"He is all alone. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. The air was crisp and dry. He cried out but his father only waved 280 like an automaton until the apparition disappeared. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps.
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