The Strand Magazine, Vol. 07, Issue 39, March 1894 An Illustrated Monthly

The Queer Side of Things. "SHE PULLED THEM BOTH DOWN UPON THEIR NOSES." "Ah! I guess she is in France," said the beggar: "she will not soon be back." Perched on a rich rod, a handsome paroquet was screeching at some distance from the table: "Fly quickly! fly quickly! Don't stop in this palace!" Alméric went over to her. "Why should we fly?" he asked: "are you not happy here?" "Alas!—look at me," replied the paroquet; "I wished to be beautiful: I desired claws of gold, ruby wings; and now I am condemned to rest here all my life, motionless, as you see; for it is impossible to fly with wings made of rubies or to walk with feet made of gold." Near the window they observed a large cat. It did not stir from where it lay, and appeared to be very discontented. "What is the matter with you, puss?" inquired Alméric. "Excuse me," replied the cat, "is it a horse, a serpent, a donkey, a man, or a woman to whom I have the honour of speaking? I can't see; pray excuse me." "You are blind?" said Alméric, compassionately. "Alas! yes, monsieur—and by my own fault. I had so long heard emerald eyes praised that I wished for them, and ever since that time have lost my sight. I do not even know whether my eyes are as pretty as they have been said to be. Will you be so kind as to tell me what is your impression on the subject? Look at me. Do you think that emerald eyes go well with my face?" Alméric wished to say that he thought her eyes beautiful, to console her for having lost her sight, but the old beggar was inexorable. "Your eyes are abominably ugly!" he said, roughly. "Impossible!" replied the cat. "They must shine?" "No!" cried the old man; "nothing shines out of its place! Take my advice—hide them, put on spectacles; and if ever you have any more emeralds, make them into rings and not into eyes." "FLY QUICKLY!" And, once more, the young man could not refrain from laughing at this reflection. On quitting the dining-room, they entered a superb court paved in mosaic and surrounded by elegant columns. They there perceived a bird which, by its plumage, might have been taken for a vulture, but whose timid bearing had nothing of the bird of prey in it. "There is a vulture that, to me, has a very stupid look," observed the beggar. "Who are you, old fellow?" he added, addressing the vulture. "I am a vulture, a bird of prey; formerly a turkey, a farmyard bird. I wished to mount in rank and quit the sphere in which I won nothing but disrespect; but I repent—repent the change—for I cannot bring myself to devour them." "Devour whom?" cried Alméric. "Alas! those good turkeys who have always been so kind to me." "Ninny!" exclaimed the old beggar, "why did you get yourself turned into a vulture? Better to be a turkey and liked, than a vulture—and timid." And again the young man could not refrain from laughing at this reflection. In one corner of the court there was a bear seated on a bench, his head bowed down upon his chest and plunged in profound meditation. "There's a fellow, too, who does not seem to know much about the business of a bear," remarked the beggar. "How did he come to be in this palace? What vanity has pushed him into the bear profession? I'd lay a wager he once had a better." The beggar approached the melancholy animal. "Bear," he asked, "what were you before you got yourself transformed into your present shape?" "I was a doctor's assistant." "A doctor's assistant!" repeated Alméric and the beggar in the same breath. "Yes, a doctor's assistant," replied the bear; "but everybody made fun of my position. Men pursued me with their irony, made songs about me, burlesqued me on the stage. I wished to escape them, and had myself turned into a bear; but I am tired of my condition. I was not born for solitude." "You old fool!" cried the beggar, angrily, "why did you leave the calling you were in? You might have avenged yourself on the men you detest; for you do not appear to me to be very learned, and you might have poisoned the universe with your drugs and your blunders." The beggar was still speaking, when his attention was attracted by a gigantic elephant in an adjoining court. "An elephant!" he cried. "Who can have asked to be turned into an elephant? an ant, I'll wager." However, the old man was mistaken; it was not an ant that had desired to be turned into an elephant: it was a rabbit. He had only recently obtained that signal favour, and was still puffed up with pride at his metamorphosis. He was walking about heavily, and with an air of importance, and received condescendingly all the compliments addressed to him on his new promotion. The