r away from the human world
below, and one felt that he had placed himself entirely in the hands of
nature. This was her realm, where she acknowledged no laws but her own,
and was incapable of sympathy, pity, or remorse.

FAIRY GOLD.

BY MARY STEWART CUTTING,

Author of "The Coupons of Fortune," "Henry," and other stories.

When Mr. William Belden walked out of his house one wet October evening
and closed the hall door carefully behind him, he had no idea that he
was closing the door on all the habits of his maturer life and entering
the borders of a land as far removed from his hopes or his imagination
as the country of the Gadarenes.

He had not wanted to go out that evening at all, not knowing what the
fates had in store for him, and being only too conscious of the comfort
of the sitting-room lounge, upon which, after the manner of the suburban
resident who travelleth daily by railways, he had cast himself
immediately after the evening meal was over. The lounge was in
proximity--yet not too close proximity--to the lamp on the table; so
that one might have the pretext of reading to cover closed eyelids and a
general oblivion of passing events. On a night when a pouring rain
splashed outside on the pavements and the tin roofs of the piazzas, the
conditions of rest in the cosey little room were peculiarly attractive
to a man who had come home draggled and wet, and with the toil and wear
of a long business day upon him. It was therefore with a sinking of the
heart that he heard his wife's gentle tones requesting him to wend his
way to the grocery to purchase a pound of butter.

"I hate to ask you to go, William dear, but there really is not a scrap
in the house for breakfast, and the butter-man does not come until
to-morrow afternoon," she said deprecatingly. "It really will only take
you a few minutes."

Mr. Belden smothered a groan, or perhaps something worse. The butter
question was a sore one, Mrs. Belden taking only a stated quantity of
that article a week, and always unexpectedly coming short of it before
the day of replenishment, although no argument ever served to induce her
to increase the original amount for consumption.

"Cannot Bridget go?" he asked weakly, gazing at the small, plump figure
of his wife, as she stood with meek yet inexorable eyes looking down at
him.

"Bridget is washing the dishes, and the stores will be closed before she
can get out."

"Can't one of the boys--" He stoppe