"It was a wild, free, pleasant life. I loved to climb as high as I could, and pluck the pretty pink and purple flowers that grew on the soft green moss, and look at the glorious mountains around, when the glow of sunset reddened their peaks of snow. But I was not

contented with this. I heard of bold travellers climbing to the tops of mountains; and without stopping to think that it would be folly in a child to attempt what a strong man might do, I resolved to steal off some day when my parents were absent from home, and try to reach some very high peak, and look down at the world through the clouds."

'Why must you wait till your parents were absent?" asked the boy.

"Because they had strictly forbidden me ever to go beyond sight of the châlet. My sinful disobedience, as you shall hear, nearly cost me my life. My parents set off one afternoon to visit a friend. I knew that they would not return till night; and as the servant whom they left behind always let me be much by myself, I thought that this was a favourable time for me to carry out my plan. I took my father's big stick to help me in climbing; and as soon as my parents had set off in one direction, I hurried away in the other. I was so eager that I fancy that I must have gone on for hours before I thought about being tired. Up and up I went; but the higher the spot I reached, the higher the mountain seemed to grow. At last, quite weary and faint, and panting with the toil of climbing, I sat down and looked around me. The view was, no doubt, very fine; but the place looked to me very dreary and wild, there was not a sound to be heard, not even the tinkle of a sheep-bell. I began to feel lonely, frightened, and hungry, and thought that I had better go back. Then a big flake of snow came floating down through the air, and fell on my dress. A great many more soon followed. I shook them off again and again; but they came on faster and faster, and covered the ground all around, and hid

the path and the track of my feet. Then I was frightened indeed; for how should I find my way back? The evening was closing in, the air grew fearfully cold; and I knew that should I remain there all night, I should be frozen to death before morning."

"You must have been sorry that you had not obeyed your parents," said the boy.

"The most terrible thought to me then, as I shivered and trembled with cold and fear, was the thought that all this trouble had come upon me because of my disobedience. Stiff and tired as I was, I made many an attempt to find my way down the mountain; but I had completely lost the track, and did not know so much as whether to turn to the right or the left. I called out, but no one replied. All now was growing dark around me, except the white glimmering snow. The heavy flakes still were falling; I sank ankledeep at each step that I took. At last, quite exhausted, I sank down on the snow, and cried bitter tears, which almost froze on my cheeks. I sobbed out a prayer to God; I begged Him to forgive my sin, and, for my poor parents' sake, not let me die on the mountains. My mind seemed to grow quite confused; I could no more pray or think; I either fell asleep or fainted."

"What a dreadful night of it you had!" cried the boy.

"The first thing which I remember when I awoke was the feeling of warm breath on my cheek, and then it was touched by what seemed the muzzle of some animal. I started and screamed with terror. I need not have been afraid, a true friend was beside me. One of the brave St. Bernard dogs, large and strong, had found its way through the snow, guided, doubtless, by its power of scent, or rather by a kind Providence, to the spot where lay a poor half-frozen child.”

"That was a mercy indeed."

"I soon found," continued the gentleman, "that I had nothing to fear from the dog. He licked me, breathed on me, rubbed me with his rough hairy coat, tried to rouse me to motion, and showed me a little flask of drink which was tied round his neck. When I had managed, with my stiff, trembling fingers, to open that flask, and had drunk of its warming contents, I felt the life coming

back to my limbs. I could not, indeed, yet walk; but I dragged myself on to the dog's shaggy back, and gave myself up to his guid ance. The noble creature, with his heavy burden, bravely struggled through the snow, nor rested till he had carried me to the house. There, I was sheltered, fed, and warmed, and placed in a comfortable bed. Never shall I forget my joy when I again heard the sound of a human voice, and saw the bright glow of a fire."

"What a famous dog!" exclaimed the boy.

