uite so; at this rate we shall be admitting all the 'Jolly
Trojans.'"

Just then an enormous wheelbarrow was observed approaching, seemingly
by supernatural means, for no driver could be seen. The barrow was
piled to a great height, and staggered drunkenly from side to side of
the road; but the load, whatever it was, lay hidden beneath a large
white cloth.

"H'm!" said the little Doctor dubiously. "Well, of course, you know
best, but I should have thought that as an old inhabitant of Troy--"

"Pooh, my dear fellow," snapped the Admiral, "it is natural that the
feelings of a few will be hurt; but if once we begin to elect the
'Jolly Trojans'--"

The barrow had drawn near meanwhile, and now halted at the Admiral's
feet. From behind it stepped into view an exceeding small boy,
attired mainly in a gigantic pair of corduroys that reached to the
armpits, and were secured with string around the shoulders. His face
was a mask of woe, and he staunched his tears on a very grimy
shirt-sleeve as he stood and gazed mutely into the Admiral's face.

"Go away, boy!" said Admiral Buzza severely.

The boy sobbed loudly, but made no sign of moving.

"Go away, I tell you!"

"'Tes for you, sir."

"For me? What does the boy mean?"

"Iss, sir. Missusses orders that I was to bring et to Adm'ral
Buzza's; an' ef I don't pay out Billy Higgs for this nex' time I
meets wi' 'un--"

"The child's daft!" roared the Admiral. "D---- the boy! what has
Billy Higgs to do with me?"

"Poured a teacupful o' water down the nape o' my breeches when I'd
got ha'f-way up the hill an' cudn' set the barrow down to fight
'un--the coward! Boo-hoo!" and tears flowed again at the
recollection.

"What is it?"

"Cake, sir."

"Cake!"

"Iss, sir--cake."

The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the
wheelbarrow.

"Bless my soul!" gasped the Admiral, "there must be some mistake."

"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic,
examining the load through his eye-glass; "and very good cake, too,
by the smell."

[Illustration: "It certainly seems to be cake," observed the
Honourable Frederic.]

He was right. High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, rested
five-and-twenty huge cakes--yellow cakes such as all Trojans love--
each large as a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully
stowed with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming to heaven,
and wooing the nostrils of the gods.

"B