THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP (continued 3)

"I think," said the master, smiling, "we have got on very comfortably together. By the way, I am sorry about your chum Hartland. I had hoped he would do better."

"Jim's had very hard lines lately, sir. Things have all gone wrong, somehow, and he took the result of the 'Gayton' very much to heart."

"So I should imagine," exclaimed the master dryly.

"It wasn't his fault coming out so low down," said Dick. "You can't sprint very fast with a heavy load on your shoulders, and Jim was carrying too much weight. A lot of his time was taken up at the shop, morning and evening; then his mother fell ill, and he had to work like a nigger keeping things straight at home. Why, for weeks he had hardly a minute to breathe in!"

"He did not mention this to me when I spoke to him about his position."

"No," responded Dick with a twinkle; "Jim isn't built that way. He's too proud to let the world into his little secrets."

"Oh!" said the master thoughtfully, "that puts a very different complexion on the case."

That same evening Jim's mother was surprised by a visit from Mr. Laythorne, who, by a few skilful questions, soon discovered that Dick had not overstated the case. It was plain that, despite his folly elsewhere, Jim had behaved splendidly at home; and the class-master's good opinion of his scholar was more than restored.

"What are you going to make of the boy?" he asked.

"Well," replied Mrs. Hartland, "had his father lived we should have tried to start him as a pupil-teacher, but I fear he must give up that idea now. Mr. Broad has been very kind, and has offered to take him into the shop altogether."

"And what does Jim think of the proposal?"

"He doesn't really like it, but he is a good boy, and raises no objection."

Mr. Laythorne was more than ordinarily thoughtful that evening. For more than an hour he sat in his room, thinking deeply, too absorbed even to open one of his favourite books.

"It's a quixotic scheme," he muttered once, "but upon my word I've a good mind to try it. The lad has brains, and, properly trained, should do well. He'll do no good here if his heart isn't in the work and he may slip back. It would remove him from temptation, too. Well, I'll sleep on it, and ask Holmore's advice."

The result of these cogitations, and of an interview with the head-master, became apparent at the end of the week, when he once more called at the house in Brook Street; but this time late in the evening, when Jim had returned from work.

He was not a man given to much beating about the bush, and he introduced the object of his visit at once.

"Hartland," he began quietly, "I understand from your mother that you would like to be a pupil-teacher?"

"Yes, sir," answered Jim readily, "but," trying to smile, "that's out of the question now."

"I'm not so sure of that. You know I am going to Portsmouth?"

"Yes, sir; Dick Boden told me, and very pleased I was to hear it."

"How would you like to go with me?"

Jim sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling, and every fibre of his body quivering with excitement. Then he shook his head mournfully, saying, "We can't afford it, sir."

"Your mother and I will discuss that part of the business," remarked Mr. Laythorne quietly. "But if you go, I shall expect you to work hard, to pass your examinations high up, and, generally speaking, to do me credit."

"I would do my very best!" exclaimed the lad earnestly.

"I believe you would. Well, now run away, while I have a talk with your mother."

The boy went out to the front door, and stood looking into the dingy street. Now and again he turned toward the room, straining his ears, not to hear what was said, but just to make sure that Mr. Laythorne was really there. It seemed altogether too wonderful; he feared almost to dwell on it.

Presently he heard the visitor stand up, and come into the passage. What had been decided? His heart beat fast at the question. Here was Mr. Laythorne shaking his hand. What did he say? What strange noises buzzed in his head! Ah, the words became plain.

"I hope, my boy, that this will be putting your foot on the first rung of the ladder."

So the wonderful thing had come to pass, and he was really to go! I cannot write down Jim's answer because neither his mother nor Mr. Laythorne understood his broken words; but it is certain that he was extremely grateful and supremely happy.

"By the way," said their visitor, before taking leave, "it will not be necessary to inform the world of our private arrangement. It will be sufficient to say that Jim is coming with me." For Mr. Laythorne was a gentleman, and had no sympathy with the blowing of trumpets at street corners.

Jim and his mother had little to say when they were left alone. They were overwhelmed with surprise, and their happiness was too great for words. But when the boy had gone to his room, he knelt by his bedside and asked for strength to prove himself worthy of his benefactor's generosity; and many times over, before falling asleep, he said to himself, "I will not disappoint him!"

