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toes beat an impatient tattoo. There was such a vasty depth under that blue coat. A large pitcher of milk, a goodly portion of quivering currant jelly, one snow-white wheaten loaf, another of golden-brown gingerbread—but at last even the Captain was satisfied.

Then a whisk, and the blue willow ware dishes were on the freshly-papered shelves.

"Sixteen knots an hour," he was grunting. Did he suspect! All-of-a-flutter she tried to read. Seven-fifteen, seven-thirty, the old clock chimed, then a quarter to eight.

No, thank Heaven, he couldn't for there, with the eight strokes, he was puffing up the stairs, she dutifully after him.

She leaned out of the window and listened. The crickets were making fiddles of themselves as usual; the tree-frogs were in full chime, like far-off sleigh-bells; and—snap—a board creaked in the walk! But there they were, at last—the trumpets of Jericho, coming full blast from her father's window.

Swiftly she climbed over the sill and clambered down the trellis, crushing the honey-suckle until it gave forth a sweeter fragrance. 30