arge enough to roast a sheep whole, was built outside.

"Why, Olly, you're a selfish fellow," said the captain, during a pause
in the meal; "you've thought only of yourself in building this bower.
Just look at Paul's feet. They are sticking out ten or twelve inches
beyond our shelter!"

"That comes of his being so tall, daddy. But it does not matter much.
If it should come on to rain he can draw his feet inside; there's room
enough to double up. Don't you think so, Paul?"

But Paul replied not, save by a gentle snore, for he was a healthy man,
and child-like in many respects, especially in the matter of going off
to the land of Nod the moment his head touched his pillow. Possibly the
fresh air, the excitement, the energy with which he had wrought, and the
relish with which he had supped, intensified this tendency on the
present occasion. Oliver very soon followed his friend's example, and
so Captain Trench was left to meditate beside the fire. He gazed into
its glowing embers, or sometimes glanced beyond it towards an open space
where a tiny rivulet glittered in the moonlight, and a little cascade
sent its purling music into the still air.

Ere long he passed from the meditative to the blinking stage. Then he
turned his eyes on the sleepers, smiled meekly once or twice and nodded
to them--quite inadvertently! After that he stretched his bulky frame
beside them, and resigned himself to repose.

Now, it is probable that we should have had nothing more to record in
reference to that first night in Newfoundland if Captain Trench had been
in the habit of taking his rest like ordinary mortals, but such was not
his habit. He bounced in his sleep! Why he did so no one could ever
find out. He himself denied the "soft impeachment," and, in his waking
moments, was wont to express disbelief as well as profound ignorance in
regard to the subject. Several broken beds, however, had, in the course
of his career, testified against him; but, like the man who blamed "the
salmon," not "the whisky," for his headaches, Trench blamed "the beds,"
not "the bouncing," for his misfortunes.

One might have counted him safe with the solid earth of Newfoundland for
his bed, but danger often lurks where least expected. Oliver Trench was
not an architect either by nature or training. His bower had been
erected on several false principles. The bouncing of a big man inside
was too much for its infirm constitution. Its weak points we