g brightly on the hearth, and filling with its
glowing, cheerful light the dining-room of Dr Morgan, the new rector of
the parish, where he with his wife and the younger members of his family
were collected. The rector sat in his easy-chair, his book had fallen
from his hand, for he was dozing after a hard day's work of physical and
mental labour in the abodes of the sick and afflicted of his
widely-scattered parish. His wife had a cradle by her side, but she
held its usual occupant in her arms, putting it to sleep with a low
lullaby, while a group of older children, boys and girls, sat at the
table variously occupied. Charles and Anna having some fresh foreign
postage-stamps, arranged them in a book according to the different
countries from whence they came, and were preparing a short account of
each--a plan their father had recommended, so as to give an interest to
this otherwise very useless pursuit.

"This must surely be American," said Anna, holding up a stamp. "How
like a well-done photograph is the head. Can it be that of Washington?"

On this William, who was engaged professedly in learning his lessons for
the next day, looked up. The rest decided that although the stamp was
American, as it was the head of a somewhat sour-looking old gentleman it
could not be that of the great Washington, but of one of the later
Presidents of the United States. The children were talking in an
undertone, so as not to disturb their father.

"Old Polly Forty Rags, the witch, came from America," said William.
"But it was from some place which the English don't know about; a wild,
barren sea-coast, just like the mountain-side up there, where they say
that she used to practise her witch tricks on the vessels which came
near, and many and many's the one she has sent to the bottom or driven
on the rocks."

"How did she practise her witch tricks?" asked Arthur, who did not very
clearly understand his brother's meaning.

"How!" exclaimed William. "That's more than I can tell. I'm only
repeating what those who know all about the matter say."

"Isn't she a very wicked old woman then?" asked Mabel, with simplicity.

"Wicked? I should think so! as wicked an old hag as you ever heard of,"
answered William. "It would be a good thing to rid the world of such a
monster; but they say she can't be killed; not if she was soused over
head and ears in the river or thrown into the fire. That's the nature
of witches."

Anna, who was