nd the last drop is drained out of the teapot. The party
stroll out of doors, and revel in the cool of the evening air.

How is it that they begin to talk about heroes and heroism? Nobody can
remember afterwards who started the subject; but certain it is that all,
save Dolly, become interested in the conversation, and each has a word
to say. Mr. Carey, the clergyman, is the leading talker; and he talks
well, not priggishly, nor prosily, but speaks the right words in the
right way, and wins the attention of his companions.

"Charles Kingsley has told us," he says, "'that true heroism must
involve self-sacrifice;' it is the highest form of moral beauty. And
it's a good thing when girls and boys fall to thinking about heroes and
heroines; the thinking begets longing to do likewise. What was it that
you were saying last night about your favourite hero, Tim?"

Tim lifts his head, and a rush of colour comes suddenly into his brown
face.

"Jim Bludso is the fellow I like," he says, speaking quickly. "Wasn't it
grand of him to hold the bow of the _Prairie Belle_ against the bank,
while she was burning? The passengers all got off, you know, before the
smoke-stacks fell; only Bludso's life was lost. He let himself be burnt
to save the rest."

"It _was_ grand!" murmurs Bee, drawing a long breath.

"Yes," says Claude, bringing out his words slowly; "but I like Bert
Harte's 'Flynn of Virginia' better still. You see, it was Jim Bludso's
own fault that the steamer caught fire. Nothing would stop him from
running a race with the _Movestar_; and so the _Prairie Belle_ came
tearing along the Mississippi--

"'With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine!'

Jolly fun it must have been, but anybody could have foretold the end. As
to Flynn, he was working on the Central Pacific Railway with his mate, a
married man, when they found the whole concern giving way. And Flynn set
his back against the wall in the dark drift, and held the timbers that
were ready to fall, and sang out to Jake to run for his wife's sake."

"Oh, that was beautiful!" Bee sighs, with her blue eyes full of tears.
"Flynn was only Flynn, wasn't he? But Jake had got somebody who couldn't
live without him."

"That was just what Flynn felt, he was only Flynn," Claude replies,
pleased that his hero is appreciated. "There was something splendidly
deliberate in his self-sacrifice, don't you think so, sir?" he adds,
turning t