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"No," says Mona, shaking her head. "Not—not to-night. I shall soon.",

"Now carry him over the bridge and put him down there, and he must go home, whether he likes it or not," goes on Mona to her warrior, whereupon that renowned person, armed with the shrieking turkey, crosses the bridge. Having gained the other side, he places the angry bird on its mother earth, and with a final and almost tender "Shoo!" sends him scuttling along to the farmyard in the distance, where, no doubt, he is received either with open arms and kisses, or with a sounding "spank," as our American cousins would say, by his terrified mamma.,

"Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie.,

"Hush, Dorothy! It was very wrong of Jack," interrupts Violet. But Mona laughs for the first time for many hours—which delights Doatie.

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The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is positively turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking straight before it, in a very dignified fashion, at a martial row of cups and saucers that are drawn up in battle-array and are only waiting for the word of command to march upon the enemy.,

She is a very little girl, quite half a head shorter than Mona, and, now that one can see her more plainly as she stands on the hearthrug, something more than commonly pretty.,

Later on, when they open the paper that had been given by the dead man into the keeping of Dr. Bland, and which proves to be his will, duly signed and witnessed by the gamekeeper and his son, they find he has left to Mona all of which he died possessed. It amounts to about two thousand a year; of which one thousand is to come to her at once, the other on the death of his mother.,

To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,—the breaking of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate but the last change of all.