ong most pleasantly.

When they came to a thick wood, the stranger pulled out a pistol and
said, "Stand still, and give me your money."

"Nay," said the old man. "The money is for my landlord. I will not give
it to you."

"Your money or your life!"

"Well, if you will have it, you can go for it," cried the old man, as he
threw his old saddle bags over a hedge.

The thief dismounted and said, "Stand here and hold my horse while I go
over the hedge. You are silly, but surely you can do that."

The thief climbed through the hedge. When he was on the other side, the
old man got on the thief's horse, and away he galloped.

"Stop, stop!" cried the thief. "And half of my share you shall have."

"Nay," cried the man. "I think I'll go on. I'd rather have what's in
your bag."

[Illustration: The old man gallops away]

And away he galloped, riding as he never rode before.

II

The thief thought there must be something in the old man's bags; so with
his big rusty knife he chopped them into rags. But no money did he find,
for the silly old man was not so silly as he seemed. His money was in
his pocket.

The old man rode on to his landlord's home and paid his rent. Then he
opened the thief's bag, which was glorious to behold. There were five
hundred pounds in gold and silver.

"Where did you get the silver?" asked the landlord. "And where did you
get the gold?"

"I met a proud fool on the way," said the old man with a laugh. "I
swapped horses with him, and he gave me this to boot."

"Well, well! But you're too old to go about with so much money," said
the landlord.

"Oh, I think no one would harm a silly old man like me," said the
farmer, as he rode away.

The old man went home by a narrow lane, and there he spied Tib tied to a
tree.

"The stranger did not like his trade, I fear," said he. "So I think I'll
take Tib home."

The old man went home much richer than when he left. When she heard the
story, the wife danced and sang for glee. "'Tis hard to fool my old
man," said she.

--ENGLISH BALLAD (_Adapted_).

[Illustration: The Rock-a-By Lady walking by]

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY

The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
Comes stealing; comes creeping;
The poppies they hang from her head to her
feet,
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet--
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When she findeth you sleeping!

There is one little dream of a beautiful drum--