y meaningless to us but fraught with colour from his own peculiar
sphere. At last he laughed outright--a Jovian laugh--at some remembered
prank--and I rubbed my eyes and came to full consciousness. The sun was
slanting through the shutters. Where, oh where, was the Dawn?

I turned to look at Angel. He was staring at the slanting beam and swearing
softly, as he well knew how.

"We'll simply have to try again"--I said. "But however are we going to put
in today?"

The problem solved itself as all problems will and the day passed,
following the usual landmarks of porridge, arithmetic, spelling, scoldings,
mutton, a walk with our governess, bread and butter, prayers, and the (for
once, longed for!) _bed_.

That night we decided to lie awake together; passing the time with stories,
and speculation about the mystery so soon to be explored by us. I told the
first story, a long-drawn adventure of shipwreck, mutiny and coral Caves,
with a fair sprinkling of skeletons to keep us broad awake.

"It was a first-rate tale," sighed Angel, contentedly, when I had done,
"an' you told it awfully well, John. If you like you may just tell another
'stead o' me. Or The Seraph can tell one. Go ahead, Seraph, and make up the
best story you know how."

The Seraph, important, but sleepy, climbed over me, so that he might be in
the middle, and then began, in a husky little voice:

"Once upon a time there was fwee bwothers, all vwey nice, but the youngest
was the bwavest an' stwongest of the fwee. He was as stwong as two bulls,
an' he'd kill a dwagon before bweakfast, an' never be cocky about it--"

Angel and I groaned in unison. We could not tolerate this sort of
self-adulation from our junior. "Don't be such a little beast"--we
admonished, and covered his head with a pillow. The Seraph was wont to
accept such discipline, at our hands, philosophically, with no unseemly
outcries or struggles; as a matter of fact, when we uncovered his head, we
could tell by his even, reposeful breathing that he was fast asleep. It was
too dark to see his face, but I could imagine his complacent smile.

The night sped quickly after that. There was some desultory talk; then
Angel, too, slept; I resolved to keep the watch alone. I heard the sound of
footsteps in the street below, echoing, with a lonely sound; the rattle of
a loose shutter in a sudden gust of wind; then, dead silence, followed
after an interval by the scampering, and angry squeak of mice in the