hearing. Charles called them “Father’s peripatetic lectures.” This morning, however, the Doctor was unusually silent. His daughter Anna walked by his side, affectionately waiting, in the hopes of an opportunity to bring forward some subject to enliven him. Charles also accompanied him. The rest of the children kept behind, wondering where he was going; Willie especially sauntering at some distance, and thinking that he would rather have been out by himself or with some of the boys with whom he had lately associated. Charles, finding that his father was not inclined to give one of his lectures, bethought him of a subject likely to interest him.

“I say, father, I wonder when Frank will be here. His ship was expected at Plymouth every day. I sent a letter for him to Fox, giving him full directions how he was to find his way here, so that if he could get leave he might come up at once. My only fear is that he may not have any cash for his journey. I begged Fox to advance it, but Frank may not think of asking him. He’ll have a great deal to tell us about the Pacific and the coral islands, the Sandwich Islanders, and the other natives, once horrible savages, now mostly Christians. And those people of Fiji—the Black Cannibals of the Pacific as they were called—I want to know if they are as bad as has been represented.”

“Yes, your brother Frank will have much to say,” remarked the Doctor, and again relapsed into silence.

“I hope he may bring Tom Holman with him. I should like to see the man who saved his life, that I might thank him as he deserves for his bravery,” said Anna. “Dear Frank, if it had not been for Holman we might never have seen him again.”

“Yes, indeed, I should like to see Holman, the fine and gallant fellow,” exclaimed Charles. “The puzzle will be how to get him here. I know that seamen have difficulty in obtaining leave till their ship is paid off, and then there is the expense of the journey. However, I will do my best to manage that.”

“And I will help you,” said Anna. “I will sell some of my fowls, and the egg money of last year, which I have never spent, and old Mrs Taffety’s present, which mamma says I have a right to do just what I like with. Oh, there will be no difficulty about money matters if Frank can get leave for Tom Holman. It will be very nice to see him and to thank him, though it will be difficult to thank him enough.”

Dr Morgan had not joined in the conversation of his elder children. He appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts. Once or twice he glanced round to ascertain if William was following. He continued for some time along the road leading to the village, and then suddenly turned into a path leading up the mountain. William began to feel not very comfortable when he saw this. Still his father might possibly intend to cross over the mountain. He lingered still farther behind, and when he saw him turn off again up the uneven path which led to poor Old Moggy’s hut he was strongly inclined to run away.

Surely his father would not wish to go inside the hut. What could he have to say to the old woman? However, go on he must. Fortunately, Charles dropped behind the Doctor, and Anna and William hurried up to him.

“Charley, is papa really going into the witch’s den?” he exclaimed in a tone of alarm. “She will be doing him some harm, I am sure.”

“Nonsense, Willie,” answered Charles. “I did not fancy that a fellow with a head on his shoulders could be such a goose.”

“Goose or no goose, I don’t wish to fall into the old witch’s clutches, nor papa, nor any of us either,” muttered William, as Charles walked on again rapidly to catch up their father, and to give a helping hand to the two younger ones. Willie’s foolish fears increased when he saw his father walk up to the door of the hut, and still more alarmed did he become when the Doctor, lifting the latch, went in, and then turned round and beckoned to him to enter, though Arthur and Mabel were allowed to remain outside. Most unwillingly he obeyed; but when he got inside the door, not a step farther could he bring himself to advance, and from the furtive glances which he ever and anon cast through the doorway, it was very evident that he would make his escape if he dared. Even Charles and Anna drew back from the pitiable object which met their sight. The light streaming through the window fell on a low pallet, on which, covered with a sheet, lay the form of Mountain Moggy. By her side sat Jenny Davis, whom William recognised as her champion who had threatened him and his companions with condign punishment if they ever again attacked the old woman. Something dreadful was going to happen—William scarcely knew what. A glance his father cast at him made him understand that he must not move. Of course Jenny Davis had told everything. After exchanging a few words with Jenny, the Doctor lifted the sheet from off Moggy’s feet.

“William, come here and witness the effects of your cruelty,” he said in a stern voice, very unlike that in which he was accustomed to address his children. “Now look at those poor burnt hands. You, and those with you, I have no doubt, caused all the pain this poor woman is now suffering; and should she die, at whose door, think you, will the guilt lie?”

William could not answer. The Doctor, taking out some salves he had brought with him, began to dress the poor creature’s limbs. Anna could not refrain from tears, while she went forward to assist her father and kind Jenny. William stood by without uttering a word, and feeling as he had never felt before.

When the sufferer’s hands and feet were once more covered up, the Doctor directed Charles to call in the younger children.

“Listen to what Jenny Davis will tell you,” he said, when they were all assembled round the bed.

“Ah, sir, I have a tale to tell which would soften a heart of stone; but I hope none of these young people have hearts of that sort,” remarked Jenny, fixing her eyes on William. “She has told me how it all happened, and it may be a warning to that young gentleman never to throw stones at any human being, even though they may be deserted; or, for that matter, at any living creature. They cannot tell where the stone may strike, and what harm it may do. Well, sir, Old Moggy was sitting at her poor fire when those cruel boys came up here again to play off their cowardly tricks. They talk of her imps doing mischief, though they were the imps, and they were doing the mischief, I’m thinking. Stone after stone was thrown in on her. At last one struck the hearth and sent a burning stick under her feet. While she stooped down to remove it, another large one gave her a blow on the head which must have stunned her, for she fell to the ground and her clothes began to burn. The agony she was suffering brought her in some degree to her senses again, when she found herself surrounded by flames, and believed that she was going to be burnt to death. There was nobody near that she knew of to help her, and she couldn’t help herself; she knew that, so she prayed for the help of God. Just then the door burst open, and the young gentleman I told you of ran in, and throwing his coat over her, put out the fire. I came in soon after, and helped to put her on the bed. I think that the young gentleman burnt his own hands not a little in tearing off the burning clothes which his coat couldn’t cover, but he said it was just nothing, and wouldn’t let me look at them even before he went away.”

“What a brave, noble fellow!” exclaimed Charles. “I should like to have made his acquaintance.”

“So indeed should I,” cried Anna. “Do not you know his name, Jenny?”

“No, my sweet miss, I don’t,” answered the Welshwoman. “But I think I know where it’s written, and that’s where the names of the cruel, and selfish, and heartless will