until his eyes finally rested upon the white-robed bower of the balloon.
A change came o'er the spirit of the Colonel's pastoral dream. His ruddy
gills assumed a purplish hue, his grizzled hair stood up in fighting
attitude. He advanced to the foot of the tree and peered upwards. His
inability to see the occupant of the balloon called to battle the last
drop of the plentiful supply of choler wherewith Indian heats had
endowed him.

"What the mischief are you doing in my pear tree?" thundered the
Colonel.

His voice was suggestive of heavy artillery at short range; but
masculine anger was not one of the things that ruffled the balloonist's
equanimity.

"I'm sitting tight until your gardener is kind enough to bring me a
ladder," he responded, imperturbably.

"Eh? What? Well, upon my soul, sir! Do you know that this is my very
finest pear-tree--jargonelles, sir, I tell you, jargonelles? You and
your impudent machine have ruined the crop. It's just the spirit of this
confounded age--anarchy, disruption, red riot--no man's house safe--his
garden a refuge for any air-climbing rascal who cares to take up his
quarters in it."

The Colonel, from this point onwards, seemed to imagine that he was
talking _at_ a coolie; coolie intercourse cultivates the faculty of
expression wonderfully, and Reginald Hampton's host entertained that
amused aeronaut for fully ten minutes with a wealth of epithet--very old
in bottle, and of a fine tawny flavour. Hampton took advantage of the
panting calm that followed the outburst to put in a plea for himself.

[Illustration: "'THERE IS A GENTLEMAN AT THE VERY TOP OF THE TREE DYING
FOR WANT OF FOOD.'"]

"I can only say, sir, that I regret this _contretemps_ as much as
yourself. The fact is, I had no choice in the matter; the wind got the
better of me, and took me just where it pleased."

"P--r--r--rh--Humph, humph!" sputtered the old gentleman. "Serves you
right for getting inside such a flimsy contrivance. Can't understand how
any man can be fool enough to want to career through the air when heaven
has blessed him with a pair of sound legs. Perhaps you have no legs,
though, for I'm hanged if I can see you," he concluded, irately,
returning to his pet grievance.

"Yes, I have legs--rather long ones," returned the aeronaut, genially.
"As to ballooning, it is a matter of personal taste, of course. We
needn't quarrel about that, need we, Colonel Currie?"

"Eh, eh? How do you come to know my