WORTH

"I heard afterwards that that dog, whose name was Barry, had been the means of saving no fewer than forty lives. When his useful career was ended, his body was carefully buried, and his skin, stuffed to look like life, was placed in the museum of Berne. Honour to the memory of that noble creature, whose course of active usefulness and kindness puts to shame that of too many of the more gifted race of man! Remember his history, my lad; and, for the sake of brave old Barry, never ill-treat a dog."

CHAPTER IV.

MR. CLIVE.

EYN was by this time once more upon his feet. He received gratefully the proffered bread and cheese, dividing both in half, and dropping one half Vof each into his pocket.

The other halves he divided again between Clarrie and himself. Which of the two ate his or her share the more eagerly it would be difficult to say. The crowd showing signs of dispersing, the boy turned suddenly round, and cried in his ringing tones: "I say, here's a starving man and a starving little gal, and you've all done a deal of staring at 'em. Don't see particular much good in that. Why don't you out with your pennies, and give them some'at for to get a good dinner?"

Some of the lookers-on hastened away with

all speed at this suggestion, but others responded. The boy received penny after penny between his teeth, dropping each in turn upon Clarrie's open palm.

He paused last before a figure standing somewhat apart from the rest of the group, -a gentleman well on in middle life, sallowskinned, with sunken cheeks, restless black eyes, and grey hair almost as long and loose as the white locks of old Keyn.

"For yourself?" asked the gentleman, with a laugh not quite pleasant in sound, and the boy shook his head merrily.

The gentleman put his hand into his pocket and kept it there, while asking,-"What is your name?"

"Willie Watkins-at your service. And my mate's Jack Dodson. Got knives you want ground any day, sir, and we'll be pleased to do 'em for you," said the boy.

"Aha; you have an eye to business"

"Wouldn't get on over well if I hadn't," Isaid Willie Watkins.

“Well, well, here is something for yourself or the old man, whichever you choose."

It was not a penny but a half-crown, though seemingly pulled from loose money in a pocket, which Willie's teeth this time closed upon. He turned unhesitatingly once more to Clarrie, and dropped it among the pence.

"Thank you, thank you all kindly," Keyn said repeatedly. "It's come in a time of

need."

"What's the half kept for?" asked Willie. "Clarrie's mother and my old wife. There's four of us, lad."

“And that little 'un's name is Clarrie, eh? Why don't your mother work for you? Mine does for me."

"She does work, mother does," said Clarrie. "But she's lame. She was hurt, tumbling down some steps, and hasn't ever got right since."

"Nor never will," said Keyn, shaking his white locks.

Why she's like to me," said Willie, lifting his two stumps of arms, so that the empty hanging sleeves could not fail to be seen. "I was hurt too,-only it wasn't a tumble, for I was rin over—and I shan't never get right again, leastways not except my two arms takes to sprouting, which mate says they're not like ever to do. But I'm to have a long hook soon, for to catch hold of things with, and that'll be fine."

"Was it a cart ran over you?" asked Clarrie.

"No, it wasn't a cart, it was an engine. I was a little mite of a chap, and I fell right down with my two arms across the rails, and up pop comes the engine and cuts 'em both off,-leastways they had to be cut off after. Remember it! No, I don't remember nothing for ever so long after, and then I found my two arms was gone. So now mate and I we clubs together. He's got no voice, so I sings out loud for him, and he does the grinding, and we gets along just splendid, don't we, mate ?

The man nodded and made a remark.

“Yes, yes,—time enough to be moving. You'll get along now, eh, old man? I say,

little gal, you come and see mother some day."

Clarrie looked at her grandfather. "She'll be right pleased to do it," Keyn answered. "Where do you live, boy?"

Willie gave a quick clear answer and darted away. Once more the two voices sent out their cries in the fresh spring air, one so sharp and ringing, the other so quavering and weak.

The grey-haired gentleman stood looking after the old man for a few seconds, perhaps with a dim sense of recollection: for he had known him in years past: only the old man and the gentleman were both so changed that neither recognised the other. Then he turned down a side-street, and made his way to the Parade, walking in a slow and listless fashion, as if he did not much care whither he went. Presently he paused at a stationer's, entered, and asked for the day's Times.