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“Don’t bother about the oars,” said Bob, his voice echoing from the walls of the passage. “It’s too dark for ’em. Try to get a hold on the roof.” “Oh, John! Tell him to get off and let me ride!” But while remembering that we shall be none the worse tomorrow for having been happy today, we are not permitted to forget entirely the Blue-devil Sprite that awaits the dawn. The play-spell is over; the lights are out in Vanity Fair; and here in Mr. Dulac's drawing is the leader of our Christmas Chorus as he shuts up the box and the puppets—"for our play is played out.".

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By some chance the next picture was a lurid western romance in which Indians and cowboys were all jumbled together with furious riding and rescues of the beautiful heroine. Of course, the Indians in the picture were the villains. As the film unfolded the Mexicans grew more excited over the story and Bob noticed that they began to throw slighting remarks towards the Indian sitting directly in front of him. “If you find that the work is not as much fun as you expected, will you come back and tell me so? You won’t stick it out just as a matter of pride?” “You think my hunch may be right then?” put in Bob, his eyes shining. “P’r’aps this big wall might become part of the dam itself!” These words struck sudden joy upon the heart of Madame de Menon, but she instantly recollected, that ere this time Julia had quitted the abbey, and thus the very precaution which was meant to ensure her safety, had probably precipitated her into the hand of her enemy. This thought changed her joy to anguish; and she was hurrying from the apartment in a sort of wild hope, that Julia might not yet be gone, when the stern voice of the Abate arrested her. 'Is it thus,' cried he, 'that you receive the knowledge of our generous resolution to protect your friend? Does such condescending kindness merit no thanks—demand no gratitude?' Madame returned in an agony of fear, lest one moment of delay might prove fatal to Julia, if haply she had not yet quitted the monastery. She was conscious of her deficiency in apparent gratitude, and of the strange appearance of her abrupt departure from the Abate, for which it was impossible to apologize, without betraying the secret, which would kindle all his resentment. Yet some atonement his present anger demanded, and these circumstances caused her a very painful embarrassment. She formed a hasty excuse; and expressing her sense of his goodness, again attempted to retire, when the Abate frowning in deep resentment, his features inflamed with pride, arose from his seat. 'Stay,' said he; 'whence this impatience to fly from the presence of a benefactor?—If my generosity fails to excite gratitude, my resentment shall not fail to inspire awe.—Since the lady Julia is insensible of my condescension, she is unworthy of my protection, and I will resign her to the tyrant who demands her.'.