at the intruders. But when he saw the little boy he grew pacified. Dogs always know their friends. And when he looked at Florence, and heard her call him "poor Cap," he began to wag his short tail, and then crept from under the table, and lay down at her feet. She took hold of one of his paws, patted his old rough head, and talked to him, whilst her friend examined the injured leg. It was dreadfully swollen, and hurt him very much to have it examined; but the dog knew it was meant kindly, and though he moaned and winced with pain, he licked the hands that were hurting him. "It's only a bad bruise, no bones are broken," said the old friend; "rest is all Cap needs; he will soon be well again."

"I am so glad," exclaimed Florence; "but can we do nothing for him?--he seems in such pain."

"There is one thing that would ease the pain, and heal the leg all the sooner, and that is plenty of hot water to foment the part."

"Well then," said Florence, "if that will do him good, I will foment poor Cap's leg."

"I fear you will only scald yourself,” replied the gentleman.

But Florence had in the meantime struck a light with the tinder-box, and lighted the fire, which was already laid. She then set off to the other cottage to get something to bathe the leg with. She found an old flannel petticoat hanging up to dry, and this she carried off, and tore up into slips, which she wrung out in warm water, and laid them tenderly on Cap's swollen leg. It was not long before the poor dog felt the benefit of the application, and he looked grateful, wagging his little stump of a tail in thanks. On their way home they met the shepherd coming slowly along, with a piece of rope in his hand. "Oh, Roger," cried Florence, "you are not to hang

poor old Cap; his leg is, we find, not broken at all."

"No, he will serve you yet," said the gentleman. "Well, I be main glad to hear it," said the shepherd, "and many thanks to you for going to see him."

On the next morning Florence was up early, and the first thing she did was to take two flannel petticoats to give the poor woman whose petticoat she had torn up to bathe Cap. Then she went to the dog, and was delighted to find the swelling of his leg much less. She bathed it again, and Cap was as grateful as before.

Two or three days afterwards Florence and her friend were riding together, when they came up to Roger and his sheep. This time Cap was watching the sheep, though he was lying quite still and pretending to be asleep. When he heard the voice of Florence speaking to his master, who was portioning out the usual feed, his tail wagged and his eyes sparkled, but he did not get up, for he was on duty. The shepherd stopped his work, and as he glanced at the dog, with a merry laugh, said, “Do look at the dog, miss; he be so pleased to hear your voice.' Cap's tail went faster and faster. "I be glad," continued the old man, "I did not hang him. I be greatly obliged to you, miss, and this gentleman, for what you did. But for you I would have hanged the best dog I ever had in all my life."

You may fancy how happy Florence was to think that she had saved a good dog from death, and eased his pain. Now this is quite a true story. It happened many years ago, and I need hardly tell you-for every boy or girl must have read-how Florence Nightingale, the kind little girl, grew up to be the kind, brave woman, who went to the Crimea, and nursed our gallant soldiers when they were sick and wounded in battle. R K.

OUR sportsmen down to the forest came,
And two in its depths looked all about;
Whilst two beyond stood ready to aim,

Should a startled roe in flight dart out.
Oh! sweet that morn had the covert been,
Its songs of peace, and its gloom all green,
And safe for the browsing creatures there,
Till a shot fell harsh on the breezeless air.

Now past the larches a flash of red,

And now through the bracken two 'wildered eyes Show that right and left a roe hath fled;

"Our fire shall not miss them!” a sportsman cries.

No more, perchance, will the weaker one
O'er the sun-flecked mosses lightly run;
Or the stronger stray down glades leaf-strewn,
With his steep horns silvered by the moon.
Shall no green branch for their shade be left,
Nor the herbage sprout for them again?
Must the bramble growing in stony cleft
Put forth the berries they love in vain?

The dreadful shots, how fast they crack!
But the wearied sportsmen have lost the track;
And as light streams in from the glowing west
The hunted ones in the covert rest.

"Shows how much you know of Mr. Hagley! That's just the reason why he won't take him on, I tell you. He's a man who prides himself on his justice, and on not going back from his word. He'd be a deal harder on any one he liked than on any one else, for fear he should seem to favour him like. Jack Bolter telled me as I was coming back with master's paper, so I hadn't time to stop and hear the rights on't; but they do say as Mr. Hagley were main hard on him, and wouldn't scarce hear out all as he'd got to say. The boy's not gone home, and no one's seen him since. I hope he's not runned away. I'm right sorry for the little lad,

I am."

"So am I," said Mr. Slimes; and indeed, to do him justice, he looked sorry. At any rate he was uncomfortable, and seemed anxious to change the subject.

Just then Mr. Kirkley and his son came into the yard, through which there was a short cut to the

Manor House. The men touched their hats, and said "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning," said Mr. Kirkley. "Is Mr. Varley at home?"

"I think he is, sir," said the groom.

Mr. Kirkley's visit excited no surprise or suspicion; on the contrary, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should come up, as he often did, to talk over school business with the Squire, who always took such an interest in any matter connected with the well-doing and improve

never have much time to spare. I suppose you want to decide about the prizes? I was thinking only last night how soon the holidays would be upon us; or is it a broken window again?" he continued, seeing Mr. Kirkley's troubled look. "And which of the unfortunate youngsters have I to give a lecture to next time I come down to the school?"