Of course, Mr. Broad had to be told of the contemplated change, and he was really sorry to have to part with Jim.

"I should have liked to keep you, Hartland," he said, "but I mustn't stand in your light; and, by the way, don't buy any lesson-books. Ask your master to write out a list of what you will require for next two years, and I will get them."

"Why," exclaimed the Angel delightedly, when he heard the news, "there's such a lot of silver lining that very soon you won't be able to see the black cloud at all!"

Dick was prophesying better than he knew. But we must not anticipate.

On Sunday Jim went with his mother to the Children's Hospital. Susie still kept her bed, and her back was encased in plaster of Paris; but she had grown decidedly stronger, and the nurse spoke most hopefully of her case.

"And if she does walk," said she, "you will have to thank Dr. Stewart. I have never known any one take such an interest in a case."

Mrs. Hartland left Jim to reveal his great secret, and it was charming to observe the look of delighted surprise steal into the girl's face.

"Do you know," she said thoughtfully, after congratulating her brother on his good fortune, "I think people have been very kind to us."

"Yes," exclaimed her mother, kissing her fondly; "and I hope we shall never forget it."

CHAPTER XVII.

A STARTLING SURPRISE.

The next fortnight was about the happiest time Jim had passed since the news arrived of his father's death. Thanks in some part to his wages, they had tided over the worst of the crisis; and his mother, who was really a skilful needlewoman, had now no lack of employment.

At the Deanery School he had quite recovered his popularity. The boys sought his advice as in the old days; and one half-holiday the Football Committee begged him to assist the team in an important match. Mr. Broad readily granted him an extra hour's leave, and much to the delight of his numerous admirers, he had the satisfaction of kicking the winning goal for the school.

"There's an end to my football in Beauleigh," he said, as he left the field with his chum.

"And a very good finish!" laughed the Angel. "The Deanery fellows will miss you at cricket next season."

"I expect they'll miss us both. I hope, though, they'll keep the shield."

"They're bound to!" said Dick, with a grin. "Haven't they got Simpson?"

"Of course; I'd forgotten him. Have you heard from Sir Thomas Arkell?"

"Yes; I'm to begin work on the morning they reopen after the holidays. I can hardly believe it now."

"I understand the feeling. D'you know, I think we've been awfully lucky, Dick."

"The reward of merit!" murmured the Angel; and a stranger, judging by the tone of his voice, would have thought he really meant it.

Jim, however, knew him better, and greeted the remark with a laugh, saying, "Well, every one who deserves the reward doesn't get it, anyhow."

"Only one week more," cried Dick, flying off at a tangent—a by no means unusual proceeding on his part. "I'm counting the days now."

That week seemed a long time to the eager boys; but it came to an end at last, and the Deanery scholars assembled in the large hall for dismissal. It was the head-master's custom to speak a few words before they separated, and he did so now.

That part of the speech which met with the greatest attention referred to Mr. Laythorne's approaching departure. The boys were sorry to lose him, as he was very popular, and they punctuated every sentence with ringing cheers. But the greatest applause was reserved for the unveiling of the handsome presents which boys and masters alike had subscribed for; and when Mr. Laythorne stepped forward to express his thanks, the cheering became deafening.

"Three cheers for Mr. Laythorne, and one cheer more!" yelled the Angel. "Hurrah!"

It was a breaking-up scene such as had rarely occurred at the Deanery, and one to be long remembered. Mr. Laythorne made a modest little speech, and then, unchecked by the masters, the Angel led off with "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and was strenuously backed up by the vocal powers of three hundred enthusiastic boys. It was not, perhaps, strictly orthodox, but it was undoubtedly genuine; I fancy Mr. Laythorne, though not a demonstrative man himself, was rather pleased by the warmth of his reception. When the boys were dismissed, he called Jim, to give him his final instructions.

"My arrangements are quite complete," said he, "but I shall write in the course of a week or two. Most likely I shall want you to come over a few days before school begins."

"I shall be ready, sir, whenever you send."

"Well, good-bye! Have a good holiday, because there will be plenty of work when you get to Portsmouth."

A good holiday! How surprised both would have been had they known the kind of holiday which was in store for Jim!

Instead of going straight to work, the boy ran home with his bag of books, and stayed a few minutes with his mother, chatting of the splendid send-off to Mr. Laythorne.

