r going down with all hands. It was a full-rigged schooner,
and all the ropes and sails were correct; because my cousin is in the
Navy, and he showed me.

We thought a long time whether we'd write a letter and send it by post
with the poetry--and Dora thought it would be best. But Noel said he
couldn't bear not to know at once if the paper would print the poetry,
So we decided to take it.

I went with Noel, because I am the eldest, and he is not old enough to
go to London by himself. Dicky said poetry was rot--and he was glad he
hadn't got to make a fool of himself. That was because there was not
enough money for him to go with us. H. O. couldn't come either, but
he came to the station to see us off, and waved his cap and called out
'Good hunting!' as the train started.

There was a lady in spectacles in the corner. She was writing with a
pencil on the edges of long strips of paper that had print all down
them. When the train started she asked--

'What was that he said?'

So Oswald answered--

'It was "Good hunting"--it's out of the Jungle Book!' 'That's very
pleasant to hear,' the lady said; 'I am very pleased to meet people who
know their Jungle Book. And where are you off to--the Zoological Gardens
to look for Bagheera?'

We were pleased, too, to meet some one who knew the Jungle Book.

So Oswald said--

'We are going to restore the fallen fortunes of the House of
Bastable--and we have all thought of different ways--and we're going to
try them all. Noel's way is poetry. I suppose great poets get paid?'

The lady laughed--she was awfully jolly--and said she was a sort of
poet, too, and the long strips of paper were the proofs of her new book
of stories. Because before a book is made into a real book with pages
and a cover, they sometimes print it all on strips of paper, and the
writer make marks on it with a pencil to show the printers what idiots
they are not to understand what a writer means to have printed.

We told her all about digging for treasure, and what we meant to do.
Then she asked to see Noel's poetry--and he said he didn't like--so she
said, 'Look here--if you'll show me yours I'll show you some of mine.'
So he agreed.

The jolly lady read Noel's poetry, and she said she liked it very much.
And she thought a great deal of the picture of the Malabar. And then she
said, 'I write serious poetry like yours myself; too, but I have a piece
here that I think you will like because it's about a boy