s Denny?"

"Oh! Come away! come away, Elmer!"

"None of your business, you puppy."

"There is no need to ask what you said, sir. I know every word and have
made a copy of it."

"Ah! Listening, were you?"

"No, sir. Miss Denny has told me. Do you see those wires? They will
entangle you yet and trip you up."

"Come away, Elmer. Come away."

"For the present I will retire, sir; but, mark me, your game is nearly
up."

"By, by, children. Good night. Remember your promise, Miss Denny. The
carriage will be all ready."

Without heeding this last remark, Elmer, with his cousin on his arm,
withdrew. As they closed the door the telegraph wires caught in the
carpet and broke. The man saw them, and picking one up, he examined it
closely.

Suddenly he dropped it and turned ashen pale. With all his bravado, he
quailed before those slender wires upon the carpet. He did not
understand them. He guessed they might be some kind of telegraph, but
beyond this everything was vague and mysterious, and they filled him
with guilty alarm and terror.

CHARLES BARNARD.

FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES.

The other day, before the first fire of winter, when the deepening dusk
had compelled me to close my book and wheel my chair closer, I indulged
in a retrospect. The objects of it were not far distant, and yet they
seemed already to glow with the mellow tints of the days that are no
more. In the crackling flame the last remnant of the summer appeared to
shrink up and vanish. But the flicker of its destruction made a sort of
fantastic imagery, and in the midst of the winter fire the summer
sunshine seemed to glow. It lit up a series of visible memories.

I.

One of the first was that of a perfect day on the coast of Normandy--a
warm, still Sunday in the early part of August. From my pillow, on
waking, I could look at a strip of blue sea and a section of white
cliff. I observed that the sea had never been so brilliant, and that the
cliff was shining like the coast of Paros. I rose and came forth with
the sense that it was the finest day of summer, and that one ought to do
something uncommon by way of keeping it. At Etretal it was uncommon to
take a walk; the custom of the country is to lie all day upon the pebbly
strand watching, as we should say in America, your fellow boarders. Your
leisurely stroll, in a scanty sheet, from your bathing cabin into the
water, and your trickling