ision of his escaping, and of his tail as it vanished
round the corner.

But these are dreams. He has never returned, I suspect that the truth
is, that he had a fit from fright, in the toe of the boot, and is dead.
Some day Terence will shake out his skeleton.

It grows very cold. This place is full of draughts, and the floor is
damp.

He _must_ be dead. He never could have lasted so long without a move or
a nibble.

And it is tea-time. I think I shall join the Captain.

[Illustration]

THE HENS OF HENCASTLE.

(_Translated from the German of_ VICTOR BLUeTHGEN.)

What a hot, drowsy afternoon it was.

The blazing sun shone with such a glare upon the farmyard that it was
almost unbearable, and there was not a vestige of grass or any green
thing to relieve the eye or cast a little shade.

But the fowls in the back yard were not disturbed by the heat the least
bit in the world, for they had plenty of time in which to doze, and they
were fond of taking a _siesta_ in the hottest place that could be found.
Certainly the hottest place that afternoon, by far, was the yard in
which they reposed.

There were five of them--a cock and four hens. Two of the hens were
renowned throughout the whole village, for they wore tufts of feathers
on their heads instead of the usual red combs; and the cock was very
proud of having such distinguished-looking wives.

Besides which, he was naturally a very stately bird himself in
appearance, and had a splendid blackish-green tail and a golden speckled
hackle, which shone and glistened in the sun. He had also won many sharp
battles with certain young cocks in the neighbourhood, whom curiosity
about the tufted foreigners had attracted to the yard. The consequence
of these triumphs was that he held undisputed dominion as far as the
second fence from the farmyard, and whenever he shut his eyes and
sounded his war-clarion, the whole of his rivals made off as fast as
wings and legs could carry them.

So the five sat or stood by themselves in the yard, dozing in the
sunshine, and they felt bored.

During the middle of the day they had managed to get some winks of
sleep, but now the farmer's men began to thresh in a barn close by,
making noise enough to wake the dead, so there was small chance of
well-organized fowls being able to sleep through the din.

"I wish some one would tell a story," said one of the common hens, as
she ruffled all her feathers up on end, and then shook