s, as the
faces of friends. Perchance when _she_ cometh, in whose light I
interpret many things, I shall have rest to learn more therefrom; for
now I am as a sail without wind, or a horn without his blower, or a
stone without his sling.

"Yet am I not here to no purpose. There is a certain coy nymph,
'Health' by name, who is reported in these parts--her I am charged to
seek. Where she hides 'twere hard to say; whether on the hill-side,
golden with bracken, or in the spray of the sea, or on the bluff
headland, or by the breezy links--in all these I seek her. Sometimes I
spy her afar off; but the wanton comes and goes. Yet I am persuaded I
shall presently find her, and bring her home rejoicing to them that sent
me.

"Finally, brethren, I pray you, have me often in your remembrance, and
report to me such things as concern our common welfare, for I desire
ardently to hear of you.

"Farewell, from one who loves you and counts himself your brother.

"T.B. Reed."

Alas! "the coy nymph, 'Health' by name," was never found. Within a week
or two of the despatch of this letter, he became so much worse that he
was advised by the Belfast doctors to return at once to London. He
suffered from a hopeless internal malady, which he bore with heroic
patience.

At Highgate, on 28th November 1893, he passed peacefully away.

It was given to him in his short life--for he condensed into the span of
forty-two years the literary labours of a long life--to materially add
by his charming boys' books to the happiness of the youth of his
generation. It was given to him also by his labour and research to make
a solid contribution to the learning of his time. He has enriched many
lives by his friendship, and by the example of his unceasing
thoughtfulness for the welfare of others. To all who had the
inestimable privilege of knowing Talbot Reed, there will be the
remembrance of a man "matchless for gentleness, honesty, and courage,"--
the very ideal of a chivalrous English gentleman.

John Sime.

Highgate, London, _February 1894_.

CHAPTER ONE.

WANDERING LIGHTS.

It was the first time Tim and I had fallen out, and to this day I could
scarcely tell you how it arose.

We had gone out on to the headland to drive in the sheep; for the wind
was blowing up from seaward, and it was plain to tell that the night
would be a wild one. Father was away with the trawlers off Sheep Haven,
and would be ill pleased should he return t