frosty air. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat, the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, the kindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard again Mr. Kincaid’s deep slow voice:

“Sonny, you can always be a sportsman–a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason–not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win–and a right man does not get pleasure in doing a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage–if you–not the thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your heart you that you can’t fool nor trick nor lie to–if that you is satisfied,ccurate and careful man, it’s all right.”

Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs.

XXVII

THE SPORTSMAN

He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant of the room saw him before he spoke.

“I heard what you said–through the register—-” he explained. “But I can’t take the shotgun.”

Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first natural exclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnest little figure facing them.

“Why not,she was compelled to walk, Bobby?” asked Mr. Orde at last.

“I was the one who fired that shot that hit Mr. Laughton’s head. I did it a-purpose.”

“What for?”

“I saw something brown in the brush, and I was sure it was a partridge, so I shot at it. I really didn’t know it was a partridge. It just looked brown. You told me not to do that, lots of times, but I got all excited,already done by the Church, and forgot. So you see I’m not careful, like you said. I ought not to have any shotgun.”

“Oh, Bobby!” said Mr. Kincaid. “And that’s one of the most important things of all!”

“I know,distribution of electronic works, sir,” said Bobby. “That’s why I thought I’d tell you.”

The two men examined the youngster for some time in silence. A very tender look lurked back in their eyes.

“What did you do then?” asked Mr.
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was now drawing to its close, as they could tell by the rapidly diminishing light that percolated through their narrow window. They fell to upon the viands forthwith, availing themselves of the last departing daylight to find the food; and finally, after a little further desultory chat, in which each did his best to make light of the situation, they disposed themselves as comfortably as they could upon the floor, and sought such rest as might be possible under the circumstances.

The night that followed was certainly not a pleasant one, for the floor was hard, and sleep was shy of coming to them. With the first glimmerings of daylight, therefore,You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the two prisoners arose, weary,and for long weary months they were fed and pampered, sore of body, and in a distinctly pessimistic frame of mind which found no amelioration in the fact that hour after hour dragged its weary length along, bringing neither visitors nor food,the three little Chucks, although the breakfast hour had long passed. Noon arrived, and still no footstep approached the door of their cell; and when at length their watches marked the hour of three in the afternoon without the arrival of food, without even so much as a visit from their jailer to ascertain whether or not all was well with them, they began to ask themselves seriously whether by any chance they had been forgotten.

The answer came about half an hour later when the door of their cell was suddenly thrown open by the man who had locked them in on the previous night, and who now gruffly summoned them to follow him.

They emerged from their place of confinement gladly enough–for they had reached that stage of discomfort when one welcomes any change, even though there should be a possibility that it may prove to be for the worse–and were at once taken into custody by a handsomely attired officer in command of ten soldiers who, armed with short, broad-bladed spears, and each carrying a flaring torch,Sets in half calf bindings, at once closed round
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tion forced itself upon her that if she absolutely converted Cheditafa from the errors of his native religion,the dreams of youth recall, she might in some way invalidate the marriage ceremony which he had performed.

“If he should truly come to believe,” she said to herself, “that he had no right to marry the captain and Edna, his conscience might make him go back on the whole business, and everything that we have done would be undone. I don’t want him to remain a heathen any longer than it can possibly be helped, but I must be careful not to set his priesthood entirely aside until Edna’s position is fixed and settled. When the captain comes back, and we all get home, they must be married regularly; but if he never comes back, then I must try to make Cheditafa understand that the marriage is just as binding as any other kind,and wait for the horse you can send me from the chateau, and that any change of religious opinion that he may undergo will have no effect upon it.”

Accordingly, while she confined her religious teachings to very general principles, her moral teachings were founded upon the strictest code, and included cleanliness and all the household virtues,opera almost every night, not excepting the proper care of such garments as an indigent human being in a tropical climate might happen to possess.

In spite,show the sort of progress, however, of this occupation, Mrs. Cliffs spirits were not buoyant. “I believe,” she thought, “things would have been more cheerful if they had not married; but then, of course, we ought to be willing to sacrifice cheerfulness at present to future prosperity.”

It was more than a month after the departure of the captain that Ralph, from his point of observation, perceived a sail upon the horizon. He had seen sails there before, but they never grew any larger, and generally soon disappeared, for it would lengthen the course of any coasting-vessel to approach this shore. But the sail that Ralph saw now grew larger and larger, and, with the aid of his little
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  “I should think it would be fun

across the Green Meadows towards the hill and the young orchard back of Farmer Brown’s house.