"Dick led the cheering," said he, "and we all sang, 'For he's a jolly good fellow!'"

"So he is," said Mrs. Hartland, smiling—"none better, as far as we are concerned."

"Well, I must be off," remarked Jim, "or Mr. Broad will wonder if I'm lost."

They were very busy at the shop, and the boy worked away with a will. Perhaps the breaking-up scene had put him in good spirits; at any rate, the stationer remarked on his cheerfulness. While they were waiting for the evening papers, Jim, anxious not to waste time, sat down in a recess and began addressing a pile of labels.

Suddenly he saw a man pass the window, stop as if hesitating, and then enter the shop. Knowing his employer was at the counter, he went on with his work, not thinking he would be required.

"I can polish these things off to-night if I peg away at them," he said to himself. "Where's that other book of addresses, I wonder? Oh, I see!"

He got up to fetch the volume. From where he stood he could just see the top of Mr. Broad's head, but nothing of the customer. He heard his employer say "Good-evening," to which the stranger replied in a tone that made Jim jump.

He placed the book on the table, and sat down. It was no business of his, but he felt compelled to listen to the conversation. The first words brought the blood to his face with a rush.

"Have you a boy named Hartland employed here?" asked the stranger.

"I have."

"James Hartland?"

"That is his name. Why?"

"I should like to speak to him for a minute, if I may."

"Is it anything important? because he is busy at present."

Jim thought the man laughed; but he said aloud, "I think it's important enough for me to see him."

"Hartland!" cried his master, "here's a gentleman wishes to see you!" And Jim, half dazed by surprise and doubt and fear, moved slowly toward the counter.

The man on the other side of the counter was of medium height, well proportioned on the whole, but with a great breadth of chest. He was dressed in heavy serge of a dark-blue colour, and wore a peaked cap. His hair was short and curly; a few silver threads sprinkled the tawny brown of an ample beard. His eyes were gray; his face was white, and rather drawn. An observant critic would probably have called him a strong man just recovered or recovering from a severe illness.

For a moment he looked hard at the boy; then a tender smile overspread his face, his lips parted, and in a soft voice he whispered, "Jim!"

I do not know that the stationer ever complained; he might have done so with reason. Jim was a good all-round athlete, who, on ordinary occasions, could vault over the counter with ease. Now, dizzy with excitement, he made an erratic kick, sweeping papers, books, and stationery to the floor. Neither did he stop to repair the mischief, but flung himself with a cry of joy into the man's outstretched arms.

Presently the man looked round on the pile of wreckage, and smiled.

"Come, Jim," said he, "let us put this straight." And while Mr. Broad looked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up the fallen articles.

"If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habit of guessing, I should say you are Mr. John Hartland, who was drowned off Cape Horn."

"Right you are, sir!" returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am John Hartland, and this is my boy. I'm just down from London. I heard Jim was up here, and I've come to borrow him. You see, he has to tell his mother. I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners of the Morning Star know I'm still in the land of the living."

"Take him, my good sir!" said the delighted stationer. "Take him, and good luck to you both! But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!"

"I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!" exclaimed Jim; "I won't leave you in the lurch. But I must go now. Oh, how shall I tell mother?"

People stopped to look at them in the streets—they were so patently, so undeniably happy. John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, and every now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face.

"We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked.

"Yes, I know. I've made inquiries," replied his father. "How is Susie?"

"She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better. The doctor says she is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believe you are here!"

"Can't you? Just feel this!" And he squeezed the boy's arm. "How is mother living?"

"By her needle. She does beautiful needlework."

"I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn't this Brook Street? You go on, and I'll wait here a bit. But don't be long, Jim, don't be long! My patience will soon bubble over. I've been burning to get a peep at her."

Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the house. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in surprise.

"What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the shop?"

"It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news. Mr. Broad said I might come. I've something to tell you—something pleasant, that will make you very happy."

"Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes.

"A marvellous thing, mother—more marvellous than you ever dreamed of. Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."

The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitched nervously.

"Jim," she said pathetically—"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell me quickly! O Jim, I can't bear it!"

"It's true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, father is alive; there's news of him. He's coming home—coming to Beauleigh!"

Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a silent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praise and the thanksgiving were all there.

And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open.

"O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!"

He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms.

"Mary!"

"John!"

Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were required to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerous questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account of his wonderful escape to be given.

I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. The man Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland was astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a good swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared he would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and he could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the rough sea.

The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted by the prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home, he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child laying its head on the pillows. Only for the sake of his wife and children he fought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of the sea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun, without sight.

Death was then very close at hand. He never knew the exact manner of his rescue or the period of his unconsciousness. He came back to life in a wretched hut on a desolate coast. Several natives stood around him. They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way of thinking, absolutely without the necessities of life. However, they treated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire for him, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants their greatest dainty—an occasional bird.

From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; and afterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his way round to Rio. Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunate accident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.

Then Mrs. Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim's unselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder and murmuring, "Good boy! Good boy, Jimmy! You did well!"

"As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick! Thank goodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can never repay his generous thoughtfulness. Money's no good for that part of the case."

"No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr. Stewart either. We have had much to be thankful for, John."

"'Pon my word!" exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down on the table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so much kindness in the world. When shall I be able to see Susie?"

"We must consult the doctor," said his wife. "The sudden shock may not be good for her."

"Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore to see the little lass."

True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and for several days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time was over. It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought of reward.

The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and he received the congratulations of all kinds of people. Dick Boden, of course, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, he was warmly welcomed.

"I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!" exclaimed the jovial sailor, "nor what you did for Jim. I've heard the yarn. Just wait till I come back from my next voyage."

"I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face, "that it won't take quite as long as the last." And the sailor laughed.

He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home. His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderful hope. With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, and had come away with the profound conviction that she was gradually growing stronger. Indeed, Dr. Stewart had said as much, and more also.

"Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk, and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aid of crutches."

Mr. Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, and Jim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived, directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on the following morning. Accordingly, Mrs. Hartland packed his things, Jim paid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was now installed in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hour with his parents.

"I'll come with you, my boy," said his father. "I wish to thank this Mr. Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."

The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance of the sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, and then his father said,—

"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but I want to thank you from my heart for your kindness. You've been a real Samaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it. There is just one thing to be said. I mustn't trade on your generosity. The owners of the Morning Star have behaved very handsomely, so that I can well afford to pay Jim's shot. Now that his father is home again, the boy mustn't be a burden on you, sir. You see that?"

"Very well," said Mr. Laythorne; "that shall be as you please." And before Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminently satisfactory arrangement.

"And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and run back.—Good-bye, my boy. Write often to your mother, and try to show this gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.—Good-bye, sir. If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have you to thank for it."

They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr. Laythorne said,—

"This is a happier start than I expected. Now let us go to the school; there are several things to be done before the boys return."

"Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to begin his fresh start in life.

L'ENVOI.

Seven years have gone by since the events just recorded. It is Christmas Eve, and the streets of Beauleigh are ablaze with light.

People are hurrying to and fro, laughing, talking, pausing now and again to wish each other the compliments of the season. Children stand at the shop windows, gazing in wonder and delight at the gorgeous toys, the pretty picture-books, and the numerous games which make them look like fairyland. The bright red berries of the holly shine and sparkle in the brilliant light, the mistletoe hangs temptingly overhead, the turkeys and geese are garlanded with ribbons and decked with green.

Inside the shop of Messrs. Gotch and Parker, the eminent jewellers, a young man is buying an exquisite brooch.

"I think, mother, that this will please her," he remarks to the well-dressed woman seated close by.

Look at the laughing blue eyes, the fresh-coloured cheeks, the winning smile. Surely this young gentleman is an old acquaintance. Mr. Boden, the shopman calls him; but to us he is Dick, or Dicky, or the Angel, just as memory prompts.

"Thanks," he says, placing the tiny packet in his pocket. "Now, mother, lean on my arm."

Yes, it certainly is our light-hearted Dick, whom we will take the liberty of following, as he pilots his mother through the crowded streets, then into the quieter part of the town, and so to the foot of a fairly steep hill facing the sea.

He is evidently well known in Beauleigh, and respected, too, one would imagine. Many people stop to shake his hand, and to wish him a "merry Christmas." Some are poor, other well-to-do; but their wealth or poverty makes no difference in the warmth of his greeting. It is easy to see that things have prospered with him, but he is just as kind and generous and simple-hearted as in the old days.

"O my aunt!" he exclaims with a boyish laugh, looking at the hill; "fancy having this to climb! You'll need a rest, mother, by the time we reach the top!"

