loss that, try as I would, I could
not in any way lighten it. One day soon after I missed the little man,
and he never returned again. All that he left behind him for me to
remember him by was his old concertina.

'I waited by the tree for many a long day, still thinking that he would
return, until I was compelled at last to abandon all hope of ever seeing
him again. I wandered out into the world with no other wealth than my
concertina, but how often since have I had to bless the memory of my
little friend who thus endowed me with the means of subsistence, and, at
the same time, with a protection against all manner of evil.'

[Illustration: tailpiece]

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE LOST GROCER]

[Illustration: headpiece]

THE LOST GROCER

For many and many a weary mile the persevering little band had now
trudged on without meeting with any adventure worth relating, and every
one was longing for the end of their travels, when one lovely evening
they came across a good-natured-looking policeman, fast asleep on a
stile by the roadside. The tramp, tramp of the army awakened him, and
with a gentle smile he got off his perch and walked alongside the King.
Charmed with his easy manner, the King jokingly asked him of what he had
been dreaming that he smiled so pleasantly. 'Oh, of old times and old
friends,' the policeman replied, and then as he walked along he thus
related the strangest of experiences:--

'Many years ago it was my happy lot to be the principal policeman of
the pleasant little town of Troutpeg, situated, as you know, on the
banks of the river Peg, just where it flows into the estuary of the
Drip, that here broadens into that well-known land-locked harbour of the
same name, and thus finally finds its way to the sea. Nestling amongst
its stone-capped hills, the happy place seemed designed by a kind nature
as a retreat for all who were blithe and amiable, and such indeed it
proved to be, for no more kindly and genial souls than the Troutpegsters
could be found. Their simplicity was delightful, though perhaps such as
to incline them all the more readily to believe in the wild legends of
the country-side. Many were the strange stories told by the shepherds,
who tended their flocks on the hills at night, of wild rites, and
uncouth dances performed by ghostly beings, in the light of the moon,
amidst the ancient circles of Druid stones. Little else, however, was
there to