egs, which now bore no traces of
the brush which Eliza had lent me after supper. My boots were completely
coated with mud as the result of the ditches into which I had floundered
in my headlong flight, my stockings were splashed, and even my
knickerbockers were freely covered with dry mud.

On stepping out from the shelter of the hut, the sun shining full in my
eyes reminded me that I had not put on my hat, and, entering again, I
looked about for it for a few seconds before remembering that it had,
of course, been left behind at the farm-house.

[Illustration: "The first person I saw that morning was a young man,
mending a puncture."]

As I crossed the field, the situation seemed peculiarly depressing, and
it was impossible not to contrast it with my circumstances at the same
hour yesterday. It was one consolation that nobody could rob me to-day,
for I had not a penny in my pocket. Every one of my limbs seemed to have
a separate ache, and although I had not been accustomed to very
luxurious fare of late, I felt a great longing for breakfast.

Although my confidence in the good fortune awaiting me in London had
been somewhat shaken since I left Castlemore, I still determined to set
my face in that direction. Where else could I go unless I returned to
Mr. Turton? An unthinkable proposition. Making my way towards a black
five-barred gate, I rejoiced to see a lane on the other side of it,
and, without a notion of my locality, I thought it better to turn to the
left. The lane, a mere cart-track, led to a wider road, prettily
undulated, and, for half a mile or so, entirely deserted. The first
person I saw that morning (it must have been about half-past eleven) was
a young man of about three-and-twenty years of age, engaged in mending a
puncture in his bicycle-tyre. The machine was turned wheels upwards,
while he stood pressing the punctured portion of the collapsed tyre
between two pennies. From curiosity, and the desire, perhaps, to be near
some one for a few minutes, I stopped, while he chalked the patch,
stooped to replace the outer covering, and then, turning the bicycle
right way up again, took off the pump.

(_Continued on page 69._)

[Illustration: "One bolder than the rest stabbed it with a pitchfork."]

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

II.--M. CHARLES AND HIS PARIS BALLOON.

News, like sound, travels fast; and the applause which greeted the
ascent of the Montgolfier balloon at Annonay had hardly ceased when