s a roof, and no sign of a habitation is anywhere
visible.

The night has come on rainy and dark, and a weary tramp with his dog has
been thankful to crawl into its poor shelter and rest his limbs. The
wind has risen and howls dismally round the shed, breaking every now and
then through the loose planks, and stirring up the straw which carpets
the place. But the traveller is too weary to heed it or the rain which
intrudes along with it, and crouching with his dog in the darkest
corner, curls himself up in true tramp fashion, and settles down to
sleep.

He has lain there two hours or more, and the mountain storm begins to
abate. The dog has been uneasy for some time, and now in the midst of a
peal of thunder awakens his master with a gruff yap. The sleeper sits
up in an instant. It is not the thunder that has disturbed the dog, nor
is it thunder that the tramp now listens to close at hand. It is the
sound of voices, either inside the shed or just outside it.

Not a strange thing, perhaps, in a storm like this, for two wayfarers
like himself to seek shelter--and yet the tramp seems startled by the
sound, and signals to the dog to lie down and hold his peace.

"Will it do?" says one voice; and the tramp perceives that the speakers
are standing outside the shed under the shelter of the projecting eaves.

"No. No good. Too well looked after, and the people about the wrong
sort."

"There's a pile of swag there--heaps."

"Know that. Better wait till the family are away."

"There's a child, isn't there?"

"A boy--fourteen--only child."

"Might work it that way; eh? Get a trifle for him eh?"

"A thousand, and no questions asked. It's settled."

"It is! Why didn't you say so? How are you going to do it?"

"Never you mind. Corporal and I have worked it out. It will be done
to-night. Moon's down at ten. You be here at midnight, and have your
hay-cart handy. Corporal and I will bring him here. We know where to
find him in daylight, and can keep him quiet in the woods till dark."

"What then? Who's to keep him?"

"Wait till you've got him."

"Are you sure they'll go a thousand for him?"

"Probably two. Sheer off now, and don't forget, twelve o'clock."

The footsteps move away through the wet heather, and the tramp, waiting
motionless till the last sound has faded away, draws a long breath and
curls himself back into his roost.

But not to sleep--to meditate a campaign.

"Julius," says he