cabulary have become more select. I hope so!'

"It was at this point that something about Lal's eyes and attitude gave
me the idea he was going to shut up for good, so to speak, and my
feelings so overcame me, that without thinking I flung my arms round
Lal's neck, that is to say, as far as they would go, and hugged him.

"Lal opened his eyes again, and somehow I am sure that he was grinning,
such a pleasant-looking, happy grin, but he spoke in his severest
manner to me--

"You must really restrain these exhibitions of feeling in public; if a
policeman chanced to observe you I think there would be the greatest
difficulty in offering any adequate explanation.

"'No, Lal,' I answered; 'all I ses to the coppers when they ses anyfink
to me is "Rats"--always "Rats," and when I ses "Rats" they can fink
what they jolly well likes.'

"Lal sighed, and said, 'How like Dick Whittington!' and those were the
very last words I ever heard him speak, although I little dreamed how I
was to meet him again."

* * * * *

At this juncture Cookie appeared carrying a most wonderful silvern
tea-tray, whereon a bright gilded urn sizzled happily, and a most
inviting-looking pyramid of toasted muffins nestled in apparently
friendly rivalry with the choicest cakes of Cookie's own baking; even a
heaped-up crystal dish of whole strawberry jam could not conceal its
blushes as the firelight played upon it.

"Fairy tales," said Cookie, "I know; I've listened to them many a time
myself."

"No, Cookie, you are wrong," ventured Ridgwell in tones of rebuke; "it
is not a fairy tale, every word of it is true."

"That's what Cinderella always declared, Master Ridgwell," was Cookie's
imperturbable reply, as she prepared to depart.

The Writer chuckled quietly.

"Of course it is true, isn't it?" asked Ridgwell and Christine in
unison.

"Of course," said the Writer, "every word of it, and anyway if it isn't
it ought to be, like all romances."

"But you haven't finished," objected Ridgwell, whilst he munched a
muffin, and Christine poured out the tea.

"No," agreed the Writer, "I haven't finished yet, but I warned you that
it would be a very long story, didn't I?"

"Oh, but we are so anxious to know what happened to the Skylark and the
Miser, I mean the Alderman, for of course he wasn't a miser any more,
was he?"

"Well, you see," explained the Writer, as he took his tea contentedly,
which he really felt he stood