another practical joke for
the benefit of the orphan.

Mr. Figgins took his flute with him, and too-tooed all the way till he
reached the door of Jack's room.

For Jack and Harry, it should be mentioned, had followed the orphan to
his new abode, and secured rooms in the same house.

He entered.

"Sit down, Mr. Figgins," said Jack.

Mr. Figgins sat down, nursing his flute.

"I have sent for you," Jack commenced.

"Ah, I see, you wish for a tune," cried the orphan, with much hilarity,
as he put the flute to his lips and began to play.

"On the contrary," cried Jack, quickly; "it's just what we don't wish
for; we should be glad if you'd come to a stop."

Mr. Figgins opened his eyes with astonishment.

"Come to a stop," he echoed; "is it possible that you wish to stop my
flute? Why, I thought you liked music."

"So I do," Jack replied, drily, "when it is music."

"And isn't my flute music? Are not its tones soft and sweet and
soothing to the spirits?"

"We have found them quite the reverse," Jack assured him; "in fact, if
you don't put away your flute, you'll drive us both mad, and then I
wouldn't like to answer for the consequences--which might be awful."

Mr. Figgins looked aghast.

"The idea of such exquisite music as my instrument discourses driving
anyone mad," he exclaimed at length, "is past belief."

"You may call it exquisite music, but we call it an awful row," Jack
replied, candidly, "therefore have the goodness to shut up."

The orphan drew himself up and clutched his flute in a kind of
convulsive indignation.

"I object to shutting up, Mr. Harkaway," he exclaimed, determinately;
"in fact, I will not shut up. In this dulcet instrument I have found a
balm for all my woes, and I intend to play it incessantly for the rest
of my existence."

"You'll blow yourself into a consumption," said Harry Girdwood.

"Well, if I do, I'm only a poor orphan whom no one will regret,"
returned Mr. Figgins, a tear trickling down his nose at the thought of
his lonely condition; "I shall die breathing forth some mournful
melody, and my flute will----"

"You can leave that to us as a legacy, and we'll put it under a glass
case," said Harry.

"No; my flute shall be buried with me in the silent grave."

"We don't care what you do with it after you're dead," returned Jack,
"but we object to being annoyed with it while you're alive."

"Oh, you shan't be exposed to any further annoyances on my account,"
said