Mrs. Boden smiles, and glances proudly at the handsome young fellow on whose arm she is leaning. It must needs be a steep hill she could not climb with him to help her.

They are up at last, and a stream of light comes from the open doorway of a large, old-fashioned house.

"There he is!" cries Dick excitedly; and the next instant he is shaking hands with another young fellow, who pulls him laughingly inside.

"Come along, old man!—Come along, Mrs. Boden!" he exclaims. "A merry Christmas to you both!"

"The same to you, Jim, and many of 'em. You're looking well, old chap, considering that heavy grind.—A merry Christmas, Mrs. Hartland! See, you have half killed mother! How? Why, by living up in the clouds. You ought to keep a special tramway for your guests—'pon my word you ought."

"Quite right, Dick, my boy!" exclaims a deep voice; and a tanned, bearded man comes into the room with a sailor-like roll.

"Let me congratulate you on your appointment, Mr. Hartland," cries Dick. "No more ploughing the salt seas for you!"

John Hartland has just procured the berth of traffic manager to the harbour board.

"It's almost a pity, though," says Mr. Hartland with a laugh, "that the house is perched up so high. I tell the wife we live in a sort of eagle's nest. Still, it suits Susie remarkably well; I must admit that."

"Isn't Susie here?" asks Dick innocently, looking round as if he had only just discovered her absence.

"She's upstairs," laughs her father, "putting on a few more fal-lals, I expect. The lasses are all alike in that respect."

Dick whispers to Mrs. Hartland, at the same time slipping something into her hand, and the others smile at one another as she glides out of the room. She reappears presently, followed by a young girl, the neck of whose dress is fastened by an exquisite brooch.

"O Dick!" she exclaims, running forward, "thank you very much. It is just lovely!"

Dick, looking a trifle shamefaced, murmurs some reply, while Jim can hardly take his eyes from his sister's face. He has not been at home much of late years, and he can never quite restrain a thrill of surprise on seeing the beautiful girl as she passes before him with all the grace of a young fawn.

Presently, when they are all quietly seated, Dick says, with a joyous laugh,—

"By the way, I have a surprise packet for you. Barton, our manager, has resigned, and Mr. Leverton has been appointed in his place. That leaves the under-manager's berth vacant, and—"

"You haven't got it, Dick?"

"How can a fellow tell his yarn if he's interrupted in this fashion? But, just to relieve your suspense, I beg to state that the new under-manager for Sir Thomas Arkell is Mr. Richard Boden, whom his friends call Dick, and sometimes Dicky."

How they laugh, and cheer, and congratulate him—almost like a parcel of school-boys! It certainly is a memorable Christmas Eve.

"That partnership is decidedly drawing nearer!" laughs Jim. "I shall soon begin to look for the altered sign."

He himself has not done badly. He has passed through college with flying colours, has earned the right to place "B.A. (Lond.)" after his name, and now, on returning to Beauleigh, has been appointed one of the masters at the Deanery School.

They are very proud of him at home, for he has more than fulfilled their expectations, and has brought some amount of credit to the good old town.

"Sometimes," he exclaims thoughtfully, "it all seems like a dream, and I pinch myself to make sure that I am awake. I little imagined, dad, when we heard of the loss of the Morning Star, that things would turn out like this. We have been very fortunate in finding good friends, and the best one of all, as far as I am concerned, sits here," he says, pointing to Dick.

* * * * *

Draw the curtains now, light the gas, heap more logs on the roaring fire, and let us, before saying our final word of farewell, take one more glance at the merry party. For the elders, the stress and storm of life's battle has abated; they have glided into a peaceful haven, where they hear only the echo of the thundering waves outside.

As to the younger ones, who shall prophesy? Life holds many storms and tempests for them yet; but their barks are well manned and stoutly built, and, I think, are likely to ride triumphantly through life's seas, until they, too, come to a peaceful anchorage.

And so, farewell.

THE END.

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Under the Southern Cross. A Tale of the New World. By the Author of "The Spanish Brothers," etc.

For Her Sake. A Tale of Life in Ireland. By GORDON ROY.

In Palace and Faubourg. A Story of the French Revolution. By C. J. G., Author of "Good Fight of Faith," etc.

