the ferocious insect was triumphantly stoppered by
Miss Terry.

"I am so much obliged to you, Mr. Heigham, you are a true collector."

"For the first and last time," mumbled Arthur, who was sucking his
finger.

"I am infinitely obliged to you, too, Mr. Heigham," said Mrs. Carr, as
soon as she had recovered from her fit of laughing; "the beetle is
really very rare; it is not even in the British Museum. But come, let
us go in to luncheon."

After that meal was over, Mrs. Carr asked her guest which he would
like to see, her collection of beetles or of mummies.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carr, I have had enough of beetles for one day, so I
vote for the mummies."

"Very well. Will you come, Agatha?"

"Now, Mildred, you know very well that I won't come. Just think, Mr.
Heigham: I only saw the nasty things once, and then they gave me the
creeps every night for a fortnight. As though those horrid Egyptian
'fellahs' weren't ugly enough when they were alive without going and
making great skin and bone dolls of them--pah!"

"Agatha persists in believing that my mummies are the bodies of people
like she saw in Egypt last year."

"And so they are, Mildred. That last one you got is just like the boy
who used to drive my donkey at Cairo--the one that died, you know--I
believe they just stuffed him, and said that he was an ancient king.
Ancient king, indeed!" And Miss Terry departed, in search for more
beetles.

"Now, Mr. Heigham, you must follow me. The museum is not in the house.
Wait, I will get a hat."

In a minute she returned, and led the way across a strip of garden to
a detached building, with a broad verandah, facing the sea. Scarcely
ten feet from this verandah, and on the edge of the sheer precipice,
was built a low wall, leaning over which Arthur could hear the
wavelets lapping against the hollow rock two hundred feet beneath him.
Here they stopped for a moment to look at the vast expanse of ocean,
glittering in the sunlight like a sea of molten sapphires and heaving
as gently as an infant's bosom.

"It is very lovely; the sea moves just enough to show that it is only
asleep."

"Yes; but I like it best when it is awake, when it blows a hurricane--
it is magnificent. The whole cliff shakes with the shock of the waves,
and sometimes the spray drives over in sheets. That is when I like to
sit here; it exhilarates me, and makes me feel as though I belonged to
the storm, and was strong with its strength. Come, let us g