beggar, having learned his history, advanced towards him familiarly. "Good-day, bunny!" he said. "Well, how do you like your big skin?" "'AN ELEPHANT!' HE CRIED." The elephant was greatly shocked at this disrespectful tone; but the small practice he had had in the use of his trunk prevented him from seeking to avenge himself. "Thoroughly—as you see," he replied, strutting. "Is it long since you asked this favour?" inquired the beggar, maliciously. "No," replied the elephant; "a few days ago only; as an old rabbit, I had incontestable claims. I have really only changed in form: my colour remains the same; my ears, instead of standing up, now fall down—that is the only difference." "The idiot!" thought the beggar; "he does not even believe himself to have been changed!" "Tell me, my dear fellow," said Alméric, who was greatly amused by the rabbit's stupidity, "don't you find your ordinary habits somewhat deranged?" "You remind me," replied the rabbit, as if suddenly struck by an idea: "I am afraid I shall find my increased bulk inconvenient, on returning to my burrow this evening." This time the young man could not possibly refrain from laughing at that reflection. "Would you like to see the beautiful woman, gentlemen?" asked the lackey who was conducting them. "Yes, yes," replied Alméric, eagerly. "I should like to see the 'beautiful woman.' Where is she?" "This way, gentlemen. Be good enough to enter this boudoir." They passed into a charming room, formed entirely of looking-glasses—the ceiling, the wainscotting, all was of looking-glass, in which one could admire oneself from every point of view. The beautiful woman was lying upon a sofa. On beholding her, the beggar and Alméric fell back in horror. This beautiful woman was a monstrosity, but believed herself to be a chef d'œuvre . Every part of her was beautiful, and yet she appeared horrible; because the exaggeration of beauties makes a hideous ensemble; because it is harmony which gives grace to things we admire, movement which gives life; and this beautiful woman had neither grace nor movement. She had been born very pretty, but the excess of her vanity, and her coquetry, had made her lose all her advantages. She was beautiful as Nature had created her; she wished to be beautiful as beauty is painted: she exaggerated all her graces and changed them into deformities. She asked for silken hair—she had long locks of silk, without life or colour; she desired to have teeth of pearl, and her teeth appeared horrible: she wished for a wasp-waist, and her body, drawn in by a tight belt, was without grace or suppleness, and looked as if it might snap in two at any moment; she asked for hands of alabaster, and her hands became dull and cold; she desired to have the feet of a child, and these deformed feet were not strong enough to sustain the weight of her body or to permit her to walk. Nothing more hideous was ever seen: it was ideal ugliness. "A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN WAS LYING UPON A SOFA." "Thousand centimes!" exclaimed the beggar; "how horrible this 'beautiful woman' is!—the sight of her makes me in love again with my old wife!" Evening being come, a sleeping apartment was offered the strangers for the night. "A room here will be better than any I can get at an inn," thought Alméric, following the valet, who conducted him to a magnificent bedroom prepared for travellers. Exhausted by the fatigues of the day, he lost no time in undressing and getting into bed. But he had scarcely stretched himself before beginning to utter loud cries of distress. "Horror! my skin is being torn from my body! I am in torture! What is the meaning of it? A perfidy! An abominable piece of cruelty!" and a thousand like complaints: and yet all he complained of arose from nothing but the admirable care which had been taken with his bed. The sheets which covered it were of the finest Indian muslin, embroidered with gold spangles, charming to look upon, but inappreciable by a person used to lie upon sheets of coarse Holland. It takes time to get accustomed to inconveniences of this sort. Poor Alméric's feet were scratched all over. Every movement he made in getting out of this terrible bed tore his skin; his arms were covered with blood. "Vanity of vanities!" he cried. "Old man, beggar, let us fly from this place; there is no sleeping in this palace, and I am dying for want of sleep." "What do you think of sheets embroidered with gold spangles?" asked the old man, laughing. "Could you have a more superb bed to sleep in?" "Let us get out of this place," cried the young traveller, who was in no jesting mood; "I'll not remain here another hour. The men here are all stupid, the women frightful; one can neither eat here nor sleep. Let us be off, old man—let us be off instantly!" Alméric, who had hastily redressed himself, roughly pushed the beggar out of the room, the old man laughing heartily all the while, and they quitted the palace together, taking the way to the beggar's hovel. "I AM IN TORTURE!" "Sleep here," said the old man, pointing to his truckle bed; "this mattress is favourable to sleep, and your rest will not be disturbed by spangled sheets—because there are no sheets of any kind. But what does that matter?