y, and he was feeling still more cross after
searching through three fields and finding no trace of the children.

'The clouds are clearing away, and blue sky is showing everywhere,' he
said to himself. 'It is perfectly idiotic to go on with this wild-goose
chase.'

Then he climbed a stile for a look into the next field, and what he saw
almost made his heart stand still.

Rose and Elsie were sitting on the grass, busily arranging some flowers
they had been gathering to make a nice bunch for their mother.

Behind them was a large freshly made gap in the hedge, and coming
through it was a fierce bull belonging to a neighbouring farmer.

George was horror-struck. What should he do? If he shouted and alarmed
the children, they would be too frightened to know what to do, and
should the bull give chase, they might be overtaken before they could
reach the stile.

In a moment his mind was made up. He jumped over into the field, and ran
as fast as he could to try and get between the bull and the children.

He was only just in time. Rose and Elsie started up when they saw him,
but when they realised their danger, they were almost too scared to
move.

'Get to the stile as quickly as you can,' George called to them; and
then he ran towards the bull, and opened his umbrella quickly before the
astonished animal.

[Illustration: "He ran towards the bull and opened his umbrella
quickly."]

The fierce creature lowered his horns and seemed uncertain whether to
charge his enemy or to flee before him.

Again George fired off his umbrella as if it were a gun, and this time
the bull decided it would be better to retreat in a dignified way to his
own domain. You may be sure George lost no time in getting out of the
field.

'My brave boy!' his mother whispered when the breathless children had
arrived home and had told their story. 'How thankful I am that I have an
obedient son!'

'But, Mother, I nearly disobeyed,' George confessed, and he grew pale
when he thought what it would have meant if he had not arrived in time.

M. H.

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

VIII.--HOW INSECTS MAKE MUSIC.

Though the sounds made by insects may not in themselves be musical,
according to our standard of music, yet many insect performers give us
great pleasure, perhaps because of the pleasant memories which they call
up. Who among us does not love the hum of the bee? How delightful is the
lazy drone of the great steely-blue dor-beetle, as h