lour,
and very fine birds they are. Even the pigs must turn grey or get
themselves bleached if they wish to take up permanent quarters at
Crichel.

The pigeons interested me more than anything else in the place, possibly
on account of their number, and intelligence. The whole farm is alive
with them, and the sight of the colony whirling in mid-air above their
cotes is one not readily forgotten.

[Illustration: SOME HUMBLE MEMBERS OF THE GREAT WHITE FAMILY.]

They cross the sun like a white cloud, and when they swoop downwards to
the ground the air vibrates with the hum of whirling wings. They have a
trick of sitting along the coping tiles of the roof in single file like
a company of soldiers drawn up in line, and on one occasion I saw some
hundreds resting so closely together in this fashion that there was not
room for a sparrow between them the whole length of the roof.

They are perfectly tame, and are the most knowing-looking rascals I have
ever seen. Feeding time is a great institution, and, to my mind, is the
most fascinating sight on the farm.

They know their dinner hour to the second, and some time before it is
due the air is white with returning stragglers.

The ceremony is interesting enough to justify several illustrations, but
we can find room for only one. Preparatory to the all-important
function, the birds collect in their hundreds on the roofs of the
adjoining buildings. A few seconds later the more impatient spirits
among them fly to the ground and move restlessly about near the door
from which they know the attendant will emerge.

Directly the man appears they swarm round him as he makes his way into
the middle of the grass plot where the food is scattered.

There is not a single feather in any one of the birds which is not of
the purest white. A dark feather seals the doom of its unfortunate
owner. However, this is a rare event. Possibly the birds conspire to
preserve uniformity of colour by plucking alien shades from each other's
plumage before they are noticed by the keeper.

If space would permit, one might illustrate many other interesting
features of the White Farm, but enough has been said to give a general
notion of the charm and interest of Lord Alington's fascinating hobby.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE CHOLERA SHIP]

A COMPLETE SHORT STORY[1]

BY CUTCLIFFE HYNE. _Illustrated by Richard Jack._

She was not the regular Portuguese mail. She was an ancient seven-