—it is sleep that makes good beds, as it is appetite that makes good meals." Alméric threw himself on to the beggar's bed and was soon sound asleep; and the old man heard him cry out in his dreams:— "It is all over! I wished to obtain the embassy to Constantinople; but I will remain a simple notary at Saint-Quentin." And the beggar, in his turn, could not refrain from laughing at this reflection. The Queer Side of Things. THE MASTER OF GRANGE. There was a rushing, whirling agitation in the air—the dust rose from every ledge and revolved wildly as a something passed down the intricacies of the old back staircase—passed too rapidly for recognition. It was the page, pale and breathless, hurling himself from the top floor toward the servants' hall. "There's that ghost agen!" he gasped. "It's up there a-furridgin among the lumber in the loft! It is —I 'eard it myself, I tell yer! Yer may say 'pooh' if yer like. Yer'd better go an' see!" The housekeeper, being the bravest of those who heard, went up to see. There certainly were unusual sounds in the vast and lonely lofts under the roof. Cautiously she peeped in; and there was the Squire with a candle ferreting about among the dusty heaps of lumber. "Mrs. Wriggs," said the Squire, "there are a great many useless things here which we shall never want. I've been thinking that we might as well——" "Yes, sir; no doubt there are many poor people who could turn them to some use," said Mrs. Wriggs. "And we might do worse than give them——" " Give them!" said the Squire. "Doesn't it seem rather like bad taste to give away things which Providence has presented to us? Wouldn't it be taken as a sort of slight? I was thinking that we might sell them, now—for the good of the House, of course." The Squire represented the house: he did a great many things for the good of it—the temporal good, of course. "Eh? Who would buy?" said the Squire. "If a thing is good enough to accept, Mrs. Wriggs, it has some value; what has a value is worth buying. Let us collect all the articles we have no further use for, and obtain the highest price for them, by way of showing to that Providence which has bestowed them upon us that they have a value in our eyes. I will accompany you downstairs, and see what broken saucepans and other utensils there may be there. Every little helps, in a good cause." So the articles were looked out—saucepans with holes in them, handles of flat-irons, chairs without legs, old packing-cases, book covers, old advertisement sheets of old newspapers, and so forth; and a "rummage sale" was held at the Big House. The whole village attended, and, as a compliment to the Squire, bought up the articles in lots, at a few pence per lot. The Squire had never held aloof from his dependents; it being a belief that we should, to a certain extent, share our good things with our poorer brethren. But next day the Squire was rummaging and ferreting harder than ever; all over the house, from the lofts to the cellars; peering in every corner, opening every drawer, feeling in all his pockets; looking behind things, on top of things, under things, in old hat-boxes, and glove-boxes, and collar-boxes. To help at this game gave the greatest delight to his little son and heir, Master Rupert, a curly-haired, brown-eyed little person of seven years. To all offers of assistance, the Squire replied that it was not a matter of importance: he had merely mislaid his handkerchief. Such a search for a handkerchief has never been made before or since. That evening the Squire ate no dinner, but sat in his study with his head clasped between his hands, and his elbows on the table; and so he sat half through the night. Next morning he was up before dawn; and in the first grey light a thrush noticed him peering all over the paths leading from the house, travelling slowly over them step by step, and examining every inch. All that day he spent in pursuing this occupation (but putting on a lounging and purposeless air when observed) and in making calls at the houses of the villagers; and when he returned to the