to brace spiritual resolution. The But these young folks were by no means the "Dancing Children of Harricombe." The story of these last had just been told, and the end of it had been given in this way by Yorick Hare, a boy of twelve:

reader of such a book as "La Débâcle" may say to himself, "This is too dreadful! Let us submit to any indignity or oppression rather than be responsible for such horrors!" But the Christian will rather say, "In these scenes, and any still more appalling than these, we have a witness to the preciousness of ideal treasures." To fight for the existence and the honor of our country is the way to gain a higher conception of the trust committed to the children of a nation. In this age, more than ever, and for Englishmen more than for the citizens of any other country, it should be a sovereign aspiration that we may help to make the country for which we are ready to die and to kill increasingly worthy of its destiny, a better instrument in the hands of the Ruler of mankind. Christianity imposes upon those who govern the British Empire the obligation of caring little about lives or feelings compared with the security of the empire and its power to do its appointed work in the world. Mr. Pearson's book is a call to us to prove that to be good is not to be weak; that we know it to be our Christian duty to guard by strenuous effort, and by any required amount of suffering, the priceless inheritance which has been entrusted to

us.

J. LLEWELYN DAVIES.

From All The Year Round.

"No fear!" had been her answer. Miss Yearsley might have been an American lady, so fashionably was she dressed, so grey and fluffy was her hair, so keen and cute was her glance.

"They'll bring you your fate, Aunt Paule," Beatrice Hare cried. She was eighteen, had just left school, and was going to be "out," much to the chagrin of her wild self.

The party were by this time at the end of the old garden, and where the green combe slipped down from the high level of the manor grounds to the shining green sea what sea so green in the winter sunlight as the sea of South Devon? Gorgeous coloring was below and all around from the flashes of autumnal fire through brown and heather of the moorlands. Berries of all hues, berries purple, black, yellow, scarlet, and crimson, patched the greenery of the combe, full-leaved still, though Christmas was nigh at hand, for you know airs are soft and kindly in Devon, and Mother Nature when she made these rifts in the red-earthed cliffs

THE DANCING CHILDREN OF HARRICOMBE. made them where greater heights than themselves tower above and shadow them.

'No fear!"

This boyish cry was made by a small, trim maiden lady of fifty, who was being shown over a domain new to her, but the ancestral" home of the group of young people leading her.

The personal antecedents of this Miss Yearsley have naught to do with our

May, the elder sister, who was being dragged along by Bee, gave one word as an ejaculation upon Bee's sugges

tion.

Absurd!"

Being twenty and the eldest, being story. During the last summer she also engaged to her cousin, Harold had been unearthed by an old school- Hare, in India, she surely had a right fellow who had married Mr. Hare, of to be more wise and grave than Bee Harricombe, had become the mistress was. Some people called her brusque of the manor, and the mother of a she was most certainly sterling and goodly company of young Hares.

true.

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"Right, May-right!" Miss Years- boys, hold the blackberry tangle out of ley applauded common sense. "But my eyes. give me the history and explanation of your hundreds of ghosts," she went on. "If you can, that is."

Was there ever such mud?" "The soft Devon air, and the deep Devon combes--that's the way the guide-books have it. You like east"I do not know when they began, windy London streets and dry paveAunt Paule," the girl answered; "Iments, do you not, Aunt Paule? Now, suppose in the dark ages of the Hare your foot here on this stone, clutch the sovereignty. I only hope our Hare forbears had not killed a lot of children, the children of a rival tribe-but all round the country you may hear of the 'Children of Harricombe.' They are proper ghosts-you cannot get them when you want them, and you cannot drive them away."

bough and swing on to that long stone
there," Bee advised from a firm stand-
point in the very heart of a gorse-bush.
"Give me your hand and clutch the
bough with your other. All right.
Why, you spring better than I do!"
"And why not?"

Bee pursed up her pretty mouth, "You speak feelingly." The little lifted her eyebrows, puckered her forelady's keen glance questioned the girl. head, and did her best to keep from "Of course I do." May colored un-laughing too openly. No answer came der her warm, brown skin. "Harold from May up above. May had her and I saw them together, and at first skirts well up, and whereas she could we both thought they were village chil- have run and sprung down the combe dren coming up the combe. Harold like a young goat, was like a steed well had not proposed then. Of course he in hand, stepping daintily and cleanly would have done so just the same, but on rock and patch of greenery. No it made me awfully hot. I could not help did she need, erect was she as a help it, and I could not help seeing-young huntress behind the quick, half they danced and they sang. Yes! you nervous springs of Aunt Paule. needn't jeer, you boys; I heard them sing and so did Harold."

