dint in his steely
blue armour.

Then came a huge moth, and almost simultaneously a bat, to whirr round
and round over the bed and along the ceiling, while from off the dark
waters of the fen came from time to time strange splashings and uncouth
cries, which would have startled a wakeful stranger to these parts. Now
and then a peculiar moan would be heard, then what sounded like a
dismal, distant roaring, followed by the cackling of ducks, and
plaintive whistlings of ox-birds, oyster-catchers, and sandpipers, all
of which seemed to be very busy hunting food in the soft stillness of
the dewy night.

But neither splash nor cry awakened the sleepers, who were, like Barney
O'Reardon, after keeping awake for a week; when they went to sleep they
paid "attintion to it," and the night wore on till it must have been one
o'clock.

The bat and the moth had managed to find their way out of the open
window at last, and perhaps out of malice had told another bat and
another moth that it was a delightful place in there. At all events
another couple were careering about, the moth noisily brushing its wings
against wall and ceiling, the bat silently on its fine soft leather
wings, but uttering a fine squeak now and then, so thin, and sharp, and
shrill that, compared to other squeaks, it was as the point of a fine
needle is to that of a tenpenny nail.

The beetle had got over the stunning blow it had received, to some
extent, and had carefully folded up and put away its gauzy wings beneath
their hard horny cases, deeming that he would be better off and safer if
he walked for the rest of the night, and after a good deal of awkward
progression he came to the side of the bed.

It was a hot night, and some of the clothes had been kicked off, so that
the counterpane on Tom's side touched the floor. In contact with this
piece of drapery the beetle came, and began to crawl up, taking his time
pretty well, and finally reaching the bed.

Here he turned to the left and progressed slowly till he reached the
pillow, which he climbed, and in a few more moments found himself in
front of a cavern in a forest--a curiously designed cavern, with a cosy
hole in connection with certain labyrinths.

This hole seemed just of a size to suit the beetle's purpose, and he
proceeded to enter for the purpose of snuggling up and taking a good
long nap to ease the dull aching he probably felt in his bruised head.

But, soundly as Tom Tallington slept, th