at first, but when we said, "Do--you
might buy a pig with it, and call it Stokes after that coastguard," he
could no longer resist, and accepted our friendly gift.

We talked with him for a bit, and when we were going we thanked him for
being so jolly, and helping us to plant out the repulsive coastguard so
thoroughly.

Then he said, "Don't mention it. Did you tell your little gells what you
was up to?"

"No," said Oswald, "not till afterwards."

"Then you _can_ hold your tongues. Well, since you've acted so handsome
about that there pig, what's to be named for Stokes, I don't mind if I
tells you something. Only mum's the word."

We said we were quite sure it was.

"Well, then," said he, leaning over the pig-stye wall, and rubbing the
spotted pig's back with his stick. "It's an ill wind that blows no good
to nobody. You see, that night there was a little bird went an'
whispered to 'em up at Longbeach about our little bit of a keg. So when
we landed they was there."

"Of course," said Oswald.

"Well, if they was there they couldn't be somewheres else, could they?"

We owned they could not.

"I shouldn't wonder," he went on, "but what a bit of a cargo was run
that night further up the beach: something as _wasn't_ sea-water. I
don't say it was so, mind--and mind you don't go for to say it."

Then we understood that there is a little smuggling done still, and that
we had helped in it, though quite without knowing.

We were jolly glad. Afterwards, when we had had that talk with Father,
when he told us that the laws are made by the English people, and it is
dishonourable for an Englishman not to stick to them, we saw that
smuggling must be wrong.

But we have never been able to feel really sorry. I do not know why this
is.

_ZAIDA, THE MYSTERIOUS PROPHETESS OF THE GOLDEN ORIENT_

THIS is the story of how we were gipsies and wandering minstrels. And,
like everything else we did about that time, it was done to make money
for Miss Sandal, whose poorness kept on, making our kind hearts ache.

It is rather difficult to get up any good game in a house like Miss
Sandal's, where there is nothing lying about, except your own things,
and where everything is so neat and necessary. Your own clothes are
seldom interesting, and even if you change hats with your sisters it is
not a complete disguise.

The idea of being gipsies was due to Alice. She had not at all liked
being entirely out of the smuggling affra