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At the far edge of a group stood Lars Berget, who swung his hat in the air and ventured a faint, “Hurrah!” No one joined in it, however, for they bethought them of Uncle Isaac. “It is therefore my last wish that my grand-nephew, John Christopher Winkel Blossom, inherit after me my estate of Kingthorpe, whole and undivided, including the mansion and park, the Works, the Bay Point wharves, the Holmen sawmill”— “Yep! Here, take a squint through the telescope and see for yourself. The top of this wall is more’n halfway to the top of the canyon.”.

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“Yes,” said Johnny Blossom. The steamer would arrive very soon—the one that did not come in to the wharf and whose passengers, therefore, had to be rowed ashore if they wished to land here. Johnny and Asta thought it would be great fun to row out and call up to the ship that if any one wished to go ashore, here were the boatmen for them, boatmen who were good for something, too. 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." Low whisp'ring echoes steal along the glades.