens is he's caught the chimbley-pot that was well-nigh dom' for me, and! ain't sure," he said in a lower key, "it hain't done for him."

" Poor little fellow 1 where have you left him ?"

"Well, the fact is, Mrs Pummerborn, he wasn't able to come along of himself, andil, fancy lie's laid up along the road some where. But he was out on a me.Sage—and I guess it was for you—and as he couldn't come himself he's cent me -- that's about it. Tho truth is, I expect you're wanted pretty badly up in Foxburgh Road." A blush came ever the widow's pale face as she looked at Mr Wrexham. She was a middle sized thiu woman, with very deep, earnest eyes, very grey hair, a pleasing face, getting now somewhat wrinkled. She wore a widow's cap, though the date of her loss was welt-nigh forgotten by everyone who had known her late husband. Her dres', though homely, was very neat and clean.

" Dear, dear!" she said. '' And on such a night. What am Itodo ? I can never get up there And back again. Really it's too bad that man and wife can't live together without quarrelling like oat and dog." "There's many cats and dogs, mum, be yond doubt, as gets along better than them two," replied Mr Wrexham, with an air of conviction.

The widow made no reply. She did not care to canvass her family's differences with a stranger. She turned up the passage, thought a moment; and then said— "Would you mind waiting for me, Mr Wrexham ? I won't keep you more than a minute, and I can walk as far as your house withyou." "At your service, ma'am, said Mr Wrexham. "Wrap up warm. It's a killin' blast along the esplanade to-night." In two minutes they were " scuddin' be fore the wind," as Mr Wrexliam expressed it, and before long they arrived near the place where they had so lately stood within a stop of death. As they a.pproached the spot a howl, half joyful, half pitiful,, rose upon the breeze, and, running to the step from which it proceeded, the widow stooped to pat Snowball, who licked her black cloth glove to express his delight. "Here, you give him to me," said Mr Wrexham, good-naturedly. " I'll go as far as your son's with, you, aud you'll have, quite enough to do to carry yourself along. Pooh dog, then 1" And away they went, the widow walking fast, silent, aud with an anxious heart. She knew that her son Richard and his wife Maria were having one of those periodical quarrels which, be ginning in high words, worked themselves up to verbal liurricanes, and had on more than one occasion led to blows given by the dastardly hand of the passionate man to the foolish, feeble, and provoking wife. It was very curious, the course of these domestic tempests, which, ori ginating in some slight disagreement, grew in intensity to the alarming pitch of a family cyclone, with a pressure on the verbal wind gauge ,'of sixty or seventy pounds to the square foot. These tem pests seemed to arise and come along almost with the same sort of regularity as the depressions so obligingly telegraphed across the Atlantic by the "New York Herald." So' regular and distinct, indeed, were the phenomena, that Snowball, an observant animal, who had lived with the young Pummerhoins all their married life, knew the various stagos of the phenomena as accurately at least as the late Admiral Fitz roy could foretell the course of a storm. So long as the couple contented themselves with exchanging sarcasms and passing com pliments the reverse of flattering, the dog lying on the hearthrug with his head on his tore-paws, listened calmly, now and then pricking an ear or twitching an eye when the voices rose a little above the ordinary storm level. This first stage' came so often without arriving at any serious results, that Snowball took it as calmly as a sailor would take an ordinary stiffish fale, with a high barometer. If, however, Irs Pummerhorn junior's voice rose to a

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, JANUARY 7, 1882.

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