shalt be paid."
Then, at his signal, came two negro men tugging at a strong box that
Printz unlocked. It was filled with gold pieces. "Hold thy fiddle bag,"
commanded the governor, and Peter did so, watching, open mouthed, the
transfer of a double handful of treasure from box to sack. Another such
handful followed, and another. At the fourth Peter could no longer
contain himself. He forgot the injunction not to speak, and shouted
gleefully, "Lord Harry! Here's luck!"

There was a shriek of demon laughter, the scene was lost in darkness, and
Peter fell insensible. In the morning a tavern-haunting friend, anxious
to know if Peter had met with any adventure, entered the house and went
cautiously from room to room, calling on the watcher to show himself.
There was no response. At last he stumbled on the whiskey bottle, empty,
and knew that Peter must be near. Sure enough, there he lay in the great
room, with dust and mould thick on everything, and his fiddle smashed
into a thousand pieces. Peter on being awakened looked ruefully about
him, then sprang up and eagerly demanded his money. "What money?" asked
his friend. The fiddler clutched at his green bag, opened it, shook it;
there was nothing. Nor was there any delay in Peter's exit from that
mansion, and when, twenty-four hours after, the house went up in flames,
he averred that the ghosts had set it afire, and that he knew where they
brought their coals from.

THE TWO RINGS

Gabrielle de St. Pierre, daughter of the commandant of Fort Le Boeuf,
now--Waterford, Pennsylvania, that the French had setup on the Ohio
River, was Parisian by birth and training, but American by choice, for
she had enjoyed on this lonesome frontier a freedom equal to that of the
big-handed, red-faced half-breeds, and she was as wild as an Indian in
her sports. Returning from a hunt, one day, she saw three men advancing
along the trail, and, as it was easy to see that they were not Frenchmen,
her guide slipped an arrow to the cord and discharged it; but Gabrielle
was as quick as he, for she struck the missile as it was leaving the bow
and it quivered harmlessly into a beech. The younger of the men who were
advancing--he was Harry Fairfax, of Virginia--said to his chief, "Another
escape for you, George. Heaven sent one of its angels to avert that
stroke."

Washington, for it was he, answered lightly, and, as no other hostile
demonstrations were made, the new-comers pressed on to the fort,