house, long after dinner-time, he was so changed and so haggard as to be difficult to recognise. Creeping to the night nursery, where little Rupert was asleep in his cot, the Squire tenderly took him out, bed-clothes and all, and carried him away to his study, where he placed him on the sofa, and sat close by, never removing his eyes from the child. Every now and again he would stretch out his hand and touch the child, and appear reassured on finding it warm; or he would place his ear close to its mouth, and give a sigh of relief on hearing its breathing. At every creak of the furniture and sough of the wind the Squire would start; and once he rose suddenly and hastily locked the door. Early in the morning the nurse, waking and missing the child, knocked at his door to ask whether he had taken it. And he would not open the door; but stood before little Rupert, covering him as though from some enemy, and replying that he was to remain with him. About seven he rang, and handed a telegram form to a servant, with instructions to send off the message the moment the wire was available; and by twelve the family solicitor had arrived from London. Hastily placing a screen in front of the child, the Squire admitted the solicitor, nervously locking the door after him, and always keeping himself between the solicitor and little Rupert. "Mr. Pergamen," said the Squire, "I have decided to convey this house—I beg you will follow me—convey this house to one, John Puddifoot, grocer, of this village; to be his absolutely, without——" The family solicitor started up and gasped, but the Squire waved him into silence with his hand, continuing:— "Yes, to alienate from myself, and my son, our ancestral home, 'Grange'—the house which has belonged to the family since the end of Henry VIII., the same, Mr. Pergamen, the same— the house, this house, Grange. You are aware, of course, that the existing owner has the power to do this? Eh? 'Make a temporary arrangement of it'?" continued the Squire, answering the solicitor's suggestion more to himself than to the suggester. "No—no—no! That might not suffice; no, I won't risk it—no, no, no! Be kind enough to prepare the necessary deeds at once— at once . ' Remember my heir? ' I am remembering my heir, sir! Be kind enough to bring me the deeds the moment they are ready, and I will sign them. "Yes, John Puddifoot, grocer, of the village of Grangeham. Stay—kindly write out a provisional declaration of transfer now , and I will sign it." "To make this transfer of your property to the grocer legal, there must be a consideration," said the solicitor; "shall we say Natural Love and Affection? —Very good." So the half-dazed solicitor drew it up, and the Squire signed it; and then the solicitor went away to prepare the formal deed; and the haggard Squire, catching up the child, hastily dressed him, carried him down to the hall, keeping his own body between his burden and all whom he passed, and, throwing on his great grey overcoat and drawing it over the child so as to conceal him as far as possible, hurried out and went straight away to the shop of John Puddifoot, grocer, and plunged straight into the little back parlour. "Come in here, Puddifoot—come in here, and lock the door behind you!" cried the Squire, placing the child on a chair in the darkest corner, and standing at bay, as it were, in front of it. "John Puddifoot, I have long been troubled with misgivings as to the happiness and welfare of those over whose lot I exercise a considerable influence. I do not know, in short, whether the tenants on my estate are as happy as they should be. This has worried me, Puddifoot; and I have decided that it is my duty to inquire into the matter; and it seems to me that the most effectual method of inquiry is to change places with one of them. "I wished to do the thing thoroughly, and I have therefore made over my manor house, 'Grange,' unconditionally to you. "My solicitor will see that all is correctly carried out. You are now absolute master of Grange, Puddifoot: therefore be good enough to go and fill your position there, leaving me to take your place here, and learn by my own experience whether your circumstances are as happy as it has been my duty to make them. Before making over the property, I left written instructions to my—your—steward that I should be treated here precisely the same as you have been; and I will beg you to allow this to stand. John!" continued the Squire, grasping the grocer's hand and gazing into his eyes, "I can trust you. You will not play me false. At some future time I might ask you to re-convey the house to me, and annul this act of mine. You would have power to