ed
which, with the frown on his brow, and the firmness with which he
grasped a real sword, as he held it with its point resting on the
ground, made him look very fierce and bloodthirsty indeed.

Maggie looked bewildered for a moment, and Tom enjoyed that moment
keenly; but in the next she laughed, clapped her hands together, and
said, "O Tom, you've made yourself like Bluebeard at the show."

It was clear she had not been struck with the presence of the sword--it
was not unsheathed. Her foolish mind required a more direct appeal to
its sense of the terrible; and Tom prepared for his master-stroke.
Frowning fiercely, he (carefully) drew the sword--a real one--from its
sheath and pointed it at Maggie.

"O Tom, please don't," cried Maggie, in a tone of dread, shrinking away
from him into the opposite corner; "I shall scream--I'm sure I shall!
Oh, don't! I wish I'd never come upstairs!"

[Illustration: "O Tom, please don't,", cried Maggie.]

The corners of Tom's mouth showed an inclination to a smile that was
immediately checked. Slowly he let down the scabbard on the floor lest
it should make too much noise, and then said sternly,--

"I'm the Duke of Wellington! March!" stamping forward with the right
leg a little bent, and the sword still pointed towards Maggie, who,
trembling, and with tear-filled eyes, got upon the bed, as the only
means of widening the space between them.

Tom, happy in this spectator, even though it was only Maggie, proceeded
to such an exhibition of the cut and thrust as would be expected of the
Duke of Wellington.

"Tom, I will not bear it--I will scream," said Maggie, at the first
movement of the sword. "You'll hurt yourself; you'll cut your head
off!"

"One--two," said Tom firmly, though at "two" his wrist trembled a
little. "Three" came more slowly, and with it the sword swung
downwards, and Maggie gave a loud shriek. The sword had fallen with
its edge on Tom's foot, and in a moment after he had fallen too.

Maggie leaped from the bed, still shrieking, and soon there was a rush
of footsteps towards the room. Mr. Stelling, from his upstairs study,
was the first to enter. He found both the children on the floor. Tom
had fainted, and Maggie was shaking him by the collar of his jacket,
screaming, with wild eyes.

She thought he was dead, poor child! And yet she shook him, as if that
would bring him back to life. In another minute she was sobbing with
joy because Tom had open