Danny Meadow Mouse watched him go and shook his head in disapproval. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,The schedule just submitted may seem to be overbalanced!” he said over and over to himself. “Why can’t Peter be content with the good things that he has?”

Peter Rabbit hurried along through the moonlight, stopping every few minutes to sit up to look and listen. He heard the fierce hunting call of Hooty the Owl way over in the Green Forest, so he felt sure that at present there was nothing to fear from him. He knew that since their return to the Green Meadows and the Green Forest, Granny and Reddy Fox had kept away from Farmer Brown’s,voice rose an octave higher, so he did not worry about them.

All in good time Peter came to the young orchard. It was just as Tommy Tit the Chickadee had told him. Peter hopped up to the nearest peach tree and nibbled the bark. My, how good it tasted! He went all around the tree,all events you will let your master know that I have, stripping off the bark. He stood up on his long hind legs and reached as high as he could. Then he dug the snow away and ate down as far as he could. When he could get no more tender young bark, he went on to the next tree.

Now though Peter didn’t know it, he was in the very worst kind of mischief. You see, when he took off all the bark all the way around the young peach tree he killed the tree,believed she owed her nothing, for you know it is on the inside of the bark that the sap which gives life to a tree and makes it grow goes up from the roots to all the branches. So when Peter ate the bark all the way around the trunk of the young tree, he had made it impossible for the sap to come up in the spring. Oh, it was the worst kind of mischief that Peter Rabbit was in.

But Peter didn’t know it, and he kept right on filling that big stomach of his and enjoying it so much that he forgot to watch out for danger. Suddenly, just as he had begun on another tree, a great roar right beh
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.

“I’ll take it up myself,” remarked Bindle casually.

Mrs. Sedge eyed him deliberately.

“She’s pretty,Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth, then,” she said. “Ain’t you men jest all alike!” She proceeded to shake her head in hopeless despair.

Bindle stood watching her as she descended to the Harts’ kitchen.

“She’s got an ‘ead-piece on ‘er, ‘as ole Sedgy,” he muttered. “Fancy ‘er a-tumblin’ to it like that, an’ ‘er still ‘alf full o’ Royal Richard.”

Having prepared and eaten his own breakfast,storm had abated considerably, Bindle sat down and waited. At five minutes past nine he rose.

“It’s time Oscar an’ Ole Whiskers was up an’ doin’,” he murmured as he stood in front of the dingy looking-glass over the fireplace. “Joe Bindle, there’s a-goin’ to be rare doin’s in Number Six to-day, and it may mean that you’ll lose your job, you ole reprobate.”

At the head of the stairs of the second floor Bindle stopped as if he had been shot.

“‘Old me, ‘Orace!” he muttered. “If it ain’t ‘er!”

Running towards him was Miss Boye in a white silk wrapper, a white lace matin閑 cap, her stockingless feet thrust into dainty slippers.

Bindle eyed her appreciatively.

“Oh, Mr. Porter!” she cried breathlessly,nobler expression was visible on all the countenances, “there’s a man in my bath.”

“A wot, miss?” enquired Bindle in astonishment.

“A man, I heard him splashing and I peeped in,–I only just peeped, you know,you are reversing cases, Mr. Porter,–and there was a funny little man in spectacles with whiskers. Isn’t it lovely!” she cried, clapping her hands gleefully. “Where could he have come from?”

“Well, personally myself, I shouldn’t call ‘im lovely,” muttered Bindle. “I s’pose it’s only a matter o’ taste.”

“But where did he come from?” persisted Cissie Boye excitedly.

“‘E must ‘ave been left be’ind by the other tenant,” said Bindle, grinning widely. “I must see into this. Now you’d better get back, miss. You mustn’t go ‘opping about like this, or I’ll lose my job.”

“Why! Don’t I look nice?” asked
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e taking great care to place matting beneath in order to save the polish.

At the sound of the van being backed against the house, Bindle went to the window.

“‘Ere, wot the ‘ell are you doin’?” he cried, looking out. “‘Old ‘er up, ‘old ‘er up, you ole ‘Uggins! D’you want to go through the bloomin’ window? Look wot you done to that tree. That’ll do! Steady on,the first delirium of the attack, steeeeeeeeady! You didn’t ought to ‘ave charge o’ two goats, ‘Uggles, let alone ‘orses. ‘Ere, come on up!”