refuse—but you will not!" "HE WENT STRAIGHT AWAY." The bewildered grocer began to murmur some unintelligible ejaculations. "Swear it, John Puddifoot—swear it on all you hold sacred—here—this ledger of yours; the very thing. Swear it, and keep faith!" Benumbed with wonder, the grocer obeyed, scratched his head, opened his mouth three times, but closed it again in obedience to the Squire's uplifted finger; and put on his hat and walked aimlessly towards the manor house. The Squire watched him until he had turned the distant corner; then he locked the door again, and commenced to search every cupboard, drawer, and corner as he had done at Grange. Taking the grocer's keys—(the grocer was a bachelor, and the maid-of-all-work was away at the village school)—he went all over the house, looking in everything—even the pockets of the grocer's clothes; then he searched the shop, poked about under the rice and sugar and lentils, peered into the tea and coffee reservoirs, the till, the scales, the drawers, the empty jars. Only desisting now and again to give some food to little Rupert, he went on breathlessly at this search until they had lighted the evening lamp behind the red blind of the "Vensleigh Arms" up the hill. Then he sank on to the sofa beside the child, and let his head drop between his hands, and sat, and sat, and sat. "It must be here—it must —must!" he kept muttering. "Mrs. Wriggs herself noticed such a little flat case in a parcel of odds and ends bought by Puddifoot. Can he have burned it, without opening it? Can he have given it away? It must be here, surely!" Long before this the rumour of the Squire's "madness" had gone through the village, and many boys and a few adults had tried to peep in through the shop window, but they could not see in, and the shop door had been locked all day. In the evening Mr. Pergamen had come down again, and had given a few of the leading villagers some reason or other, more or less satisfying, for the Squire's conduct. These explanations were tame enough, but they quieted matters down a little. "It's gone—gone—gone!" muttered the Squire. "Lost to us, Rupert! But we're not the masters of Grange now, you and I; we're safe, Rupert, we're safe. It can't fall on your head now—It can't overwhelm—stay!" Almost with a yell the Squire started up. "The formal deeds are not signed yet. I forgot that! The provisional transfer should suffice. Does it? Does it? Pergamen may not be carrying out my instructions! He may have destroyed the declaration; but he would not dare to destroy a deed. He may be fooling me—temporizing. And then the danger may not have passed away!" "TRIED TO PEEP IN THROUGH THE SHOP WINDOW." Again he caught up the boy, and stood as if at bay, shielding little Rupert. "I must see Pergamen," he muttered. "Now—where can he be?" There was a tap at the shop door. The Squire snatched up his grey overcoat and flung it over the child, and stood, white and rigid, in front of him. But it was Mr. Pergamen at the door; and he was admitted and the shop door hastily locked again. And the Squire slipped into the parlour before the solicitor, and took up his guard in front of the child. The deeds were being prepared, but the thing could not be completed at a moment's notice. Next day the Squire was searching again, all over the house, in the back yard, among the empty packing-cases and tea-boxes, on the dust-heap; again it was evening before he gave over and sank down on the sofa, but his mind seemed a little more at rest now. At length the formal deed of transfer was duly completed, and signed, and witnessed, and then the Squire gave a great sigh of relief, and a burden seemed to fall from him. He did not draw little Rupert back and cover him when the child advanced to talk to the solicitor and be taken on his knee, according to custom and usage dating from a few months later than Rupert's appearance in the world. Then the three started off to show the completed deed to John Puddifoot, sole master of Grange. On the way they overtook Mrs. Wriggs, the housekeeper, returning from the village: the Squire stopped her flood of lamentations with a gesture. She dropped behind them; but presently came up and said:— "Oh, Sir Rupert—I thought I had better mention it, perhaps—John tells me that he saw Mr. Puddifoot, the grocer, hand over some of the trifles he bought at the sale to Benton, the old labourer, and he thinks there was a little flat case among them." "Ah—just so. It was a very trifling matter, Mrs. Wriggs; and I had forgotten all about it," said the Squire, hurriedly and unnaturally. There was a strange commotion in the manor house: the servants were in the square