"I have not yet got the thread of the mystery. Why should they not dance and sing? Better far than wailing ghosts, or ghosts with rattling chains." "We are not so commonplace with our ghosts, dear things! Come down easily, Aunt Paule," Bee cried, holding out her firm, young hand for the elder lady to descend round a muddy bend of the combe. "Shouldn't you like to have seen Harold and May blushing one against the other, and the children not caring one bit ?"

"You are talking Greek."

"Then here's plain English. These ghosts of ours dance when they bring you good luck, and weep, and wail, and howl, and wring their hands like any other ghost when they bring you bad luck. I've never seen them, and I am out in the combe at all hours. Never mind, I've got the good luck without them," and the girl danced on ahead. "Well, never mind the children now. Help me down this place, Bee, and, you

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Hurry up, girls," came from the boys below.

"All right!" and Bee's clear voice rang down through the tree-trunks and the bracken and the gorse. The shout rang like a bell to the ears of men on the sea.

"There's a jolly sight here-look sharp!" Bee forgot Aunt Paule's needs and flew. Her old blue serge dress gained a few new slits and scratches, but like a boy she pushed through briar and brake to the pebbly shore. There she stood with her hands on her hips, and with the dazzle of the December sun streaming over her and goldening her hair. The wind came from the sea, a soft, strong south wind, and it lifted skirts and short curly hair just as far as they would go, which was not far. The glow of roses was on her rounded cheeks, and a dropped white feather she had picked up was stuck in the rakish little cloth cap she wore; she was trim and untidy at the same moment.

"What a love!" she cried. "Whose

is she, Malc? When did she come ? What's her name?"

A white-sailed yacht was lying to just within the entrance of Harricombe Bay, on to which the green combe opened, and at the moment when Bee's questions ceased a boat shot out from the far side of the dainty vessel. Swift, sure strokes sped the boat through the shining, green water, and then as May and Miss Yearsley came down the last slope of the combe, the crunch of the keel was heard on the shingle of the beach.

"The Iris-by Jove!" Malcolm cried with a grand air, as if the Iris were a personage, and he knew all about her.

"Well? What about her?" Bee asked, with the superlative air sisters so nicely assume towards their very grand younger brothers.

"Simply that she is Hatherley's new yacht."

young man said. He looked a sailor, and his speech had a ring and lilt of the north; of the north, too, were his blue eyes and yellow hair. "And I'll want the shortest cut to Scarbourne Court. It lies off here?"

"Yes. Hatherley's?"

"Hatherley is my uncle. I've been with him up and down the North Seas."

"Yes; he's been cruising somewhere; we heard that." Yorick Hare was spokesman.

"It is so. Not having enough of the sea I have been cruising with him. landed him at Leith a week ago, and have brought the Iris round here."

"She's a crack yacht-a prize-winner? All sorts, eh?" Yorick put in. "She is, my man. Would you like to look at her? I'll take you if you'll meet me here some time.”

The boy's eyes sparkled.

"Not now; Scarbourne Court now, please. There'll be a way up? Short

"Old Hatherley's-oh!" Interest and sharp, you know." was dead.

Open blue eyes looked as if their

"Old Hatherley is a proper enough owner's path to most things would be short and sharp.

old chap," sturdily.

"Candles!"

Bee's aristocratic nose sniffed the air. "Well, and why not? Your men can make candles, and you yourself can go in for what you like. I've no patience with girls' bosh! Old Hatherley is the most learned man in the county." "Greek and Latin- that's why you like him. I'm ignorant, as you know, Malc."

"And he has the finest yacht on the coast-look at her! Don't you pretend you've never heard of the Iris, or you'll be out of it."

"How vulgar! "Out of it!' Out of what, the Iris? I'm thinking I'd rather like to be in her," and Bee moved a yard or so further along the beach, as if that advance would give her eyes more searching power over the beautiful craft.

A hundred yards to the west, the crew of the rowboat were standing and looking to right and left. Was it that they did not know the coast ?

One detached himself from the rest. "I was never here before," the

"The coastguard steps are just beyond where you landed; the combe is here - either will do. Scarbourne is just between the two; the combe is our beat. We are Hares," the boy added.

"It is very kind," and the stranger lifted his blue cap. "I'll just take the combe, as I'll be nearer to it now."

He signalled an order to the sailors, while he himself sprang up the combe.

Two days after this Edgar Graham was to be seen as much at Harricombe Manor as at his uncle's place at Scarbourne. Some friendships do grow quickly.

As for Miss Yearsley, she openly declared for this young man. She was the mother's crony, and mothers and their cronies are known to have much talk over the ways, and the doings, and the possibilities of the rising generation, and about the criticism there lurked a touch or so of prophecywomen, especially old maids, foresee

so much.

