this crisis Bogey, with his eyes glaring and his white teeth
fully exposed, thrust his black face from the foliage.

"Drop it," he cried, with a hideous grin.

He had no occasion to repeat the command.

With a yell of terror the horrified Turkish gentleman, who was really
half an idiot, and was just then away from his keepers, let fall his
instrument from his trembling fingers, and starting up, waddled away
from the spot as though the furies were after him, while the special
messenger of the Prophet quietly picked up the flute with a chuckle,
and retraced his steps to the gate.

Here he found Mr. Figgins.

He could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the negro with the
precious instrument in his hand.

"The flute, the flute!" he cried, "the soother of sorrow, the orphan's
comforter. Let me clutch you in my grasp. Oh, it brings back my
boyhood's days."

As he spoke, he rushed forward eagerly to seize the treasure.

But Bogey stuck to it.

"Money fust, Massa Figgins," he said, with a grin, "twenty poun' am de
price, yah know, an' dis a fuss-rate blower. Too-too-too,
tooty-tum-too," he sounded on the instrument.

The orphan was frantic.

"I haven't twenty pounds with me," he exclaimed, excitedly, "but I'll
pay you the moment we get home, and five pounds over for interest. You
know I'm well off, and am also a man of my word."

Bogey did know this, and was not afraid to trust him.

"Well, den, dere de flute," he said; "but don't begin too-too-tooin'
till we git good way off, else p'r'aps de gem'l'm wid de red cap hear
and send a dog arter de speshal messenger of de Prophet."

Mr. Figgins pledged himself not to blow a note till they were a mile
from the spot at least, and on the strength of this promise, Bogey gave
him up the instrument.

But no sooner did the excited orphan find it in his possession than he
forgot all his promises, and putting the flute to his lips, he at once
commenced "The Girl I Left Behind Me," in the most brilliant manner--so
brilliant indeed that it reached the ears of the owner inside, and, as
Bogey had shrewdly suspected would be the case, the latter began to
have some slight suspicions that he had been done out of his flute by
an impostor.

Very soon his voice was heard calling his dogs, and almost immediately
loud barkings were heard.

"Run, run, Massa Figgins, or de dogs tear yah to pieces," shouted
Bogey.

"They may tear me limb from limb," returned the orphan "but they