ining
specimens for a friend, I shall be grateful till my dying day. And what
are specimens for a friend?"

"I haven't a guess," said Gideon. "Specimens are usually bits of stone,
but rather smaller than our friend the monument. Still, that is not the
point. Are you quite alone in this big house?"

"Yes, I am at present," returned Julia. "I came up before them to
prepare the house, and get another servant. But I couldn't get one I
liked."

"Then you are utterly alone," said Gideon in amazement. "Are you not
afraid?"

"No," responded Julia stoutly. "I don't see why I should be more afraid
than you would be; I am weaker, of course, but when I found I must sleep
alone in the house I bought a revolver wonderfully cheap, and made the
man show me how to use it."

"And how do you use it?" demanded Gideon, much amused at her courage.

"Why," said she, with a smile, "you pull the little trigger thing on
top, and then pointing it very low, for it springs up as you fire, you
pull the underneath little trigger thing, and it goes off as well as if
a man had done it."

"And how often have you used it?" asked Gideon.

"O, I have not used it yet," said the determined young lady; "but I know
how, and that makes me wonderfully courageous, especially when I
barricade my door with a chest of drawers."

"I'm awfully glad they are coming back soon," said Gideon. "This
business strikes me as excessively unsafe; if it goes on much longer, I
could provide you with a maiden aunt of mine, or my landlady if you
preferred."

"Lend me an aunt!" cried Julia. "O, what generosity! I begin to think it
must have been you that sent the Hercules."

"Believe me," cried the young man, "I admire you too much to send you
such an infamous work of art."

Julia was beginning to reply, when they were both startled by a knocking
at the door.

"O, Mr. Forsyth!"

"Don't be afraid, my dear girl," said Gideon, laying his hand tenderly
on her arm.

"I know it's the police," she whispered. "They are coming to complain
about the statue."

The knock was repeated. It was louder than before, and more impatient.

"It's Morris," cried Julia, in a startled voice, and she ran to the door
and opened it.

It was indeed Morris that stood before them; not the Morris of ordinary
days, but a wild-looking fellow, pale and haggard, with bloodshot eyes,
and a two-days' beard upon his chin.

"The barrel!" he cried. "Where's the barrel that came this morning?" An