hall bending over something lying on the oak floor. John Puddifoot had fallen from the top of the great well staircase—he was dead! Hurriedly the Squire took off the grey overcoat and threw it over the body, to keep the sight of death from the child. "' I had forgotten all about it,' said the squire. " "Poor fellow! But it was Fate, of course—Fate," said the Squire. "And the old house will, of course, go to his heirs. Come, Rupert, let us go; we have no right here." "Pardon me," said the solicitor, "I could not allow this—pardon me, Sir Rupert—this mad whim of yours to develop its consequences unchecked. I took care that John Puddifoot executed a proper will, leaving the property again to you." Once more the Squire caught up the child, and interposed himself between it and all comers. "Please to send for George Benton, the labourer," he said, hurriedly. "And bring him to me in the study." "George Benton," said the Squire, when the solicitor and the labourer had joined him in the study, "I am very anxious to carry out a scheme I have formed for the bettering of the condition of my tenants. You can assist me greatly. I believe you to be a trustworthy man; and I am about to make over to you this house, lately the property of John Puddifoot, who has met with such a deplorable accident. I may as well declare you at once, in the presence of Mr. Pergamen, who will testify to the declaration, absolute owner of this house." The labourer rubbed his forehead with a hard, broad finger, and stammered something about asking the missis at 'ome; but the Squire cut him short with: "You must do this thing as a great favour to me—it is a pet fad of mine. At some future time I may possibly ask you to restore the property to me. Until then—even should that occur—consider, you will be absolute master here; you will be well off, for a considerable portion of the rents go with the house. You accept?" The labourer could not avoid stammering his acceptance. "You are master here," said the Squire, quickly and nervously, as one with misgivings; "behave as master—I and—and Master Rupert are intruders here, having no right here. Will you oblige me by ordering us out?" In a dazed, mechanical way the labourer did as he was requested. "May I find a home, for a day or two, in your cottage?—ah, it would be a convenience. Thank you," said the Squire; and in another ten minutes he had arrived at the cottage and packed off the labourer's wife and children to Grange, absolutely preventing her, by voluble assurances of the safety of all her belongings, from taking away any articles with her. Then the door was locked; and the searching began over again, and lasted the rest of the day. Day followed day: the new transfer had been duly executed; John Benton was legal owner of Grange. Every day the Squire listened eagerly for all news of him, always dreading what he should hear; but the labourer went on in his new dignity—a fish out of water, awkward and sheepish, but always with a determination to preserve the property, under the advice and assistance of Mr. Pergamen, for the Squire. The labourer's wife kept the same end sturdily in view, and her children played with much content on the smooth lawns. All the while, though with diminishing hope and eagerness, the Squire kept up his search for that something, never saying a word of it to a soul, but catching at any little chance scrap of information likely to assist him. He would call at the cottages and, whenever the opportunity occurred, surreptitiously peep and pry into drawers and cupboards—in vain. "THE LABOURER'S WIFE AND CHILDREN." After a few weeks he would take little Rupert by the hand, and they would stand and gaze over the railings at the small Bentons playing on the lawn; and the little Bentons would pull their forelocks, and curtsey, and open the gate and beg them to come in. Then Rupert would play with them a little, and was allowed to. Finally Mrs. Benton came as a deputation from her husband to beg the Squire to live in his own rooms in the house; but the Squire hastily, and rather incoherently, excused himself. Still things went on quietly: and one evening the Squire consented to occupy his old bedroom for the night, and his study for the next day; and then he found himself staying in the house. But every time Benton touched his hair to him, or Mrs. Benton dropped him a curtsey, he would look round for Rupert and take him up, and protest that he was not master there, nor Master Rupert either, and look anxious and nervous. And one day he drew Mr. Pergamen, as he passed, into the study, and closed the door, and said: "I may as well tell you now. It is lost and gone beyond