"Your Highness," said one of the guardians, "we have discovered that this racer is a girl."

66

.

"A girl!" cried the Count. Then, by St. Christopher, she should teach the lads! How is this?" he added, turning to Katinka.

Katinka's only answer was a timid lifting of her lids. The crowd, seeing her in conversation with the Count, and not knowing what happened, began again its shouts of: "The green! Hurrah for the green!

The Count, as he looked toward the spectators, caught sight of one of the posters placed on a house near by. He raised his hand for silence.

10

"The race is declared to be for contestants between the ages of ten and thirteen," he an- 15 nounced. "The sex of the racer is not mentioned, as you see. I think I give the unanimous decision of the crowd when I say that the purse is hers. Take it, my gallant girl," he added, holding out the coveted trophy; "you have won it not only 20 fairly but gloriously. May you do as well in every race that awaits you in life."

The band struck up a gay, triumphant air, and the voices of the people rose once more in enthusiastic cries of "The green! the green! Three 25 cheers for the green!'

Flushed with victory, Katinka lifted Flulin in her arms and, with the precious purse clasped tight, was making her way through the crowd when she heard a pitiful little sound and Trudchen clutched 5 her arm.

66

"O Katinka! forgive me," she sobbed. "It was all my fault. Mother was asleep and Flulin promised to be good if I would bring her, but she ran away from me when she saw you, and I dared 10 not follow."

"Trudchen, you did very, very wrong," said Katinka, trying hard to be stern. "You ought not to have come. But how can I be anything but good to you when the Count has been so good 15 to me?'

Thus ended the memorable race by which Katinka won the means of keeping all her dear ones in comfort.

incentive: spur.

unparalleled: unequaled.—exultant: proud.

florin: the Dutch florin was worth forty cents.—musing: thinking. — quay: a wharf. suppressed: hidden.

- sumptuous: costly. - ecstasy: delight.

-fealty loyalty.

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

ROBERT BROWNING

ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889), an English poet who alone disputes with Tennyson the first place among Victorian poets, was born at Camberwell, a suburb of London, and was educated at London University. In his fourteenth year he picked up, in a bookstore in London, a copy of Shelley's poems. He was so fas- 5 cinated by the beauty of Shelley's lines that he was led to become a poet himself. In his twenty-first year he published Pauline, his first long poem. This was followed, in 1835, by Paracelsus, a poem of singular beauty as well as of singular defects. From that date until his death, fifty-four years later, his vigorous pen 10 was seldom at rest.

In 1846 he married a fellow-poet, Elizabeth Barrett, whose fame at that time was greater than his own. They made their home in the beautiful Italian city of Florence, and there, happy in their art and happy in their love, they lived until Mrs. Brown- 15 ing's death in 1861. Then Browning returned to England to live.

Browning is at his best in his shorter poems. Many of these are poetic gems, rare in beauty and vigor.

Next to Tennyson, we hardly know of another English poet who can be compared with Browning. — E. P. Whipple.

You know we French stormed Ratisbon:

A mile or so away,

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,

As if to balance the prone brow

Oppressive with its mind.

20

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader, Lannes,
Waver at yonder wall,"

5

10

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect

5

10

(So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through)

You looked twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon !

The Marshal's in the market-place,

And you'll be there anon

To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire,

Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself, as sheathes

A film the mother-eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes;

"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said:

"I'm killed, sire!" And his chief beside,

Smiling the boy fell dead.

vans: wings.