"We beat every house about here, Aunt Paule." Miss Yearsley rejoiced in the name of Paulina, and she accepted the title of aunt in an honorary way from this family. We have not only a' ghost but crowds of ghosts! You shall see them one day!"

"No fear!" had been her answer. Miss Yearsley might have been an American lady, so fashionably was she dressed, so grey and fluffy was her hair, so keen and cute was her glance.

to brace spiritual resolution. The But these young folks were by no reader of such a book as "La Débâ- means the "Dancing Children of Harcle" may say to himself, "This is too ricombe." The story of these last had dreadful! Let us submit to any indig- just been told, and the end of it had nity or oppression rather than be re- been given in this way by Yorick Hare, sponsible for such horrors!" But the a boy of twelve: Christian will rather say, "In these scenes, and any still more appalling than these, we have a witness to the preciousness of ideal treasures." To fight for the existence and the honor of our country is the way to gain a higher conception of the trust committed to the children of a nation. In this age, more than ever, and for Englishmen more than for the citizens of any other country, it should be a sovereign aspiration that we may help to make the country for which we are ready to die and to kill increasingly worthy of its destiny, a better instrument in the hands of the Ruler of mankind. Christianity imposes upon those who govern the British Empire the obligation of The party were by this time at the caring little about lives or feelings end of the old garden, and where the compared with the security of the em- green combe slipped down from the pire and its power to do its appointed high level of the manor grounds to work in the world. Mr. Pearson's the shining green sea — what sea so book is a call to us to prove that to be good is not to be weak; that we know it to be our Christian duty to guard by strenuous effort, and by any required amount of suffering, the priceless inheritance which has been entrusted to

us.

J. LLEWELYN DAVIES.

From All The Year Round.

"They'll bring you your fate, Aunt Paule," Beatrice Hare cried. She was eighteen, had just left school, and was going to be "out," much to the chagrin of her wild self.

green in the winter sunlight as the sea of South Devon? Gorgeous coloring was below and all around from the flashes of autumnal fire through brown and heather of the moorlands. Berries of all hues, berries purple, black, yellow, scarlet, and crimson, patched the greenery of the combe, full-leaved still, though Christmas was nigh at hand, for you know airs are soft and kindly in Devon, and Mother Nature when she made these rifts in the red-earthed cliffs

THE DANCING CHILDREN OF HARRICOMBE. made them where greater heights than 'No fear!" themselves tower above and shadow them.

This boyish cry was made by a small, trim maiden lady of fifty, who was being shown over a domain new to her, but the "ancestral" home of the group of young people leading her.

May, the elder sister, who was being dragged along by Bee, gave one word as an ejaculation upon Bee's suggestion.

"Absurd!"

The personal antecedents of this Miss Yearsley have naught to do with our Being twenty and the eldest, being story. During the last summer she also engaged to her cousin, Harold had been unearthed by an old school- Hare, in India, she surely had a right fellow who had married Mr. Hare, of to be more wise and grave than Bee Harricombe, had become the mistress was. Some people called her brusque of the manor, and the mother of a -she was most certainly sterling and goodly company of young Hares.

true. 4286

66

"Right, May - right!" Miss Years- boys, hold the blackberry tangle out of ley applauded common sense. But my eyes. Was there ever such mud?” give me the history and explanation of "The soft Devon air, and the deep your hundreds of ghosts," she went on. Devon combes-that's the way the "If you can, that is." guide-books have it. You like eastwindy London streets and dry pave"Iments, do you not, Aunt Paule? Now, your foot here on this stone, clutch the bough and swing on to that long stone there," Bee advised from a firm standpoint in the very heart of a gorse-bush. "Give me your hand and clutch the bough with your other. All right. Why, you spring better than I do!" "And why not?"

"I do not know when they began, Aunt Paule," the girl answered; suppose in the dark ages of the Hare sovereignty. I only hope our Hare forbears had not killed a lot of children, the children of a rival tribe-but all round the country you may hear of the 'Children of Harricombe.' They are proper ghosts-you cannot get them when you want them, and you cannot drive them away."

"You speak feelingly." The little lady's keen glance questioned the girl.

Bee pursed up her pretty mouth, lifted her eyebrows, puckered her forehead, and did her best to keep from "Of course I do." May colored un- laughing too openly. No answer came der her warm, brown skin. "Harold from May up above. May had her and I saw them together, and at first skirts well up, and whereas she could we both thought they were village chil- have run and sprung down the combe dren coming up the combe. Harold like a young goat, was like a steed well had not proposed then. Of course he in hand, stepping daintily and cleanly would have done so just the same, but on rock and patch of greenery. No it made me awfully hot. I could not help did she need, erect was she as a help it, and I could not help seeing-young huntress behind the quick, half they danced and they sang. Yes! you nervous springs of Aunt Paule. needn't jeer, you boys; I heard them sing and so did Harold."

