hower.

Flinging down bow and arrows, he ran under the tree and peered up into a
maze of silver grey and young green. Still no sign.

"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?"

"'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph. "I'm at the
tipmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous. Come up--quick!"

Craning his neck he could just see one leg and the edge of her frock.
Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to disobey his
mother--not because it was naughty, but it was her.

"I can't--now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining. You _must_
come down."

"I will--if you come up."

"I tell you, I can't!"

"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away. I can see miles
and miles--to Farthest End."

Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argument with one tan
shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock, and he wanted badly to
tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he go on alone, or should he climb
up and fetch her----?

The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a rustle and
a shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down faster than she cared
about.

Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!"

Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that had caught
in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously--his High Tower
Princess--her hair floating like seaweed, her hands clutching at the
nearest branches that were too pliable for support. If her skirt should
tear, or the bough should break----

"_Keep_ stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and like a squirrel he sped
up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to him as the ground
he walked on.

But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust himself on
the jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight. It looked
rather a dead one, and its sharp end was sticking through a hole in
Tara's frock. He set foot on it cautiously and proffered a hand.

"Now--catch hold!" he said.

Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him with both
hands. The half-dead bough, resenting these gymnastics, cracked
ominously. There was a gasp, a scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly, dragging
her nearer for a firmer foothold.

And suddenly down below Prince began to bark--a deep, booming note of
welcome.

"Hullo, Roy!" It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering Tara up
there? Come out of it!"

Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down--or to
d