Through Peril, Toil, and Pain. A Story of the 10th Century. By LUCY TAYLOR.

* * * * *

Popular Works by E. Everett-Green.

Young Lady's Library.

Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, illustrated, price 5s. each; cloth, plain edges, 4s.

The Heiress of Wylmington. Molly Melville.

Olive Roscoe; or, The New Sister.

"Sister." A Chronicle of Fair Haven. With Eight Illustrations by J. FINNEMORE.

Temple's Trial.

Price 3s. 6d. each.

Dominique's Vengeance. A Story of France and Florida.

Fallen Fortunes. Illustrated by W. H. MARGETSON.

For the Faith. A Story of the Reformation Times in England. Illustrated by W. H. MARGETSON.

Maud Melville's Marriage. A Tale of the Seventeenth Century.

Priscilla. A Story for Girls. By E. EVERETT-GREEN and H. LOUISE BEDFORD. With Six Illustrations by J. H. BACON.

The Sign of the Red Cross. A Tale of Old London.

Vera's Trust. A Tale.

Winning the Victory; or, Di Pennington's Reward. A Tale.

Books for Young People.

Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d. each.

Birdie's Resolve, and How It was Accomplished. A Story for Children.

Dulcie's Little Brother; or, Doings at Little Monksholm.

Dulcie and Tottie; or, The Story of an Old-Fashioned Pair.

Dulcie's Love Story.

Esther's Charge. With Six Illustrations by J. H. BACON.

Fighting the Good Fight; or, The Successful Influence of Well Doing.

For the Queen's Sake; or, The Story of Little Sir Caspar.

A Gordon Highlander. A Story of the South African War. Illustrated.

Squib and His Friends. A Story for Children.

True to the Last; or, My Boyhood's Hero.

* * * * *

The Boys' Own Library.

Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. each.

THREE BOOKS BY M. DOUGLAS.

Across Greenland's Ice-Fields. The Adventures of Nansen and Peary on the Great Ice-Cap.

Breaking the Record. The Story of Three Arctic Expeditions.

The White North. With Nordenskiold, De Long, and Nansen. With Illustrations.

After Years. A Story of Trials and Triumphs. By J. W. BRADLEY. With Illustrations.

Culm Rock; or, Ready Work for Willing Hands. A Book for Boys. By J. W. BRADLEY. With Illustrations.

Among the Turks. By VERNEY LOVETT CAMERON, C.B., D.C.L., Commander Royal Navy, Author of "Jack Hooper," etc. With Illustrations.

Archie Digby; or, An Eton Boy's Holidays. By G. E. WYATT, Author of "Harry Bertram and his Eighth Birthday."

As We Sweep Through the Deep. A Story of the Stirring Times of Old. By GORDON STABLES, M.D., R.N. With Illustrations.

At the Black Rocks. A Story for Boys. By the Rev. EDWARD A. RAND, Author of "Margie at the Harbour Light," etc.

The Battle of the Rafts. And Other Stories of Boyhood in Norway. By H. H. BOYESEN.

A Fortune from the Sky. By SKELTON KUPPORD, Author of "The Uncharted Island," etc. Illustrated by ROBERT HOPE.

Great Explorers. An Account of Exploration and Travel in many Lands. With Thirty-two Full-page Illustrations.

Gunpowder Treason and Plot, and other Stories for Boys. By HAROLD AVERY, FRED. WHISHAW, and R. B. TOWNSHEND. With Fourteen Illustrations.

Lost in the Wilds of Canada. By ELEANOR STREDDER, Author of "The Merchant's Children," etc.

The Lost Squire of Inglewood; or, Adventures in the Caves of Robin Hood. A Boy's Story of Adventure. By Dr. JACKSON. Illustrated by WALTER G. GRIEVE.

The Romance of the South Pole. Antarctic Voyages and Explorations. By G. BARNETT SMITH. With Twelve Illustrations.

Soldiers of the Queen; or, Jack Fenleigh's Luck. A Story of the Dash to Khartoum. By HAROLD AVERY, Author of "Frank's First Term," etc.

Vandrad the Viking; or, The Feud and the Spell. A Tale of the Norsemen. By J. STORER CLOUSTON. With Six Illustrations by HUBERT PATON.

The Willoughby Boys. By EMILY C. HARTLEY.

T. NELSON AND SONS, London, Edinburgh, and New York.