and mischief as he talked to his companion. "Winder" was the nickname given him by the fisher folks. The name his friend rejoiced inrejoiced literally, for he was always happy—was "Scoot," an abbreviation of "scoter," the black diving-duck of the coast. Gay, light-hearted Scoot was continually in or about the tide, dabbling or swimming; a regular young sea-dog, equally at home on the water or on the land.

Winder was tall for his age; whereas Scoot, a year younger, was short, stout in build, and of dark complexion—having closely cropped black hair, and eyes that looked dark brown or blue grey, according to the mood of the moment. His cheeks were always ruddy, and his teeth, which showed perpetually-for Scoot was always laughing, or rather grinning—were white and even; so that he was a pleasant object to look on. His dress-undress we might call it-added to the picturesqueness of his appearance. Down one side of his head an old red fishing-cap hung jauntily; his old blue guernsey was patched here and there with bits of canvas; his trousers were very short, and much the worse for wear; they were well patched about the knees, which they barely covered, and were held up by two odd braces, one of which had once been white, the other red. His legs and feet were bare, but he did not mind that. As he was wont to observe to

his shadow, Winder, "Crab shells flop and hinder yer, scootin' over the marshes an' slub.”

Both boys carried sticks about eight feet long, with string wound round them. These were their "crabbin' sticks"; but Scoot had also a small fishhamper made of unpeeled osiers, to carry the hardpinching quarry in after they were caught. They were now evidently on the hunt for a third boy.

"Shel I hail him, Winder?" asked Scoot, turning to his mate with his hands up to his mouth, ship fashion. "Shel I hail him? He's sure to hear me,

ef he's ashore."

"Yes, Scoot, yell it out." And filling his chest with air, Scoot shouted

"Denzil-a-hoy! A-hoy! Denzil-a-hoy-Den-ee -Den-ee-e!" at his very shrillest.

This brought some of the fishermen's wives to their doors, and, in language more forcible than decorous, they bade the lads make sail quick, if they did not want to be wrecked.

Scoot and Winder wisely took the hint, and sailed swiftly down to the line of houses by the water-side.

"We shel find him here, Winder, ef he's anywhere outside."

"Give him another hail; go it, Scoot."

Out again rang Scoot's shrill voice, " Den-a-hoy! Den-ee-e-e-a-hoy!"

Turning round a corner of the street, to get on to the quay, the boys ran up against old Bob the shrimper. He was rather deaf, but Scoot's hearty hail had reached even him.

"What d'ye mean, ye gallus pair o' howlin' sprat-divers? Hev ye bin larrupped, the pair on ye? It's what ye oughter be, every day, an' twice a-day, for that matter, ye howlin' young whelps. Tell me what ye want, or I'll clout ye with this 'ere swab."

"We wants Denzil: hev ye sin him this mornin'? Reed-bird, ye knows him."

Boys and men alike all went by some nickname in Marshton.

"Ye owdacious varmints, so ye means to try an' coy him off with ye, fur ter git him a quiltin', do ye, ye young rips. There's no shame in yer."

This was too much for Winder. "He wunt come to no hurt, we takes good care o' that; we looks arter Reed-bird. Come on, Scoot."

As Bob trundled on, Scoot slipped up behind him, tilted the old man's tarpaulin over his eyes with his crab-stick, and then shot off, mimicking the well-known cry of Brown Shrimp-" Shrimp oh! fresh boiled brown shrimp-serrimp-serrimp!"

"We'll try that fust reed-bed close to the ma'sh,

Scoot; he's mostly there, ef he ain't nowheres else, watchin' them reed-sparrers. Ef we don't find him there, you an' me must go by ourselves."

As they turned the bend that led to the reeds, they saw the object of their search coming towards them. With a shout and a whoop, the pair made for him.

“Where hev ye bin, Denny? Me an' Scoot hev sarched all roun' about for ye. Ye do watch them reed-sparrers long enuf, that ye do."

The boy, or rather child, they called "Reedbird," was not more than eight years old. He looked delicate, and there was a graver expression than his years warranted on his face, which was pale, and lit up by grey eyes, over which were wellmarked eyebrows. His dress, unlike that of his companions, was well cared for and scrupulously clean. A flat cap of cloth made in quarters, each quarter piped and well stitched, covered his dark hair. In front, fastened to the band of his cap, was a single feather from the beauty-spot of a mallard's wing. What might be called a gaberdine, belted at the waist, and thrown open in front to show a white linen vandyke collar, formed the upper part of his attire. Short pantaloons reached to just below his knees, where they were met by long socks. On his feet were good strong shoes fastened with sandals.

This child, as he grew and gained strength, roamed about the marshes and the sea-shore from morning to night. His Christian name, Denzil, was abbreviated to Den by all who knew him. "Reed-bird" was the title given him by his chosen companions. Winder and Scoot were prominent amongst these, and, as far as looks went, the most disreputable. But appearances at any rate where clothes are concerned-are apt to be deceptive. The two boys had no vice of any kind about them; they were full of fun and healthy amusement, and kind-hearted in all their intercourse with their more delicate and younger companion.

Old

"Winder an' me hed giv' ye up, Reed-bird, but here ye are; we wants ye to go crabbin'. Nance giv' Winder a ha'penny fur runnin' arrands for her, an' I've hed one giv' me fur bringin' some gear up; so we goes to Pewit Martin and gits some crab meat. Winder's father sez there's heaps all over the salts, the tides brought 'em up, so as ye can't see the grass fur 'em; big 'uns, he sez-bigger 'an he's sin afore. If we goes now we shel ketch 'em jest on the turn of the tide-this 'ere hamper full-chock-full o' big 'uns. Winder an' me 'ull lend ye our sticks an' lines, turn about, an' the crab meat too. We'll hev a good pile of 'em when we git home."

Pewit Martin was a butcher, so called because