mong the crowd, and while Frank
was grumbling, he was busying himself among them, and was engaged
in carrying out a very brilliant idea that had just suggested itself
to him. In a short time he returned with an armful of something,
the nature of which Frank could not quite make out.

"What have you got there?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

"Dey are all handkerchiefs."

"Handkerchiefs?"

"Yes; de handkerchiefs of de population of Albano. Dey are as many
as de days of de year."

"I should think so," cried Frank, in amazement. "But what are you
going to do with them?"

"Do wit dem? I am going to make a smoke."

"A smoke? What? Are you going to burn them up?"

"Dere is notin else to burn; so I must burn what I can. See, I make
a bundle of dese. I set fire to dem. Dey burn--dey smoke--and de
boar smoke out. Aha! he suffocate--he expire--he run!"

"Well, if that isn't the greatest idea I ever heard of!" cried
Frank. "Handkerchiefs! Why, you must have hundreds of them in
that bundle."

The guide smiled, and made no answer. It was a brilliant idea.
It was all his own. He was proud of it. He was pleased to think
that the number of them was equal to the number of days in the
year. Three hundred and sixty-five handkerchiefs collected from
the good, the virtuous, the self-sacrificing people of Albano,
who were now yelling and howling as before, at the rear of the
house, and diversifying the uproar by loud calls and inquiries
about the wild boar.

The guide smiled cheerily over the handkerchiefs. He was so proud
of his original idea! He went calmly on, forming them into a
rough bundle, doing it very dexterously, so that the bundle might
be tight enough to hold together, yet loose enough to burn, Frank
watched him curiously. So did Bob. So did Uncle Moses. So did Clive.
So did David. Three hundred and sixty-five handkerchiefs! Only
think of it!

At last the work was finished. The handkerchiefs rolled up into a
big ball, loose, yet cohesive, with ends hanging out in all
directions.

"You had better be careful what you do," said Clive. "The end of
the chamber below is full of dry fagots. If they were to catch
fire, what would come of us?"

"O, alla right," said the guide. "Nevare fear. I trow him so
he sall not go near de wood. He make no flame, only de smoke.
Nevare fear."

At this the trepidation which these preparations bad excited in
the minds of Clive and David, departed, and they watched the
subse