hat she had done a big thing, I was to
hold up the book. I venture to think that such a devilish revenge was
never before planned and carried out.

Yes, carried out, for this is the book, rapidly approaching completion.
She and I are running a neck-and-neck race.

I have also once more brought the story of David's adventures to
an abrupt end. "And it really is the end this time, David," I said
severely. (I always say that.)

It ended on the coast of Patagonia, whither we had gone to shoot the
great Sloth, known to be the largest of animals, though we found his
size to have been under-estimated. David, his father and I had flung
our limbs upon the beach and were having a last pipe before turning in,
while Mary, attired in barbaric splendour, sang and danced before us.
It was a lovely evening, and we lolled manlike, gazing, well-content, at
the pretty creature.

The night was absolutely still save for the roaring of the Sloths in the
distance.

By-and-by Irene came to the entrance of our cave, where by the light of
her torch we could see her exploring a shark that had been harpooned by
David earlier in the day.

Everything conduced to repose, and a feeling of gentle peace crept over
us, from which we were roused by a shrill cry. It was uttered by Irene,
who came speeding to us, bearing certain articles, a watch, a pair of
boots, a newspaper, which she had discovered in the interior of the
shark. What was our surprise to find in the newspaper intelligence of
the utmost importance to all of us. It was nothing less than this, the
birth of a new baby in London to Mary.

How strange a method had Solomon chosen of sending us the news.

The bald announcement at once plunged us into a fever of excitement, and
next morning we set sail for England. Soon we came within sight of the
white cliffs of Albion. Mary could not sit down for a moment, so hot was
she to see her child. She paced the deck in uncontrollable agitation.

"So did I!" cried David, when I had reached this point in the story.

On arriving at the docks we immediately hailed a cab.

"Never, David," I said, "shall I forget your mother's excitement. She
kept putting her head out of the window and calling to the cabby to go
quicker, quicker. How he lashed his horse! At last he drew up at your
house, and then your mother, springing out, flew up the steps and beat
with her hands upon the door."

David was quite carried away by the reality of it. "Father has the