"I wunt, my lord."

"But you ought to."

"I wunt tell on him or no man, my lord, not for any man. When I gets as big as father I'll give he cause for to know it. But I won't tell, not on, no man."

"I like this," said Tom Silcote. "There is a spice of the devil here. Whose boy is this?"

"James Sugden's," said the immovable keeper. 'Give me the boy," said Tom Silcote.

I will carry

him to the hall. See Sugden home and send for the doctor."

"The boy is as near his own home as he is to the hall, Master Thomas," said the keeper. "He is more used to it; and his mother will fret. These brats like the home where they have been bred best."

"Give me the boy, now, and no more of your jaw. I am going to take the boy home with me. Go and tell his mother who has got him, and where he is gone. Good-night all. Thanks for your pluck."

CHAPTER II.

FIRELIGHT.

JAMES was transferred from the arms of the head-keeper to those of his friend the lord-lieutenant, and found himself being carried rapidly on through the beech forestevery tree of which he knew-towards the hall. He was, so to speak, alone with this great gentleman; for, although they were followed by a coachman, two grooms, a countrybred footman, and page, these good gentlemen kept behind, noisily recounting their deeds of valour, which, to do them justice, were anything but inconsiderable.

James would have lain much more comfortably if he could have kept his bitterly aching head on the lord

lieutenant's shoulder. But that gentleman kept raising it so that he could look at his face, which he did with great curiosity and amusement. At last he said

"You are a quaint little rascal—a most plucky little dog. I am going to take you to Queer Hall, do you hear, and get you mended."

He said this so good-naturedly that James was encouraged to say,

Please, my lord, I'd sooner go and see after father." "Yes, but you ain't going, don't you see," replied his friend, "which makes all the difference."

Soon the forest opened into glades, though it still loomed dark all round. Now his bearer got over some iron hurdles, and they were passing through flower-beds, and then Tom Silcote began kicking at a door. When he ceased, James became aware of more animal life than their own; they were surrounded by five or six bloodhounds, the famous bloodhounds of Silcotes, at whose baying, far heard through the forest, the woodland children gathering flowers or seeking bird-nests were used to raise their scared eyes and run homewards towards their mothers, wailing-the more heavy-footed of the frightened little trots being dragged along by their braver sisters-all their precious flowers scattered and lost in the hurry and terror of their flight. James knew that these dim, wild-beast-like figures, which were crowding silently around them, were the celebrated and terrible hounds, heard of by all, seen by few, the keeping of which was reported to be one of the darkest fancies in the Squire's darkened mind. James's courage utterly gave way; he clutched Mr. Silcote round the neck, and did what he had not done for four years before—cried out for his mother.

Quiet! you little fool," said his friend. "If yon scream out like that the dogs will be on us, and I can't save you. Open the door here, you asses!"

The boy was quiet, but horribly frightened. He heard one of the party in the rear cry out, "Look out here! I'm blowed if the Squire hasn't let the dogs loose. It's too bad." And another-"Stand close together! Mr. Tom, call they dogs in! D'ye hear, sir! call they dogs in!"

But the door was opened, and he and the man who carried him passed into a large and dimly-lighted hall with the terrible dogs all round them, and the door was shut behind. Then James was set down before a great wood fire, with the dogs crowding against him, gazing at the blaze with their sleepy eyes, and now and then those of them which were nearest to him reaching their foolish beautiful heads up and licking his face. He shrunk at first, but

finding they were kind got his arm round the neck of the nearest monster, who seemed quite contented. The night had grown chill, and he had almost forgotten his bruised and aching head in the sensation of cold; so he enjoyed the fire, very stupidly, not caring who was in the room. or what they were saying.

The first piece of conversation which reached his inner sense was this-it came, as he guessed, and immediately afterwards knew, from the mouth of a little girl. And its sound was like the chiming of silver bells.

"These dogs you understand are reindeer.”

