or to all honest people both on sea
and shore.

There was but little wind that day, and the sea was as smooth as
glass. The ship stood almost still; there was hardly a breath of air
to fill her sails.

Ralph the Rover was walking on the deck. He looked out upon the glassy
sea. He saw the buoy floating above the Inchcape Rock. It looked like
a big black speck upon the water. But the bell was not ringing that
day. There were no waves to set it in motion.

"Boys!" cried Ralph the Rover; "put out the boat, and row me to the
Inchcape Rock. We will play a trick on the old abbot."

The boat was low-ered. Strong arms soon rowed it to the Inchcape Rock.
Then the robber, with a heavy ax, broke the chain that held the buoy.

He cut the fas-ten-ings of the bell. It fell into the water. There
was a gur-gling sound as it sank out of sight.

"The next one that comes this way will not bless the abbot," said
Ralph the Rover.

Soon a breeze sprang up, and the black ship sailed away. The sea
robber laughed as he looked back and saw that there was nothing to
mark the place of the hidden rock.

For many days, Ralph the Rover scoured the seas, and many were the
ships that he plun-dered. At last he chanced to sail back toward the
place from which he had started.

The wind had blown hard all day. The waves rolled high. The ship was
moving swiftly. But in the evening the wind died away, and a thick fog
came on.

Ralph the Rover walked the deck. He could not see where the ship was
going. "If the fog would only clear away!" he said.

"I thought I heard the roar of breakers," said the pilot. "We must be
near the shore."

"I cannot tell," said Ralph the Rover; "but I think we are not far
from the Inchcape Rock. I wish we could hear the good abbot's bell."

The next moment there was a great crash. "It is the Inchcape Rock!"
the sailors cried, as the ship gave a lurch to one side, and began to
sink.

"Oh, what a wretch am I!" cried Ralph the Rover. "This is what comes
of the joke that I played on the good abbot!"

What was it that he heard as the waves rushed over him? Was it the
abbot's bell, ringing for him far down at the bottom of the sea?

WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.

I. THE CITY.

There was once a little boy whose name was Richard Whit'ting-ton; but
everybody called him Dick. His father and mother had died when he was
only a babe, and the people who had the care of him were very poor.
Dick was not old enough to wor