He begged me to save him. How could I? I've done
enough for other people. Must take care of number one, now. Kerbstone,
he begs, too. I shan't help him."

Fletcher felt relieved; at the same time he determined without delay to
make a new effort to get the fatal evidence of his former crime into his
own possession.

"Oh," said Bullion, as if he had forgotten something, "the wife and
baby, let's see 'em."

Fletcher called his wife, who came in timidly, and shrank from the
fierce look of the man of money.

"How d'e do, Ma'am? Your servant, Ma'am. Glad to see you. But the baby?"

"Fetch the baby, lovey," said Fletcher.

Baby was brought, smiling with as little reason as possible, and winking
very hard in the light.

"Pretty dear!" said Bullion, chucking her under the chin.

"I wonder what the devil this means," thought Fletcher.

How was his surprise increased when, after a moment, Bullion inquired,--

"Teeth cut yet? Some of 'em, I see. More to come. Want something to
bite, little one?"

He pulled out his purse and gave the child three or four large gold
pieces. The little hands could not hold them, and they fell on the
carpet, rolling in different directions. Bullion left hastily, with a
quick nod and a clipped "Good-bye."

"Well, I vow!" said Fletcher, with a long breath. "It's well he didn't
stay to pick 'em up; they'd 'ave stuck to his fingers like wax. He
couldn't have let 'em alone."

"What a good man he is!" said the overjoyed little woman.

"_Good_ man! He's crazy. Old Bullion giving away gold pieces to a baby!
He's lost his wits, sure. He never gave away a sixpence before in his
life. Oh, he's cracked, without a doubt. I must keep watch of him. When
_he_ grows generous, there's something wrong."

[To be continued.]

THE WATERFALL.

Down across the green and sunny meadow,
Where the grass hangs thick with glistening dew,--
In the birch-wood's flickering light and shadow,
Where, between green leaves, the sun shines through,--

Plunging deeper in the wood's dark coolness,
Where the path grows rougher and more steep,
Where the trees stand thick in leafy fulness,
And the moss lies green in shadows deep:--

Hark! the wind amid the tree-tops rushing
In a sudden gust along the hills!--
No,--the leaves are still,--'tis water gushing
From some hidden haunt of mountain-rills.

Upward through the rugged pathway struggling,
Loud and louder yet the mu