"I have not yet got the thread of the mystery. Why should they not dance and sing? Better far than wailing ghosts, or ghosts with rattling chains." "We are not so commonplace with our ghosts, dear things! Come down easily, Aunt Paule," Bee cried, holding out her firm, young hand for the elder lady to descend round a muddy bend of the combe. "Shouldn't you like to have seen Harold and May blushing one against the other, and the children not caring one bit ?"

“You are talking Greek.”

"Then here's plain English. These ghosts of ours dance when they bring you good luck, and weep, and wail, and howl, and wring their hands like any other ghost when they bring you bad luck. I've never seen them, and I am out in the combe at all hours. Never mind, I've got the good luck without them," and the girl danced on ahead. "Well, never mind the children now. Help me down this place, Bee, and, you

66

'Hurry up, girls," came from the boys below.

“All right!” and Bee's clear voice rang down through the tree-trunks and the bracken and the gorse. The shout rang like a bell to the ears of men on the sea.

"There's a jolly sight here — look sharp !" Bee forgot Aunt Paule's needs and flew. Her old blue serge dress gained a few new slits and scratches, but like a boy she pushed through briar and brake to the pebbly shore. There she stood with her hands on her hips, and with the dazzle of the December sun streaming over her and goldening her hair. The wind came from the sea, a soft, strong south wind, and it lifted skirts and short curly hair just as far as they would go, which was not far. The glow of roses was on her rounded cheeks, and a dropped white feather she had picked up was stuck in the rakish little cloth cap she wore ; she was trim and untidy at the same moment.

"What a love!" she cried. "Whose

is she, Malc? When did she come ? young man said. He looked a sailor, What's her name?"

A white-sailed yacht was lying to just within the entrance of Harricombe Bay, on to which the green combe opened, and at the moment when Bee's questions ceased a boat shot out from the far side of the dainty vessel. Swift, sure strokes sped the boat through the shining, green water, and then as May and Miss Yearsley came down the last slope of the combe, the crunch of the keel was heard on the shingle of the beach.

"The Iris-by Jove!" Malcolm cried with a grand air, as if the Iris were a personage, and he knew all about her.

"Well? What about her?" Bee asked, with the superlative air sisters so nicely assume towards their very grand younger brothers.

"Simply that she is Hatherley's new yacht."

and his speech had a ring and lilt of the north; of the north, too, were his blue eyes and yellow hair. "And I'll want the shortest cut to Scarbourne Court. It lies off here?"

"Yes. Hatherley's?"

66 Hatherley is my uncle. I've been with him up and down the North Seas."

"Yes; he's been cruising somewhere; we heard that." Yorick Hare was spokesman. "It is so. Not having enough of the sea I have been cruising with him. landed him at Leith a week ago, and have brought the Iris round here."

"She's a crack yacht-a prize-winner? All sorts, eh?" Yorick put in. "She is, my man. Would you like to look at her? I'll take you if you'll meet me here some time."

The boy's eyes sparkled.

"Not now; Scarbourne Court now, please. There'll be a way up? Short

"Old Hatherley's - oh!" Interest and sharp, you know." was dead.

Open blue eyes looked as if their

"Old Hatherley is a proper enough owner's path to most things would be old chap," sturdily.

"And he has the finest yacht on the coast-look at her! Don't you pretend you've never heard of the Iris, or you'll be out of it."

"How vulgar! Out of it!' Out of what, the Iris? I'm thinking I'd rather like to be in her," and Bee moved a yard or so further along the beach, as if that advance would give her eyes more searching power over the beautiful craft.

A hundred yards to the west, the crew of the rowboat were standing and looking to right and left. Was it that they did not know the coast ?

One detached himself from the rest. "I was never here before," the

short and sharp.

"The coastguard steps are just beyond where you landed; the combe is here - either will do. Scarbourne is just between the two; the combe is our beat. We are Hares," the boy added.

"It is very kind," and the stranger lifted his blue cap. "I'll just take the combe, as I'll be nearer to it now."

He signalled an order to the sailors, while he himself sprang up the combe.

Two days after this Edgar Graham was to be seen as much at Harricombe Manor as at his uncle's place at Scarbourne.

quickly.

Some friendships do grow

They have flown

No December sunshine can be imag- don't hear them. ined brighter than that which shone away." upon the yacht and her party when No," was Graham's sure reply. "old Hatherley" took his friends across" It is not sharp enough. It's humau. to Torbay. And hark, Bee-hark!"

Was there ever such a lunch as he gave? Was there ever so trim a yacht as the flying Iris ?

And under the mist why should he not take the girl's hand? He was a brave, helpful man; and Bee—well, Bee was Bee, the one woman in the world for him, and the touch of her

Also- was there ever such a drawback as the white sea fog which came spirit-like and silent as they were sail-hand was help. ing gaily past Torquay homewards?

"It's more from land than sea," some one said.

