ices gradually turned
the torrent into a united channel, and before the second verse was
reached the hymn was tunefully sung, the sweet voice of the little girl
with the bright hair being particularly distinguishable, and the shrill
pipe of the smallest boy sounding high above the rest as he sang, "O
that will be doyful, doyful, doyful, doyful," with all his might and
main.

When this was finished Tregarthen asked the schoolmistress what
misfortune had caused the loss of her arms, to which she replied that
she had lost them in a coach accident. As she was beginning to relate
the history of this sad affair, Oliver broke in with a question as to
where old Mr Hitchin's house was. Being directed to it they took leave
of the infant-school, and soon found themselves before the door of a
small cottage. They were at once admitted to the presence of the testy
old Hitchin, who chanced to be smoking a pipe at the time. He did not
by any means bestow a welcome look on his visitors, but Oliver,
nevertheless, advanced and sat down in a chair before him.

"I have called, Mr Hitchin," he began, "not to trouble you about the
matter which displeased you when we conversed together on the beach, but
to warn you of a danger which I fear threatens yourself."

"What danger may that be?" inquired Hitchin, in the tone of a man who
held all danger in contempt.

"What it is I cannot tell, but--"

"Cannot tell!" interrupted the old man; "then what's the use of
troubling me about it?"

"Neither can I tell of what use my troubling you may be," retorted
Oliver with provoking coolness, "but I heard the man speak of you on the
beach less than an hour ago, and as you referred to him yourself I
thought it right to call--"

At this point Hitchin again broke in,--"Heard a man speak of me--what
man? Really, Mr Trembath, your conduct appears strange to me. Will
you explain yourself?"

"Certainly. I was going to have added, if your irascible temper would
have allowed me, that the notorious smuggler, Jim Cuttance--"

Oliver stopped, for at the mention of the smuggler's name the pipe
dropped from the old man's mouth, and his face grew pale.

"Jim Cuttance!" he exclaimed after a moment's pause; "the villain, the
scoundrel--what of him? what of him? No good, I warrant. There is not
a rogue unhanged who deserves more richly to swing at the yard-arm than
Jim Cuttance. What said he about me?"

When he finished this sentence the old man's comp