attention to her father, but was
listening intently.

"There she is," as a faint rustle at the door announced the arrival of
Mrs. Sampson and the tea-tray. "I wonder, Brian, you don't think the
house is on fire with that queer noise always going on--she wants oil!"

"Yes, St. Jacob's oil," laughed Brian, as Mrs. Sampson entered, and
placed her burden on the table.

"Not 'avin' any cake," said that lady, "thro' not being forewarned as
to the time of arrival--tho' it's not ofting I'm taken by
surprise--except as to a 'eadache, which, of course, is accidental to
every pusson--I ain't got nothin' but bread and butter, the baker and
grocer both bein' all that could be desired, except in the way of
worryin' for their money, which they thinks as 'ow I keeps the bank in
the 'ouse, like Allading's cave, as I've 'eard tell in the Arabian
Nights, me 'avin' gained it as a prize for English in my early
girl'ood, bein' then considered a scholard an' industrus."

Mrs. Sampson's shrill apologies for the absence of cake having been
received, she hopped out of the room, and Madge made the tea. The
service was a quaint Chinese one, which Brian had picked up in his
wanderings. He used it only on special occasions. As he watched Madge
he could not help thinking how pretty she looked, with her hands moving
deftly among the cups and saucers, so bizarre-looking with their
sprawling dragons of yellow and green. He half smiled to himself as he
thought, "If they knew all, I wonder if they would sit with me so
unconcernedly."

Mr. Frettlby, too, as he looked at his daughter, thought of his dead
wife and sighed.

"Well," said Madge, as she handed them their tea, and helped herself to
some thin bread and butter, "you two gentlemen are most delightful
company--papa is sighing like 3 furnace, and Brian is staring at me
with his eyes like blue china saucers. You ought both to be turned
forth to funerals like melancholy."

"Why like melancholy?" queried Brian, lazily.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Fitzgerald," said the young lady with 3 smile in her
pretty black eyes, "that you are not a student of 'A Midsummer Night's
Dream.'"

"Very likely not," answered Brian; "midsummer out here is so hot that
one gets no sleep, and, consequently no dreams. Depend upon it, if the
four lovers whom Puck treated so badly had lived in Australia they
wouldn't have been able to sleep for the mosquitoes."

"What nonsense you two young people do talk," said Mr. Frettlby,