Of course there came to be a cruise in the lovely Iris.

No December sunshine can be imag- don't hear them. ined brighter than that which shone away." upon the yacht and her party when "old Hatherley" took his friends across to Torbay.

Was there ever such a lunch as he gave? Was there ever so trim a yacht as the flying Iris ?

Also was there ever such a drawback as the white sea fog which came spirit-like and silent as they were sailing gaily past Torquay homewards?

"It's more from land than sea," some one said.

They have flown

No," was Graham's sure reply. "It is not sharp enough. It's human. Andhark, Bee - hark!"

And under the mist why should he not take the girl's hand? He was a brave, helpful man; and Bee - well, Bee was Bee, the one woman in the world for him, and the touch of her hand was help.

It was no time for second thoughts of squeamish proprieties. Her warm, strong, young fingers gave answer as

"I hate a fog!" Aunt Paule ex- her tongue spoke. claimed.

"Yes," she said, listening. "They Oh! they have some terriIs any one drowned, do mouth, whose red cliffs, gorse clothed, you think? Is it a boat drifting?

The Iris gave a wide berth to the are crying. sandy mouth of Exe, shot past Ex-ble sorrow.

were a trifle filmy under the scudding, hurrying white mist, past Budleigh yes, surely past Budleigh, but the fog had taken a short cut over the hills and was ahead and thick. Nigh upon Sidmouth — eh! well! one could not see. What of Harricombe Bay? It was awkward, but no one could say where the bay was.

The master said the Iris must "lie to" for a bit; "these fogs never last long."

The fun was out of the day.

The elder folks were in the saloon not too warm. The young ones with coat-collars over their ears, and the girls rolled in thick shawls, were on deck, restless, keeping close to one another, some of them trying to make jokes and succeeding ill.

Can't we

Tell them to be careful.
anchor? We shall run them down!”

“Shout!” Graham said, “shout!" His strong voice cried high and loud through the fog. "Don't fear, we'll help-shout, and we'll get to you."

Only the low, soft crying for answer; and it seemed to these two, Bee and Graham, as if the sobs were quite near.

"Keep off!" shouted Graham.

"We shall run them down!" Bee gasped; and she clutched at the young

not go?" And quickly Graham gave his order.

Nobody had heard the cry of distress but these two. May and the other young ones ridiculed the idea; they "What is that noise?" Bee asked had been near by, and should know. suddenly. The crew, too, stuck to the same.

There were but low voices talking, and the soft lap of peaceful sea against the sides of the yacht.

"Like singing, will ye mean? — no ! like some child crying!" Graham said. He was by Bee, as he had been all day, as he generally was now, in fact.

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There must be some boat in distress-some little boat, perhaps, with children in. What can we do?" "What are you talking about?" asked, who was not far off.

May

"It'll be some echo in the shore; there'll be caves belike. And mebbe we're nearer coast than we knows of."

"Lower the boat!" came the order. No sooner was this done, however, than the December sun mastered the mist, warmed it, lightened it, and took to himself shape as a scarlet ball of fire on the shoulder of a low, western hill. Away on the very edge of the wide world did this globe of fire seem to be,

but from it came life and heat to sweep the evil mist from off the face of the I waters.

Again the green sea danced and combe'!" Bee at last cried excitedly. played round the sides of the Iris. "Our ghosts! Did you not know

"Do you not hear?" and with her The sweet breath of coming spring outstretched hand she touched Graham, had touched the green combe and whisleading him forward. They have hid-pered to the sleeping violets and awaked den somewhere here," she said in a them. Soft blue flowery eyes looked hushed voice; "some one surely is up into the clear February sky, feared hurt!" not, and breathed their perfumed song of silence.

"Ha!-yes! - strange! but why did they not answer when I called ?" For he also heard then as she did the sound of a low sobbing, and as he held her guiding hand he, also like her, saw two children, half hidden by intervening bushes, pass along, crying.

Daisy Hare, the little sister, found the first violet, and carried it over to Bee at Scarbourne.

"Father says you should have a letter from Edgar to-morrow," she said; "the mail is due to-night."

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The mist was gathering again, so that I know," Bee answered. Bee was everything was filmy once more filmy so glad that she felt tearful. were the children and the green, leafy combe, the near bushes, and the far rounded hills and moors.

The two sought, and called, and followed, but they never reached those filmy, wailing children.

"Aunt Paule is going the day after to-morrow; this time she means it, I believe, because her big box is packed. Mother says come to tea to-day; she knows old-I beg your pardon — Mr. Hatherley has to be in Exeter to-mor

"They are our Children of Harri-row."