"That is totally impossible," said another voice, also a girl's, nearly as pretty, but very decided. "If they are reindeer we shall have to kill them, and drink their blood as an antiscorbutic, and you are hardly prepared for that." "Let them be bears," said a boy's voice, very like the second girl's-a voice he liked very much.

"In which case," said the determined girl's voice, "we should have to kill them in self-defence, if for no other reason. And I dislike the flesh of the Arctic bear; they are Esquimaux dogs, and must drag our sledges. And their harness must be made with hemp, or they will eat it. You are very stupid to-night, Reggy."

"They are reindeer, I tell you," said the girl with the silvery voice; "they could not be anything else. We have so much pemmican and things in store that we don't want them, but make them draw our sledges."

"None of the searching party did that," said the strong girl's voice; "they used dogs. These dogs are too big, certainly, and, besides, I am afraid of them. But they must be dogs."

"If they are not reindeer I shall not play," said she of

the clear voice. "I am not going to winter at Beechey Island, unless they are reindeer. The snow-hut belongs to me; I stole the hearth-rugs and shawls and things to make it. Law! look at that boy before the fire. My dear, this is an Esquimaux from off the ice in Ross's Straits, and he brings us intelligence of the expedition from Back's Fish River."

"It's only a common boy come in from the poaching expedition," said the stronger voice, “and a very dirty one too."

This was not quite so true as the remarks generally made by this very downright young lady. James was not dirty, though rather battered.

My love, it's an Esquimaux.

He is a very stupid boy; he ought to lie down on his stomach on the ice and blow like a seal to attract our attention, instead of gazing at the fire. Reggy, you must be Petersen the interpreter. Let us trade with that boy. Kammick toomee! Kammick toomee!' interpret for us, Petersen; hold up a needle."

CHAPTER III.

THREE OF THE FAMILY.

Taus adjured, James, dropping the head of the bloodhound which he held in his hand, turned round. The party of young people who had been talking so freely about him saw before them a little common boy, with a smock-frock, whose face was fearfully swollen and disfigured with blood. Their babble and their play were stopped at once, by seeing a figure more tragical and more repulsive than they had reckoned on. James, on his part, saw before him three children. The first which arrested his eye was a stout, strongly-built girl of about twelve, with handsome, very handsome, but rather coarse features, a very full complexion, and dark blue eyes, steady and strong as two sea

beacons; she was the tallest as well as the strongest and boldest-looking of the three. Next he saw a blonde babyish-looking fairy, likewise blue-eyed, with her long golden hair falling about her shoulders in cascades-the most beautiful creature he had ever looked on, but quite indescribable, for the simple reason that there was nothing to describe about her, except a general beauty, which was not here, nor there, but everywhere. And, lastly, this group of three was made up by a pale and sickly-looking boy, who, pale and unhealthy as he looked, was evidently, even to James's untrained eyes, the brother of the strong red-faced girl he had noticed first.

It was not difficult for James to connect the three voices he had heard with the three children he saw before him. The golden-haired fairy was the girl who had done the principal part of the talking. The stout strong girl, she of the determined voice, was the girl who had made objections to the original programme of their play, and the pale-faced boy was the owner of the voice he had liked so much, the boy who had said that the dogs must represent bears.

James, for the first time in his life, had the pleasure of throwing the whole of a company (very limited on this occasion) into confusion. So far from acting Esquimaux, and being traded with, he turned his battered face on them, and said in good enough English

"I know what you are aiming at. But I can't be an Esquimaux to-night. I know all about the Great Fish River, and the pemmican, and the Magnetic Pole is in Boothia Felix. I'd willingly play with you. I'd be a bear, and come growling round your hut smelling the seal blubber; or I'd be the great brown jaguar, bigger than the biggest Bengal tiger, and I'd lie under the palm-tree, and work my claws, and you should be Humboldt, picking of cowslips and not noticing me: or I'd be Villeneuve, or Gravina, or Soult, or any of that lot short of Buonaparte, and you should be Lord Nelson or Lord Hill. But I can't play to-night. I want to be took home to mother and put to bed."

"My dear souls," said Anne, the bright-haired fairy, to