dreaming? I heard the voice distinctly on the
floor below, and smelt something burning. I arose, with an indistinct
presentiment of evil, and hastily putting some cotton in my ears and
tying a towel about my head, I wrapped myself in a shawl and rushed
down stairs. The door of Mr. Rawjester's room was open. I entered.

Mr. Rawjester lay apparently in a deep slumber, from which even the
clouds of smoke that came from the burning curtains of his bed could
not rouse him. Around the room a large and powerful negress, scantily
attired, with her head adorned with feathers, was dancing wildly,
accompanying herself with bone castanets. It looked like some terrible
fetich.

I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying the pitcher, basin,
and slop-jar on the burning bed, I proceeded cautiously to the garden,
and, returning with the garden-engine, I directed a small stream at Mr.
Rawjester.

At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr. Rawjester yawned and
woke. I explained to him, as he rose dripping from the bed, the reason
of my presence. He did not seem to be excited, alarmed, or
discomposed. He gazed at me curiously.

"So you risked your life to save mine, eh? you canary-colored teacher
of infants."

I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly over my yellow flannel
nightgown.

"You love me, Mary Jane,--don't deny it! This trembling shows it!" He
drew me closely toward him, and said, with his deep voice tenderly
modulated:--

"How's her pooty tootens,--did she get her 'ittle tootens wet,--bess
her?"

I understood his allusion to my feet. I glanced down and saw that in
my hurry I had put on a pair of his old india-rubbers. My feet were
not small or pretty, and the addition did not add to their beauty.

"Let me go, sir," I remarked quietly. "This is entirely improper; it
sets a bad example for your child." And I firmly but gently extricated
myself from his grasp. I approached the door. He seemed for a moment
buried in deep thought.

"You say this was a negress?"

"Yes, sir."

"Humph, No. 1, I suppose?"

"Who is Number One, sir?"

"My FIRST," he remarked, with a significant and sarcastic smile. Then,
relapsing into his old manner, he threw his boots at my head, and bade
me begone. I withdrew calmly.

CHAPTER V.

My pupil was a bright little girl, who spoke French with a perfect
accent. Her mother had been a French ballet-dancer, which probably
accounted for it. Although sh