It was no time for second thoughts of squeamish proprieties. Her warm, strong, young fingers gave answer as

"I hate a fog!" Aunt Paule ex- her tongue spoke. claimed.

"Yes," she said, listening. "They The Iris gave a wide berth to the are crying. Oh! they have some terrisandy mouth of Exe, shot past Ex-ble sorrow. Is any one drowned, do mouth, whose red cliffs, gorse clothed, you think? Is it a boat drifting? were a trifle filmy under the scudding, Tell them to be careful. Can't we hurrying white mist, past Budleigh- anchor? We shall run them down!" yes, surely past Budleigh, but the fog had taken a short cut over the hills and was ahead and thick. Nigh upon Sidmouth - eh! well! one could not see. What of Harricombe Bay? It was awkward, but no one could say where the bay was.

The master said the Iris must "lie to" for a bit; "these fogs never last long."

The fun was out of the day.

The elder folks were in the saloon not too warm. The young ones with coat-collars over their ears, and the girls rolled in thick shawls, were on deck, restless, keeping close to one another, some of them trying to make jokes and succeeding ill.

"Shout!" Graham said, "shout!" His strong voice cried high and loud through the fog. "Don't fear, we'll help — shout, and we'll get to you."

Only the low, soft crying for answer; and it seemed to these two, Bee and Graham, as if the sobs were quite near. "Keep off!" shouted Graham.

"We shall run them down!" Bee gasped; and she clutched at the young man's arm.

"A boat must be lowered."

not go?" And quickly Graham gave his order. Nobody had heard the cry of distress but these two. May and the other young ones ridiculed the idea; they

"What is that noise?" Bec asked had been near by, and should know. suddenly. The crew, too, stuck to the same.

There were but low voices talking, and the soft lap of peaceful sea against the sides of the yacht.

"Like singing, will ye mean? — no! like some child crying! Graham said. He was by Bee, as he had been all day, as he generally was now, in fact.

"It'll be some echo in the shore; there'll be caves belike. And mebbe we're nearer coast than we knows of."

"Lower the boat!" came the order. No sooner was this done, however, than the December sun mastered the mist, warmed it, lightened it, and took to himself shape as a scarlet ball of fire on the shoulder of a low, western hill. Away on the very edge of the wide May world did this globe of fire seem to be, but from it came life and heat to sweep the evil mist from off the face of the I waters.

"There must be some boat in distress-some little boat, perhaps, with children in. What can we do?" "What are you talking about?" asked, who was not far off. They told her.

Sea-birds," listening.

"But

Again the green sea danced and combe'!" Bee at last cried excitedly. played round the sides of the Iris.

Graham and one sailor in their white boat rocked and danced in the surf of the coast; but they were alone; no other boat was to be seen, no drowning man struggled, no children wailed, no sign of distress showed.

No; sunshine and silence—nothing else was there, round the white yacht and on the sweep of green Harricombe Bay.

"It was a most extraordinary thing," Bee was saying. By some means she and the young sailor were ahead of the rest, and with light, swift steps were mounting the combe and taking short cuts amongst the tangle. "No one will ever convince me I did not hear." "I say the same."

“Our ghosts ! Did you not know

how famous we were in the matter of ghosts ? "

"No; tell me."

Then she did tell him, and out of one story there grew another which was told by him, and was just the sweet old story which is always new though of so hoary and blessed an antiquity.

Together in the gloaming the two walked hand-in-hand from the combe through the winter garden home.

"Oh, I do not fear at all!" she said. "Nay, my dearest ! Are we not strong and living? Surely we can master the misty tears and crying of those little ghosts of yours !”

"I should think so, indeed! ”

It was a merry Christmas at Harri"Well, you look out for news. To-combe that year, for Beatrice Hare was morrow, perhaps to-night, you'll hear "woo'd and married and a'" in no some boat is lost. We could not have time. swamped a boat without knowing, could we ?"

"No-no. Can you not trust me?" "I don't know!" and Bee sprang forward, tossing her head.

Suddenly she stopped and she held out her hand, her face was grave and white, and her attitude was of one who listens.

Graham was heir to old Hatherley, of Scarbourne, and after one more voyage would settle down as young squire. But so going on his last voyage he would have his wife" and not only his "betrothed" to think of and to pray for him.

So the marriage was quick.

"Do you not hear?" and with her The sweet breath of coming spring outstretched hand she touched Graham, had touched the green combe and whisleading him forward. "They have hid-pered to the sleeping violets and awaked den somewhere here," she said in a them. Soft blue flowery eyes looked hushed voice; "some one surely is up into the clear February sky, feared hurt!" not, and breathed their perfumed song of silence.

"Ha! — yes! strange! but why did they not answer when I called ? " For he also heard then as she did the sound of a low sobbing, and as he held her guiding hand he, also like her, saw two children, half hidden by intervening bushes, pass along, crying.