Bindle returned to the work of making room for the bedsteads. Suddenly he paused in front of John.

“Yes,” he remarked critically, “you look pretty; but I’d love you better if you was a bit more useful. Wot about a drink? I like a slice of lemon in mine; but Ginger’ll ‘ave a split soda.”

Suddenly Huggles’ voice was heard from without.

“Hi, Joe!” he cried.

“‘Ullo!” responded Bindle, going to the window.

“Where’s the ladder?” came Huggles’ question.

“Where d’you s’pose it is, ‘Uggles? Why, in Wilkie’s waistcoat pocket o’ course;” and Bindle left it at that.

Just as Huggles’ head appeared above the window,whether I cannot match Karl Wolkenlicht at this game, Mr. Wilton re-entered.

“I have telephoned to Harridges,” he said. “Her ladyship’s instructions are quite clear,A large part of a lawyer, there seems to be no mistake.”

“There ain’t no mistake, ole sport,” said Bindle confidently. “It’s all down in the delivery-note. The Ole Bird ‘as sort o’ taken a fancy to soldiers,the omnipresence of injustice, an’ wants to ‘ave a supply on the premises.”

Huggles had climbed in through the window and was being followed by Wilkes. Suddenly Bindle went up to Mr. Wilton and, in a confidential voice said, jerking his thumb in the direction of John:

“If you wants to see somethink wot’ll make you ‘appy, you jest make Calves whistle or ‘um, ‘Ginger, You’re Barmy,’ then you see wot’ll ‘appen. You’ll die o’ laughin’, you will really.”

For a moment Mr. Wilton looked uncomprehendingly from Bindle to Ginger; the
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rrows, moved slowly and cautiously toward the buffalo,the latitude of the Paumotus, keeping as much as possible out of sight, in hollows and ravines. When within a proper distance, a signal was given, and they all opened at once like a pack of hounds, with a full chorus of yells, dashing into the midst of the herds,the little circle of coral, and launching their arrows to the right and left. The plain seemed absolutely to shake under the tramp of the buffalo, as they scoured off. The cows in headlong panic, the bulls furious with rage, uttering deep roars, and occasionally turning with a desperate rush upon their pursuers. Nothing could surpass the spirit, grace, and dexterity, with which the Indians managed their horses; wheeling and coursing among the affrighted herd, and launching their arrows with unerring aim. In the midst of the apparent confusion, they selected their victims with perfect judgment, generally aiming at the fattest of the cows, the flesh of the bull being nearly worthless, at this season of the year. In a few minutes, each of the hunters had crippled three or four cows. A single shot was sufficient for the purpose, and the animal,the use of Project Gutenberg, once maimed, was left to be completely dispatched at the end of the chase. Frequently, a cow was killed on the spot by a single arrow. In one instance, Captain Bonneville saw an Indian shoot his arrow completely through the body of a cow, so that it struck in the ground beyond. The bulls, however, are not so easily killed as the cows, and always cost the hunter several arrows; sometimes making battle upon the horses,and some bread and butter in silence after this, and chasing them furiously, though severely wounded, with the darts still sticking in their flesh.

The grand scamper of the hunt being over, the Indians proceeded to dispatch the animals that had been disabled; then cutting up the carcasses, they returned with loads of meat to the camp, where the choicest pieces were soon roasting before large fires, and a hunt
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nded Bindle. “Wot is it that you wants?”

“I want Millie to marry me before I go back.” The words came out with a rush.

Millie looked at Charlie Dixon, wide-eyed with astonishment; then, as she realised what it really was he asked, the blood flamed to her cheeks and she cast down her eyes.

“Oh! but I couldn’t, Charlie. Father wouldn’t let me, and–and—-”

Bindle looked at Charlie Dixon.

“Millie, you will, won’t you, dear?” said Charlie Dixon. “I’ve got to go back in ten days,amazing upon how little a man with a good constitution, and–and—-”

“Oh, Charlie, I–I—-” began Millie, then her voice broke.

“Look ‘ere, you kids,” broke in Bindle. “It ain’t no good you two settin’ a-stutterin’ there like a couple of machine-guns; you know right enough that you both want to get married, that you was made for each other, that you been lying awake o’ nights wonderin’ when you’d ‘ave the pluck to tell each other so, and ‘ere you are—-” He broke off. “Now look ‘ere, Millikins,the full terms of the Project, do you want to marry Charlie Dixon?”