hope. Perhaps the spell is broken—by the—the death of that unfortunate John Puddifoot—" " The spell? " repeated the solicitor, staring dubiously at him. "Yes—the spell," said the Squire. "You will put me down as a superstitious lunatic when you hear what I have to say. "Well, do so. You did not know of the existence of a talisman—a charm—call it what you will—in my family? No. Nor has anyone ever known of it except the successive owners of Grange and their heirs; yet this charm has been handed down (and the tradition connected with it) from father to heir without a break since the time of James the First. "It was a small, flat, gold disc, set with a carbuncle carved in the shape of a skull, and contained in a small, flat, leather case; and the tradition was to the effect that, should that charm cease to be under the roof of this house, the owner, or his heir, would meet with a violent death, a like result following the communication of the secret to anyone but the actual heir of the house. After that rummage-sale I missed it; looking, by chance, in the safe in this room where it had always been kept, I saw that it was not in its place. Then I recollected that, on the occasion of my opening the safe about six weeks before, Rupert had looked in and taken up several of the articles to look at, as a child will. He must have taken out the talisman, unnoticed by me, and left it about the room instead of putting it back; and I jumped to the conclusion that it must have found its way into the sale, and been carried away. "It is gone, and the revealing of the secret does not matter now; and let us hope that the—the accident of the staircase has——" "Quite so; we will hope so," replied the solicitor, still eyeing the Squire dubiously. As the Squire chanced to turn to the window and look out, he saw Benton entering one of the fields beyond the lane, to bring in a bull which was pastured there, and over which he alone had any control. But the animal did not seem to be so amenable as usual to his influence; and, before the Squire could realize the situation, the bull had charged and tossed the labourer, and was trampling him. "THE ANIMAL DID NOT SEEM TO BE SO AMENABLE AS USUAL." The Squire snatched up a rifle, loaded, and raised the piece; but by this time three other men were driving off the beast with stones; and in two minutes more they carried Benton outside the gate. One of them came running to the house; the Squire called to him, asking about the injured man. "Dying, sir," was the answer. The revealing of the secret had mattered; and its result had come quickly! The Squire shuddered and covered his face. The scene just enacted led his mind to the scene at the foot of the staircase—the object covered with the grey overcoat. He uncovered his face to notice what he had seen, but not noticed, previously—little Rupert lying on the sofa covered with that coat! The coat had, after the tragedy, been taken to the study and hung over a chair, where it had remained until, half an hour ago, Mrs. Wriggs had thrown it over the sleeping child to keep him warm. Shuddering again, the Squire plucked the coat off Rupert, and flung it through the open window, placing a skin over the boy in its place. Then he turned again to see them carrying in the victim of the bull, and was suddenly conscious of a slight cracking noise in the ceiling of the room and the sound of something falling. A heavy carved boss had detached itself from the mullioned ceiling and fallen upon the head of the sleeping child; the boss bore a shield on which was a golden disc, bearing in its centre a red skull. Rupert was dead! One of the servants found the grey coat lying on the lane outside; his attention was attracted by something which had found its way beneath the lining of the skirt. There was a hole in the pocket where the sewing had given way, permitting the object to slip through: the object was a small, flat leathern case. It had been placed in the pocket, for fun, by Rupert on that day when he had played with the things in the safe. Until flung from the window, the grey coat had never been away from Grange except during the short time when John Puddifoot had been owner. J. F. Sullivan. The concluding article on "How Composers Work" will appear in the next number. Transcriber's Notes: Title Page and Table of Contents created by transcriber. Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were silently corrected. Punctuation normalized. Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRAND MAGAZINE, VOL. 07, ISSUE 39, MARCH 1894 *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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