"It is neither the one nor the other, sir," said the schoolmaster, rather irritably. "Mr. Varley, will you have the goodness to tell me whether you have driven into town since the morning of Tuesday?"

ment of the village. The servant admitted them into the library, and asked them to sit down, observed it was very hot as he drew down the blind to keep out the sun, and then went to find his master.

They had not waited many minutes before Squire Varley opened the door and came in. He was a finelooking middle-aged man, with iron-grey hair, keen observant eyes, and a kindly and hearty manner, which at once won the confidence of all who had to do with him.

"Good morning, Mr. Kirkley," he said, in a courteous and genial tone. "Good morning, my boy. Why, you are growing quite out of my knowledge. Sit down, Mr. Kirkley, and tell me what gives me the pleasure of seeing you this morning. I am going straight to business, you see, for I know you

"Tuesday; let me see," said Mr. Varley, looking perplexed. ("What in the world does the man want to know for?" he thought.) "No, I don't remember that I have. No, I certainly haven't, now I come to think about it. Can I do anything for you next time I go in any books I can bring? I may go in this afternoon, but in any case I must tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir; it isn't anything I wantednothing I want brought, at least, I mean-I am only so thankful that you have not been. You may now still be able to help the little lad out of his trouble!" Mr. Kirkley was so very much taken up himself with his old pupil's misfortune that he quite forgot that the Squire was scarcely likely to have heard anything of the village scandal so soon.

"The same!" said Mr. Kirkley.

"I am very sorry any son of his should get into trouble; but I don't see how I can help him in this case."

"That is just what I want to tell you, sir," replied Walter. "As I was coming home across the fields from Stokeford, where I had gone on an errand for Mr. Baines that morning, I saw a man sitting under a tree, with a hat in his hand, and when I got close to him, I saw it was Mr. Slimes. It was a very hot day, sir, and I should not have thought twice about it, if he had not started, when I came up suddenly, as if he had been shot. He said something about the heat, and that he was putting a leaf in his hat to keep off the sun. I saw nothing like a leaf; but I did see some white paper, which he was stuffing into the lining, between that and the hat. I was in a hurry, so I paid no particular notice; to say the truth, sir, his manner was so funny, and I was glad to get away; but afterwards, when Bertie told me about leaving him in the office, I remembered it all again directly. I am certain, sir, it was Mr. Slimes who took the notes, and that he hid them in his hat !"

"Take care, my boy, what you say, accusing a respectable man on such slight evidence," said the Squire, who had been listening with grave attention. "Don't you see that you are laying a very serious charge against a steady man like Mr. Slimes, and that in trying to shield your friend you are likely to make enemies, and get yourself into trouble, without doing him any good?"

But the brave champion of Bertie's cause was not so easily put off; and he replied stoutly"If I could only look at that hat, sir!" "But I can't ask to look at Mr. Slimes' hat," said the Squire, half annoyed, and half amused at the boy's persistency.

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Certainly not, sir," interrupted Mr. Kirkley; "and what is more, it would be of no use. If Mr. Slimes had even the slightest suspicion of our errand to-day, he would take very good care nothing should be found in his hat; but, if I am not very much mistaken, he is only waiting for his next opportunity of going into the town to change the notes, and he will probably carry them there in their present hiding-place-that is to say, of course, if, as my son persists in saying, they are there."

"You are right," said Mr. Varley, beginning, in spite of himself, to feel it was possible that the boy's story had some truth in it. He thought he saw his way to satisfying Walter Kirkley without throwing unjust suspicion on his man, and he got up and rang the bell. "John," he said, as the footman answered it, "tell William that as it seems getting a little cooler now, I shall drive over to Enderley. He may put the grey mare into the light dog-cart at once, and I shall want him to drive me. Let me know when he is ready."

Both Walter and his father felt puzzled and amazed by the Squire's giving what seemed to them such an unaccountable order under the circumstances; but they need not have been afraid; the Squire was a man who had his wits about him, and knew what he was about. However, he did not give any explanation; and in a very short time the footman reappeared to say the trap was at the door, and Mr. Varley got up as if to go, at the same time making a private sign to Mr. Kirkley not to hurry away. Then suddenly turning to the man"John, just stand at the mare's head a moment, and tell William I want to speak to him."

Mr. Slimes came up to the door, and his master I called him in.

"Oh, William, you said the other day you wanted a new hat. You may as well get it to-day, as we are going in."

"Very good; thank you, sir," said Mr. Slimes, but not at all as cheerfully as was usually the case when new clothes were concerned.

Mr. Varley noticed it.

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I think we might get a cooler one for you this very hot weather. Just let me look at yours." "Oh, this does very well, sir, thank you," said Mr. Slimes, visibly changing colour. "In fact, my wife has cleaned it up, and I have just been a-saying to her I could make a shift to get on with it a bit without troubling you, sir."

But Mr. Varley was satisfied now that Walter was right, and he was determined to find out for certain.

"Will you do as I bid you, and give me your hat? It is not for you to decide whether or no you shall drive your master with a shabby hat on."

Squire Varley was standing with his back to the door now, so Mr. Slimes, seeing there was no help for it, handed the hat to his master with pretended alacrity.

"Yes, this certainly is a hot hat for summer," said Mr. Varley, carelessly running his hand round the lining as he spoke. "Why, it is positively stuffed, by way of making it a little hotter!" And he drew out some thin soft paper.

Mr. Slimes stretched out his hand for it.