eaknesses, and warring interests of man who is immortal and master of
his fate.

THE BRUSHWOOD BOY

Girls and boys, come out to play
The moon is shining as bright as day!
Leave your supper and leave your sleep,
And come with your playfellows out in the street!
Up the ladder and down the wall--

A CHILD of three sat up in his crib and screamed at the top of his
voice, his fists clinched and his eyes full of terror. At first no one
heard, for his nursery was in the west wing, and the nurse was talking
to a gardener among the laurels. Then the housekeeper passed that way,
and hurried to soothe him. He was her special pet, and she disapproved
of the nurse.

"What was it, then? What was it, then? There's nothing to frighten him,
Georgie dear."

"It was--it was a policeman! He was on the Down--I saw him! He came in.
Jane said he would."

"Policemen don't come into houses, dearie. Turn over, and take my hand."

"I saw him--on the Down. He came here. Where is your hand, Harper?"

The housekeeper waited till the sobs changed to the regular breathing of
sleep before she stole out.

"Jane, what nonsense have you been telling Master Georgie about
policemen?"

"I haven't told him anything."

"You have. He's been dreaming about them."

"We met Tisdall on Dowhead when we were in the donkey-cart this morning.
P'r'aps that's what put it into his head."

"Oh! Now you aren't going to frighten the child into fits with your
silly tales, and the master know nothing about it. If ever I catch you
again," etc.

* * * * *

A child of six was telling himself stories as he lay in bed. It was a
new power, and he kept it a secret. A month before it had occurred to
him to carry on a nursery tale left unfinished by his mother, and he
was delighted to find the tale as it came out of his own head just
as surprising as though he were listening to it "all new from the
beginning." There was a prince in that tale, and he killed dragons,
but only for one night. Ever afterwards Georgie dubbed himself prince,
pasha, giant-killer, and all the rest (you see, he could not tell any
one, for fear of being laughed at), and his tales faded gradually into
dreamland, where adventures were so many that he could not recall the
half of them. They all began in the same way, or, as Georgie explained
to the shadows of the night-light, there was "the same starting-off
place"--a pile of brushwood stacked somewhere near