tempestuous. Lightnings flashed in the cerulean sky,
and the deep-voiced thunder rolled from one end of the firmament to
the other. It was a landscape in Spain. From a rocky defile gayly
pranced forth a masked cavalier, Roderigo di Lima, a famous bandit
chief.

"'"Ha! ha!" he laughed in demoniac glee, "the night is well fitted to
my purpose. Ere it passes, Isabella Gomez shall be mine."'"

"I think that will do," said Mr. Houghton, hastily. "I am afraid
that style won't suit our readers."

"Why not?" demanded Prunella, sharply. "I can assure you, sir, that
it has been praised by _excellent_ judges in our village."

"It is too exciting for our readers. You had better carry it to 'The
Weekly Corsair.'"

"Do they pay well for contributions?"

"I really can't say. How much do you expect?"

"This story will make about five columns. I think twenty-five
dollars will be about right."

"I am afraid you will be disappointed. We can't afford to pay such
prices, and the 'Corsair' has a smaller circulation than our paper."

"How much do you pay?"

"Two dollars a column."

"I expected more," said Prunella, "but I will write for you at that
price."

"Send us something suited to our paper, and we will pay for it at
that price."

"I will write you a story to-morrow. Good-morning, sir."

"Good-morning, Miss Prune."

The young lady with ringlets sailed out of the editor's room, and
Oscar, nudging Harry, said, "Now it is our turn. Come along. Follow
me, and don't be frightened."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ACCEPTED.

The editor of the "Standard" looked with some surprise at the two
boys. As editor, he was not accustomed to receive such young
visitors. He was courteous, however, and said, pleasantly:--

"What can I do for you, young gentlemen?"

"Are you the editor of the 'Standard'?" asked Harry, diffidently.

"I am. Do you wish to subscribe?"

"I have already written something for your paper," Harry continued.

"Indeed!" said the editor. "Was it poetry or prose?"

Harry felt flattered by the question. To be mistaken for a poet he
felt to be very complimentary. If he had known how much trash weekly
found its way to the "Standard" office, under the guise of poetry, he
would have felt less flattered.

"I have written some essays over the name of 'Franklin,'" he hastened
to say.

"Ah, yes, I remember, and very sensible essays too. You are young to
write."

"Yes, sir; I hope to improve as I