tudy were drawn. Little did
he guess the life his great-niece led!

The grass was like moist velvet beneath our feet. A pair of sparrows were
quarrelling over their bath at the fountain rim. We heard a low murmur of
voices. A glint of Jane's white frock could be seen behind a guelder rose
near the fountain. We crept up behind and peered through the foliage.

There on a garden bench sat Jane, and there, clasped in her slim white arms
was--The Seraph! The wretched Dorothea lay, face downward, on the grass at
their feet.

We strained our ears to hear what was being said. Jane spoke in that
silvery voice of hers:

"Say some more drefful things, Seraph. I jus' love to hear you."

There was a moment's silence; then, The Seraph said in his blandest tone,
the one word--

"Blood!"

Jane gave a tiny, ecstatic shriek.

"Oh, go on!" she begged, "say more."

"Blood," repeated The Seraph, firmly, "Hot blood--told blood--wed
blood--thick blood--thin blood--bad blood."

Again Jane squealed in fearful pleasure.

"Go on," she urged. "Worser."

Thus encouraged, The Seraph rapped out, without more ado, "Tiger
blood--ephelant blood--caterpillar blood--ole witch blood"--then, after a
pause, that the horror of it might sink deep in--"Baby blood!"

Angel and I gave each other a look of enlightenment. It was gore then, that
this delicately nurtured young person craved, good red gore, and plenty of
it! Well--enough--we were free. Wait! What was she saying?

"I _hate_ those other boys, Seraph, darling. Let's jus' you and me play
together always. And you should be Dorothea's _father_, and Dorothea should
want to paddle in the--"

Away! Away! With sardonic laughter, we sped along the pebbled drive, nor
stopped until we reached our own domain.

Then in the planked back yard, we sat on our steps, with a volume of "The
Quiver" on our knees, in case Mrs. Handsomebody should invade our privacy,
and played a rollicking game of pirates. And when any of the fair sex fell
into our hands we were none too gentle with them.

"Chuck 'em overboard, lieutenant!" was Captain Angel's way of dealing with
the case.

Just as the Cathedral clock struck five, The Seraph swaggered up. He
stopped before us, hands deep in pockets.

"Well," said Angel, eyeing him resentfully, "you'll make a nice bishop, you
will, usin' the language we heard a bit ago!"

"Maybe I shan't have time to be a bishop, after all," replied The Seraph,
condescendingly. "You