y birds hymning themselves to roost amongst
the quiet thickets disturbs the tranquility of the air.

Dead leaves that speak of Autumn and coming dissolution float toward the
loiterers on the lawn, and, sinking at their feet, preach to them a
lesson of the life that lasts not, and of that other life that in all
its splendor may yet dawn upon them.

A soft and sullen roar from the ocean makes the silence felt. The sea,
clothed round with raiment of white waves, and rich with sparkling life,
dashing itself along the beach, breathes a monotonous murmur that wafts
itself inland and falls with vague music upon the listening ear.
Thoughts arise within the breast, born of the sweet solemnity of the
hour, and the sadness that belongs to all life--but in this changeable
world nothing lasts, and presently seeing something in the lawn below
that puzzles her sight, Julia says, quickly: "What are the moving forms
I see down there?"

"Only the children undulating," says Mr. Browne, promptly.

"What?" says Sir Mark.

"I have said!" returns Dicky.

"There is surely something besides children," says Portia, trying to
pierce the gathering darkness. "See, what is that coming towards us
now?"

They all peer eagerly in the direction of the firs, from between which a
flying mass may be seen emerging, and approaching rapidly to where they
are all seated.

"It is only Jacky on his fact," says Mr. Browne, at length after a
careful examination of this moving form.

"On what?" asks Roger, curiously.

"His fact," repeats Dicky, unmoved.

"What's that?" asks Jacky's mamma, somewhat anxiously--if a careless, it
must be to her credit said, that Julia is a very kindly mother, and is
now rather upset by Mr. Browne's mysterious declaration.

"You ought to know; you gave it to him," declares he. "He's sitting on
it anyhow."

"Really, Dicky, we must ask you to explain yourself," says Sir Mark,
with dignity.

"Why, it's only a donkey," says Dulce, "and Jacky is riding him."

"Just so," says Mr. Browne, equably; "and a very large donkey, too; I
always call them facts because they are stubborn things. At least, that
one is, because I rode it yesterday--at least I tried to--and it behaved
very ill indeed. It's--it's a very nasty animal, and painfully
unamiable."

"What did it do to you?" asks Julia, who is again in secret fear about
her first born, who every moment draws more near.

"Well, I got on him, incited thereto by Jacky and the B