about four, and no doubt excelled in pot-hooks. But what might not pot-hooks lead to in the way of emancipation? When the prizes were all worked through, the schoolmaster made a short speech, pointing out the satisfaction with which winners might bear these trophies of their learning and assiduity to their humble homes, and thanking on behalf of those present the wife of the Collector and District Magistrate for her gracious and dazzling distribution of the works in question. He then called upon his Honour for a short speech-before the meeting terminated with a rendering of "God Save the King." His Honour made a short speech. He said it was a good thing when rich men like Babu Chundar Ram handed over money for the purposes of education, but they must remember that the test of education was the practical result it had. Everybody could not be a philosopher, but everybody could learn to be sensible. There was a difference between learning and wisdom, and the latter was better because it implied character-and so on. The speech was greeted with great applause and noddings of the head, so that every one seemed to be most harmonious, and you might have thought that East and West were agreed upon every point of education at any rate. Then the Collector rose and asked for a day's holiday in honour of his visit, just as a distinguished visitor might have done at an English school, and the schoolmaster smilingly granted it, and there was general applause, just as at home, though as a matter of fact I believe that holidays are the one thing that schoolmasters and boys mostly detest in Bengal, their assiduous habits being disturbed by interruptions of this kind. Equally I believe that the Collector only asked for the holiday because he realised this, and meant to get back on the schoolmaster for having made him listen to so many long speeches on education. He would not allow this when I taxed him with it, but said he had asked for the holiday because it was the custom to do so. If my interpretation was correct, and he had done it to annoy the schoolmaster, it must be confessed that the schoolmaster got back on him later. The matter hardly really enters into this account of the speech day, but I may as well mention it. It took shape some months later, when the Collector was about to leave the district. The schoolmaster sent him a parting gift, in which was enclosed the following letter. The letter, I must state, was headed "God Save Our District Magistrate!!" and ran "HONOURED SIR, -I beg you to accept as kindly gift in departing 5 pomegranate fruits, 5 oranges, 2 doz. walnuts, and 1 bottle hair lotion. The latter is restorative to hair, and invaluable after much toil to weak brain." R. E. VERNÈDE. A SAFETY MATCH.1 BY IAN HAY, AUTHOR OF 'THE RIGHT STUFF,' 'A MAN'S MAN.' CHAPTER ELEVEN. DIES IRAE (continued). IT was Mr Dawks who really showed to the greatest advantage during the next halfhour. He assured his mistress by every means in his power that the whole thing was entirely his fault; and like the courteous gentleman that he was, he begged her with faintly wagging tail and affectionate eyes not to distress herself unduly on his account. The thing was done; let there be no more talk about it. It was nothing! By way of showing that the cordiality of their relations was still unimpaired he endeavoured to shake hands, first with one paw and then the other; but finding that both were broken he reluctantly desisted from his efforts. III. Presently Windebank arrived. He loved all dumb Windebank gazed down in an embarrassed fashion at the close coils of fair hair, bowed over the dog's rough coat. Then he stiffened himself defiantly. "He'll get well right enough, miss," he said with great assurance. "Just wants taking care of, that's all." It was a lie, and he knew it. But it was a kind lie. To such much is forgiven. Daphne sat with her patient until three o'clock, and then, overcome with the restlessness of impotent anxiety, and stimulated by an urgent telephonic reminder, ordered out horses. 1 Copyright in the United States by Ian Hay. the "Good-bye, old man," she said to Dawks, caressing the dog's long ears and unbecoming nose. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Lie quiet, and you'll soon be all right. Windebank says so." Mr Dawks whined gently and flapped his tail upon the floor, further intimating by a faint tremor of his ungainly body that if circumstances had permitted he would certainly have made a point of rising and accompanying his mistress to the door, and seeing her off the premises. As things were, As things were, he must beg to be excused. Daphne drove to Croxley Dene, where for an hour or so she exchanged banalities with the rest of the county and played a set of tennis. She drove home in the cool of the evening, more composed in mind. The fresh air and exercise had done her good. Windebank had said that the dog would live: that was everything. Less satisfactory to contemplate was the approaching interview with her husband in the matter of the car. Until now she had not thought of it. On reaching home she hurried to the library, where she had left the invalid lying on a rug before the fire. Mr Dawks was not there. "I wonder if Windebank has taken him to the stable," she said to herself. "I'll go and—” She turned, and found herself face to face with her husband. “Jack,” she asked nervously, "do you know where Dawks bing passionately in the dark. "And since he is dead," she added-" since you have killed him-I am going home to Dad and the boys! They love me!" She stood before her husband with her head thrown back defiantly, white and trembling with passion. "Very good. Perhaps that would be best," said Juggernaut quietly. CHAPTER TWELVE.