in the barrel, driving the powder out through the touch-hole into the
pan, and making a peculiar sound running in a kind of gamut: pash--
pesh--pish--posh--poosh--push--pud--pod--por--with the wind all out and
the powder compressed hard down by the wad. Next a little cylindrical
shovel full of shot was extracted from the belt, whose spring closed as
the measure was drawn out, and the shot trickled gently into the barrel,
glistening in the moonlight like globules of quicksilver. Another wad
was rammed down; the pan opened and found full of the black grains, and
the ramrod replaced in its loops behind the barrel, the gun being stood
in the corner beside the bed ready for emergencies in that rough land.

Nic's next proceeding was to listen and find that the murmur of voices
heard beyond the partition had ceased, and he slipped off his shoes and
stepped softly to the open window.

The flowers smelt deliciously in the cool, soft night air, and he looked
out, leaning his arms on the sill to realise more thoroughly that he was
in the place he had so often longed to see when he did a similar thing
at the Friary in far-off Kent.

It seemed impossible, but it was true enough. His old schoolfellows
might be looking out of the window now over the Kentish hills, but he
was divided from them by the whole thickness of the great globe. They
were in the northern portion of the temperate zone; he, as he leaned
out, was in the southern. They would be looking at the hills; he was
gazing at the rugged mountains. Then, too, it was just the opposite
season to theirs--summer to their winter, winter to their summer.

"It's like a big puzzle," thought Nic. "I shan't understand it all till
I've made a globe. I wish I'd studied the big one at the Friary more.
How strange it all seems!"

As he looked out, the place appeared very different. He had seen it in
the full sunshine; now, in the silence of the night, the trees glistened
in the moonlight as if frosted, and the shadows cast stood out black,
sharp, and as if solid.

And how still and awful it all seemed! Not a sound,--yes, there was: an
impatient stamp from somewhere on the other side of the house. He knew
what that was, though: the horses were troubled by some night insect.
There was another sound, too, as he listened--and another--and another.

He was wrong: there was no awful silence; the night, as his ears grew
accustomed to the sounds, was full of noises, which impresse