n the barracks hospital, and Mark
leaves, never to be seen again. Dick easily recovers his estates and
the title, finding that Mark had greatly lost the value of the estate,
but with care he manages to recoup most of the loss. He also passes the
Army exam, and joins a regiment as an officer, having a distinguished
career in the Army, as his father had done before him.

It's a fairly short book, less than nine hours to read aloud, but an
interesting one, and you will enjoy it.

________________________________________________________________________
THE QUEEN'S SCARLET, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

CHAPTER ONE.

HEAD FIRST.

Two rooks flew over the Cathedral Close, and as they neared the old
square Norman tower they cawed in a sneering way.

That was enough. Out like magic came the jackdaws from hole and
corner--snapping, snarling, and barking birdily--to join in a hue and
cry as they formed a pack to drive away the bucolic intruders who dared
to invade the precincts sacred to daws from the beginning of
architectural time; and this task over, they returned to sit on corbel,
leaden spout, crevice, and ledge, to erect the feathers of their
powdered heads and make remarks to one another, till the chimes rang out
and the big bell boomed the hour.

"Bother Mark!" said Richard Frayne, Baronet. "If he had ten thousand a
year, he'd spend twenty. I can't do it, and I won't."

Richard Frayne puckered up his brow and began reading away at Lord
Wolseley's Red Book--after being interrupted by the jackdaws--trying to
master the puzzling military details, but finding it impossible while
his brain was full of his cousin's money troubles; and at last, in
despair, he pitched the little leather-covered book aside, walked to the
side-table, took his handsome flute from its case, set up a piece of
music on a stand, and began to run through a few preliminary flourishes
that were peculiarly bird-like in their trilling, when there was a tap
at the door and Jerry Brigley thrust in his head.

"Wants to see you, sir."

"Who does?" said Richard, hurriedly putting aside his flute.

Jerry held out a card.

"`Isaac Simpson, clerical and military tailor,'" read the young man.
"What does he want with me?" Then, quickly: "Oh! of course! I know.
Show him in."

A little, stoutish, smooth man, in shiny broadcloth and a profuse
perspiration, entered directly after, carrying a brown leather handbag
and his hat, which he took from his