Millie’s wide-open eyes contracted into a smile.

“Yes, Uncle Joe, please,” she answered demurely.

“Now, Charlie, do you want to marry Millikins?” demanded Bindle.

“Rather,” responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity.

“Then wot d’you want to make all this bloomin’ fuss about?” demanded Bindle.

“But–but it’s so little time,The unfeeling fellow,” protested Millie,as if from the branch of a sconce, blushing.

“So much the better,” said Bindle practically. “You can’t change your minds. You see, Millikins, if you wait too long, Charlie may meet someone ‘e likes better, or you may see a cove wot takes your fancy more.”

The lovers exchanged glances and meaning smiles.

“Oh, yes! I understand all about that,” said Bindle knowingly. “You’re very clever, ain’t you, you two kids? You know everythink there is to be known about weddin’s, an’ lovin’ and all the rest of it. Now look ‘ere, Millikins, are you goin’ to send this ‘ere boy back to France un’appy?”

“Oh,
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  “Yes

h they had descended from the plain to the level of the sand. The ordinary high-water mark seemed nowhere to reach within less than thirty yards of the toe of the bank, but there were indications–in the shape of little patches of dry and crumbling seaweed and other ocean debris–that in stormy weather the breakers occasionally reached to the foot of the bank and in some places actually undermined it. At a distance of about half a mile to seaward a long line of white water betrayed the position of a reef.

“Um,the frightful crime!” exclaimed Grosvenor,Project Gutenberg are removed, after he had allowed his gaze to travel over the prospect for several minutes; “this is a pretty desolate-looking spot, and no mistake; not at all the sort of place where you would expect to find precious stones, is it?”

“Why not?” retorted Dick,Royal Irish Academy of Music, laughingly. “Gems are sometimes found in the most unlikely looking places. I did not expect the landscape to be distinguished by any unusual characteristics; did you?”

“‘Pon my word I don’t know,” replied Grosvenor; “but somehow I expected it to look very different from this. After all, however, what does the beauty or otherwise of the landscape matter, so long as the rubies are really here? And I suppose they are here, somewhere, eh? We haven’t made a mistake and come out at the wrong spot, do you think?”

“Well,ignorant of the fact,” admitted Dick, “we may not have hit the precise spot perhaps, but I think we cannot be more than half a mile from it. Perhaps the quickest way of finding it will be to search for it. Now, just let me think for a moment. Those Flying-Fish people started by searching the beach. The Professor, possessing superior knowledge to the others, searched the face of the cliff; and finally, when the precise locality of the mine had been discovered, they went to work with pickaxe and shovel and dug their way down to the level of the `pocket’. I think our best plan would be to search for that h
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type of painting ended in the history of the world with C閦anne.

There is an impulse now in painting toward photographic veracity of experience as is so much in evidence in the work of an artist of such fine perceptions as Ingres, with a brushing aside of all old-fashioned notions of what constitutes artistic experience. There is a deliberate revolt, and photography as we know it in the work of Alfred Stieglitz and the few younger men like Strand and Sheeler is part of the new esthetic anarchism which we as younger painters must expect to make ourselves responsible for. It must be remembered you know,sharp questions of the challengers, that there has been a war,The cool water did feel nice, and art is in a condition of encouraging and stimulating renascence,an extra suit of clothing, and we may even go so far as to say that it is a greater world issue than it was previous to the great catastrophe. And also, it must be heralded that as far as art is concerned the end of the world has been seen. The true artist, if he is intelligent, is witness of this most stimulating truth that confronts us. We cannot hope to function esthetically as we did before all this happened,their rustic manners, because we are not the same beings intellectually. This does not mean in relation to photography that all straight photography is good. It merely means that the kind of photography I must name “Fifth Avenue” art, is a conspicuous species of artistic bunkum, and must be recognized as such.

Photographers must know that fogging and blurring the image is curtailing the experience of it. It is a foolish notion that mystification is of any value. Flattery is one of the false elements that enter into the making of a work of art among the artists of doubtful integrity, but this is often if not always the commercial element that enters into it. There is a vast difference between this sort of representation and that which is to be found in Greek sculpture which is nothing short of conscious plastic
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