e the ship gave a great lurch,
and I believe the mast fell. Anyway, when next I knew anything, I found
myself lying on the grass at the top of a low cliff, with the sea
roaring below me. I had been thrown there as the mast fell.'

'Were you the only one saved?' asked Maurice.

'So they told me,' said old John. 'But come,' he said, in a different
tone, and beginning to row at his utmost speed, 'we must get to the
Point before high tide, or there will be no shells for you to-day.'

The mention of shells drove away the melancholy thoughts which John's
story had occasioned, and the wreck of the _Hope_ was forgotten as the
children landed at the Point and began eagerly searching for new
specimens.

S. CLARENDON.

[Illustration: "'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast.'"]

[Illustration: "'Please do not shoot me!'"]

SPY OR GUIDE?

'I believe this forest goes on to the end of the world!' exclaimed the
Colonel of the 18th Hanoverian regiment at the close of an autumn day in
the year 1750. 'I was told it was a six hours' journey to Schustadt, but
it seems as if we must tramp right across Germany to reach it.'

'I wonder if we have taken a wrong track?' answered the Major, who was
riding by his side, whilst behind trudged the men, their white breeches,
scarlet coats, and three-cornered hats looking strangely out of place in
that dense pine forest.

'We must find out somehow,' said the Colonel, reining up his horse.
'There must be a peasant of some sort in these regions--a wood-cutter or
charcoal burner. Call a halt, Wenzler, and let the men scatter in
different directions, and tell the first who finds any one capable of
acting as guide to bring him straight to me.'

The halt was called, the order given, and the soldiers disappeared
amongst the pine trunks, amidst laughter and declarations from each that
he would be the first to find a guide. The discovery, however, fell to
Schmidt, a young corporal, who had hardly gone a hundred yards into the
forest before he came on a lad who was amusing himself by gathering
raspberries.

Schmidt was fond of what he called a joke, and laying a rough hand on
the lad's shoulder, he said, in a voice purposely very fierce, 'You are
my prisoner! I am to bring you to our Colonel, and you will probably be
shot as a spy.'

The boy looked up in surprise, and turned pale as he answered: 'I am no
spy! I have come out from the town to gather raspberries!'

'I know noth