battle-field. It was badly bruised and trampled on, the jewels dim with dust and clouded with blood. Stanley placed it just as it was on the head of Henry, Earl of Richmond, and the soldiers of the royal army shouted with joy, "Long live King Henry VII."

Later in the day the body of the Hunchback was pulled out of the mire, stripped naked, tied across a horse's back like a sack of worthless clay (which indeed it was,), and taken to a near church-yard for burial. Nobody cared for the monster, nor minded how his blood ran down in the dust of the road on its way to the grave which had no mourners.

The new King marched in the splendor of banners and with triumphal music to the Tower, at that time used as a palace. He was attended by a princely escort, gentlemen on horseback wearing jewelled armor, and long trains of gilded coaches filled with ladies in brilliant robes, making altogether a brave show. Chambers tapestried in silk were set apart for the court, beds were canopied with velvet, soft carpets and rich hangings—gold, crimson, violet—covered the rough stones, and there was much high feasting and much merry-making. When the ceremonies were over, Henry thought of the murdered innocents, and made inquiry about them. Forrest and the priest were dead, and the other two accomplices—to whom was offered pardon on confession—knew nothing of the second burial. It was supposed the chaplain would, if possible, lay the Princes in consecrated ground. St. Peter's Cathedral was rummaged, many coffins were opened and stared into, and the near church-yard was upturned and searched for the precious relics, but none were discovered. Court flatterers pretended to believe the children had been sent out of the country, and were still alive somewhere in the provinces.

The ancient fortress grew grayer and drearier than ever, and portions of it began to crumble and rot. Then the murder came to light, proved by best evidence—the remains of the Princes themselves. Some workmen making a new stairway to the royal chapel found under the steps, hidden close to the wall and covered with earth, two skeletons answering exactly to the missing youths long sought.

WHY THE ALLIGATOR LIGHT WAS DARK.

AN ADVENTURE IN A FLORIDA LIGHT-HOUSE.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.

"Rex, don't it make you feel like a real old Crusoe, or a Swiss Family Robinson, or something, to be left to ourselves here on this key, with only Cudjoe to cook for us, and a fine black squall coming up from the southeast, and—"

"It does give a fellow some such feeling, that's a fact, Nick. But the black squall coming is just what I don't like to see. The Pelican ought to be back some time early this evening, if I'm any judge of wind and weather; and I'd rather have her in before the squall comes."

"Oh, pshaw!" Nick Jenner exclaimed. "I guess our fathers know how to take care of themselves in a squall. The Pelican is a sound little schooner, and they have two good sailors aboard."

"They'll be all right, of course; but I'd rather see them back before it begins to blow," Rex answered. His name was not Rex at all, but Harry King; but his schoolmates said that as Rex was Latin for King, that would be a good nickname for him.

It was on the piazza of a rambling old house on Indian Key, among the Florida reefs, that the boys sat watching the coming storm. There was no other house on the island, and no other island within eight or ten miles. The great Alligator Light-house stood out in front of them, five miles out to sea, built on a hidden reef. The nearest store was in Key West, eighty miles away; so was the nearest doctor, the nearest everything. That made it all the jollier, the boys thought.

There was nothing mysterious in Nick Jenner and Harry King being together in this lonely house on a lonely island, with the colored boy Cudjoe to cook for them. The boys live in a sea-coast city in Rhode Island, where they have boats of their own. Their fathers, Lawyer Jenner and Dr. King, are not only expert amateur sailors, but are also very fond of fishing and shooting. When their fathers determined to run away from work for a month and enjoy themselves among the Florida Keys, they wisely took the boys with them; for Rex being past fifteen and Nick almost sixteen, they could make themselves useful while they were enjoying it all.

The house was not part of the original programme, for they expected to live on the boat; but the man from whom they chartered the schooner in Key West owned the house too, as well as the island; and when he offered the use of the house, partly furnished, they did not refuse it—particularly as a neat little sharpie called the Dolphin belonged with the house, and lay at anchor just off the beach.

"How white the light-house stands out against the black sky!" Nick exclaimed. "It is queer the water should be shallow for five miles out to the light-house, and then go right off deep into the Florida straits, deep enough for the biggest ships. I like to see them going past—the big Spanish steamers bound for Havana, and the American fellows for Key West and New Orleans."

"I am glad to have the old light-house there to-night," Rex retorted. "Since our fathers did have to run down to Key West to reach the telegraph office, the light will help them find the way back if they come to-night. No matter how many squalls come, nor how dark the night, the light is always a sure thing. You know there are three keepers, and two of them have to be always on duty."

"Yes," Nick answered, "this Alligator Light is one of the largest and most important on the whole coast—a 'light of the first order,' they call it, visible 20¾ miles. They say it's 135 feet high, and cost nearly $200,000."

"Phew!" Rex whistled. "It ought to be a good one at that price. Well, the light will be blinking at us pretty soon now. I notice they always light it at sunset, and that can't be many minutes off."

"Now, den, gemmens, yo' suppahs is all ready, sahs," came the welcome voice of Cudjoe from the hall door. The boys had been longing for this call, for a day's fishing had made them hungry.

"What's this, Cudjoe?" Rex asked, as they entered the dining-room and saw the meal the "boy" had prepared. "More green turtle soup to-night?"

"No, sah; dat loggerhead turtle soup dis time, sah. I ketch him on de beach dis mawnin', sah. An' here's minced turtle, sah, an' dere is some b'iled turtle eggs. Under de kiver is some fried flyin'-fish, sah; an' I done think you might like some sweet pineapple fresh ourn de field, sah."

"You're a famous old cook, Cudjoe," Nick exclaimed, as they both fell to eating. "I'm afraid we're living too high down here with our turtle soup every day."

"We're getting to be regular al—" Rex was about to say aldermen, but before he could finish the word there came a sharp flash of lightning, with a tremendous peal of thunder right on top of it. The boys looked at each other, but before they could speak the wind and rain followed. A squall among the Florida Keys comes with a crash and a flood of water; trees bend to the ground, houses shake and sometimes fall; everything is black and grand and wet. The old house trembled under the blow, and the rain on the roof sounded like tons of water falling upon the shingles.

"There's the squall," Rex said, after a few seconds had passed. "I hope it doesn't turn into anything worse, and I think I'd give something nice if the folks were safe on shore."

"So should I," Nick answered, "but I think they'll be all right. And as we can't stop the storm, we may as well finish our suppers."

That was comforting philosophy for two hungry fishermen, and the boys ate while the storm raged, and made up for much lost time. They could not look out, because there is no glass in the windows of the Keys, only board shutters, and Cudjoe