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 and turned green like the rest of us; for he and we could have sworn that we heard a sort of far-off voice crying, from the midst of that fog: "Here, I say! A joke's a joke—that hurts!"

Utterly paralysed, we stood watching that lump of fog. It was momentarily becoming more opaque, and more and more of the form of a man; then the form became rapidly clearer and clearer—until at length there sat Moozeby, solid and alive, on the viands.

"It's all right—don't be alarmed, any of you," panted Moozeby, wiping his brow as if after some great exertion; "there's nothing supernatural—I've only precipitated myself been taking lessons in it. But, by Jove, where have I landed—Why—oh, I say, I'm awfully sorry!"

With this he got up from the provisions, the greater part of which were ruined; he had been sitting on the pie, the butter, the salad, the coffee-cream, the salmon, and the tarts. We upbraided him wildly.

"I say, I'm awfully sorry!" he said, humbly, "awfully sorry. The fact is, it's very difficult to aim properly when you're a beginner. You see, it's this way—when you're distributed in the air in the form of elements, it affects the sight to a great extent; and you really cannot see exactly where you are focussing yourself. You know, I could distinguish the group of you here in a vague way, and recognise you by your voices; but I was under the impression that I was precipitating myself on that tree-stump there, see? I really hadn't the faintest idea I was among the eatables—wouldn't have played a trick like that for the world! You know me."

We did know him for a good fellow, with a mind above jokes of that sort; so we forgave him.

"But, now, what the dickens are we going to do for grub?" we said.

"I'll tell you what," said Moozeby, "I'll take the Canadian, and paddle to Sonning, and get something. Won't be ten min—"

"I say, Bob, if you can precipitate yourself, what's to prevent you trying your hand at other things—raised pies and things?"

"Gad, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Moozeby.

"I wouldn't eat such nasty, unwholesome, supernatural things, for one!" said Mrs. Wimbledon, shuddering; and we all had some such feeling.

"Well, anyhow, it won't do any harm to try. Tell you what, I'll try on a sandwich, and taste it myself," said Moozeby. "Just help me wish for it, all you fellows; it might be an assistance."

Fixing his eye steadfastly on the top of Wortleworth's head, so that his attention should not wander, Moozeby stood perfectly still, grunting at intervals, as if engaged in a tiring effort. In a few moments a little patch of mist appeared over Wortleworth's head, and, in another few moments, there lay a freshly-cut sandwich, right on the bald patch.