had risen for the last
time, by the arm.

And the next thing that the boys knew was that a white, dripping form
was carried through the playground into the house.

Then a whisper went round, "It was his father."

Then a whispered question, "Is he dead?"

And Thompson shuddered as he heard it.

But Reginald did not die; he opened his eyes to find his father
clasping his hand. At first he could remember nothing, then he looked
round anxiously: "Is the knife safe? I went to pick up my knife."

Then he closed his eyes and remained for a long time silent; and when
he spoke again, it was in the wild ravings of delirium.

The shock had been too much for the delicate boy. Fever came on, and
it was weeks before he could be moved home. And then he was ordered to
the South, and Italy was the chosen place in which Mr. and Mrs. Murray
and their two children should sojourn until Reginald should have
completely recovered his health.

And this time Rover was to go with his young master.

The day before Reginald left home a carriage drove up to the door, and
Thompson stepped out of it.

He and Reginald were alone for a quarter of an hour, and they parted
friends.

"I have my knife now, Thompson," said Reginald, "and so the quarrel is
over."

And Thompson returned to Dr. Field's a better and a wiser boy. He
never bullied any one again.

[Decoration]

[Illustration: {Three kittens, two wrestling and one clasping a ball
in its front paws}]

CLEOPATRA.

We've called our young puss Cleopatra;
'Twas grandpa who named her like that.
He says it means "fond of good living"--
A queer enough name for a cat!

She leads the most lovely existence,
And one which appears to enchant;
Asleep in the sun like a snow-flake
That tries to get melted and can't;

Or now and then languidly strolling
Through plots of the garden, to steal
On innocent grasshoppers, crunching
Her cruel and murderous meal!

Or lapping from out of her saucer--
The dainty and delicate elf!--
With appetite spoiled in the garden,
New milk that's as white as herself.

Dear, dear! could we only change places,
This do-nothing pussy and I,
You'd think it hard work, Cleopatra,
To live, as the moments went by.

Ah! how would you relish, I wonder,
To sit in a school-room for hours?
You'd find it less pleasant, I fancy,
Than murd