e's feather ornamented his hat,
and a gun and a knapsack were slung across his shoulder. His face and
his hands were white.

"So you have done with the tunnel," said the cashier, or the "moneyman,"
as they called him. "Well, nobody can blame you for it, for what remains
to be done is mason's work. To your account, then!"

The moneyman opened a book, wrote something on a piece of paper, and
handed Andrea ten thousand lire in gold.

Andrea signed his name, put the gold into his knapsack and went.

He jumped into a workman's train, and in ten minutes he had arrived
at the fallen barrier. There were fires burning in the mountain, the
workmen cheered when they saw him and waved their caps. It was splendid!

Ten more minutes and he was at the Swiss side. When he saw the daylight
shining through the entrance to the tunnel, the train stopped and he got
out.

He walked towards the green light, and came to the village and the
green world, bathed in sunlight; the village had been rebuilt and looked
prettier than before. And when the workmen saw him they saluted their
first man.

He went straight up to a little house, and there, under a walnut tree,
by the side of the bee-hives, stood Gertrude, calm, and a hundred times
more beautiful and gentle. It looked as if she had stood there for eight
years, waiting for him.

"Now I have come," he said, "as I intended to come! Will you follow me
to my country?"

"I will follow you wherever you go!"

"I gave you a ring long ago; have you still got it?"

"I have it still!"

"Then let us go at once! No, don't turn back! Don't take anything with
you!"

And they went away, hand in hand, but not through the tunnel.

"On to the mountain!" said Andrea, turning in the direction of the old
pass; "through darkness I came to you, but in light I will live with you
and for you!"

THE STORY OF JUBAL WHO HAD NO "I"

Once upon a time there was a king whose name was John Lackland, and it
is not difficult to imagine the reason why.

But another time there lived a great singer who was called "Jubal, who
had no I," and I am now going to tell you the reason.

The name which he had inherited from his father, a soldier, was Peal,
and undeniably there was music in the name. But nature had also given
him a strong will, which stiffened his back like an iron bar, and that
is a splendid gift, quite invaluable in the struggle for an existence.
When he was still a baby, only just able to