een somebody's pet.

Now the homeless waif on our hearth
Gives a homelike look to the place;
With her warm grey fur,
And her satisfied purr,
And content in her comely face.

She has all the craft of her race,
Though she does not look like a thief,
For she climbed of late
Up to Charlie's plate,
And calmly ate some of his beef!

But we all have our little faults,
And well will it be with us
If, when ruin impends,
We can win new friends,
Like our gentle and brave stray puss.

THE CYPHER TELEGRAM.

'What a shame it is, Hugo, that when your father is giving the whole
class this splendid treat in honour of your recovery, you yourself
should be the only boy absent.'

Hugo laughed somewhat sadly. 'Yes, I should like to be going, but the
doctor says that I must not walk much before Christmas, and no one wants
to spend three days in the woods in the middle of December. I should
have liked the chance of catching a swallow-tailed butterfly for my
collection.'

'I will try and get one for you,' answered Franz, 'though they are
scarce this year. But what is this? How did you get your medal back?' as
he picked up a silver disc from the table.

Hugo had won this medal a year before for a Latin composition for boys
under fifteen, and when Baron Rosenthal's beautiful collection of coins
and antique silver had been stolen, the medal had gone too.

'A friend of Father's saw it in a Berlin curiosity show among a lot of
coins, and he sent it back to me.'

'And the coins--were they also your father's?'

'He has gone to Berlin to look at them, and he will be back to-night.
But all coins are not easy to recognise. If it had been any of the
silver boxes or cups he would have known his own at once.'

'And none of these have been traced?'

'No, not one. My father thinks they have probably been sold in some
foreign country--America, perhaps, or England. But see, he left this
money for you, so that you can let me know what you are doing. Then you
can send me a long cypher telegram every day from the station on the
Observatory, and it will give me something to do to translate it,' and
he handed Franz some silver.

During his illness, Hugo had occupied himself in inventing a most
elaborate cypher, which was the envy of the whole school. Not even the
masters could read it, and it was an endless source of amusement to
himself a