-CILLY; OR THE WORLD WELL LOST. favours received, was frantically endeavouring to dodge the deliveries of the church militant as they bumped past his head and ricochetted off his ribs. "Stiffy," bellowed the new curate ferociously, "what the -I mean, why on earth can't you keep that right foot steady? You edge off to leg every time. If you get a straight ball, stand up to it! If you get a leg-ball, turn round and have a slap at it! But for heaven's sake don't go running away! Especially the course of a fast long-hop from things like pats of with his bat instead of his butter!" person. "But don't play back to yorkers." "Awfully sorry, Mr Blunt!" gasped Stiffy abjectly, as another pat of butter sang past his ear. "It's the rotten way I've been brought up! I've never had any decent coaching before. Ough! . . . No, it No, it didn't hurt a bit, really! I shall be all right in a minute." He hopped round in a constricted circle, apologetically caressing his stomach. They were in the paddock behind the rectory orchard. The Reverend Godfrey Blunt, a ruddy young man of cheerful countenance and ingenuous disposition, had rolled out an extremely fiery wicket; and within the encompassing net - Daphne's last birthday present-Stephen Blasius Vereker, impaled frog-wise upon the handle of his bat, and divided between a blind instinct of self-preservation and a desire not to appear ungrateful for "That's better," said Mr Blunt, as his pupil succeeded for the first time in arresting "All right!" said Stiffy dutifully. "I didn't know," he added in all sincerity, "that it was a yorker, or I wouldn't have done it. Oh, I say, well bowled ! I don't think anybody could have stopped that one. It never touched the ground at all!" Stiffy turned round and surveyed his prostrate wickets admiringly. admiringly. He was an encouraging person to bowl to. "No, it was a pretty hot one, one," admitted the curate modestly. "I think I shall have to be going now," he added, mopping his brow. "Parish work, and a sermon to write, worse luck! I think I have just time for a short knock, though. Bowl away, Stiffy!" He took his stand at the wicket, and after three blind and characteristic swipes suc ceeded in lifting a half-volley of Stiffy's into the adjacent orchard. When the bowler, deeply gratified with a performance of which he felt himself to be an unworthy but necessary adjunct, returned ten minutes later from a successful search for the ball, he found his hero hastily donning the old tweed jacket and speckled straw hat which he kept for wear with his cricket flannels. "Hallo! Off?" cried Stiffy regretfully. "Yes; I'm afraid so," replied Mr Blunt. He was gazing anxiously through a gap in the hedge which commanded the Rectory garden-gate. "This is my busy day. So long, old man!" However sound our nervous systems may be, we are all of us liable to be startled at times. Mr Blunt was undoubtedly startled on the occasion, and being young and only very recently ordained, signified the same in the usual manner. When he looked up into the tree where Nicky was reclining, that virtuous damsel's fingers were in her ears. "Mr Blunt," she remarked, "I am both surprised and shocked." "Veronica Vereker," replied Mr Blunt, turning and shaking his fist as he retreated down the slope towards Tinkler's Den, "next time I get hold of you I will wring your little neck!" He vaulted the fence, and set off down the road at a vigorous and businesslike trot. But after a hundred yards or so he halted, and looked round him with an air which can only be described as furtive. Before him the road, white and dusty, continued officiously on its way to the village and duty. Along the right-hand side thereof ran a neat rail-fence, skirting the confines of Tinkler's Den. The landscape appeared preach-the-sermon !" deserted. All nature drowsed in the hot afternoon sun. Miss Veronica Vereker kissed the tips of her fingers to him. "We will now join," she proclaimed, in a voice surprisingly reminiscent of the throaty tenor which Mr Blunt reserved for his ecclesiastical performances, "in singing Hymn number two hundred and thirty-three; during which those who desire to leave the church are recommended to do so, as it is my-turn-to— Mr Blunt, who was a muscular young Christian, took a running jump of some four feet six, cleared the topmost rail, and landed neatly on the grassy slope which ran down towards the Den. "Now then, Sunny Jim!" remarked a reproving voice above his head, "pas si beaucoup de cela !" VOL. CXC.-NO. MCLII. But by this time the foe, running rapidly, was out of earshot. Half-an-hour later Stiffy, who was a gregarious animal, went in search of his younger sister, whom he discovered, recently returned from her sylvan skirmish with the curate, laboriously climbing into a hammock in the orchard. 2 L |