of the whirlpool. Whirlpool is a mystery "-and off he droned again.

"Never mind all that," said the tourist; "I don't believe a word of it. Which do you like best, this side or the other; and are the Yankees jealous of the Canadians?"

"You bet," said the urchin. "They call us Kanucks; and wouldn't they like to get this slice of us, that's all!"

Worshipped Afar.

QUEEN HERMENTRUDE a garden made,
With bosky paths and pine-tree shade
And orchard bloom and lawns displayed.

From banks of earliest celandine
Till grapes grow purple on the vine,
Summer and spring their wreaths entwine.

In fair June mornings after mass,
Where rose-leaves fleck the dewy grass,
The Queen and all her ladies pass.

And when the lengthening evenings fall,
And ere the dark the blackbirds call,
Her voice is sweetest of them all.

I am the crippled lad to wait,
And summon forth the porter straight
Should aught assail the postern gate.

And once a wild boar of the wood
With staff and shout I sole withstood,
Until my fellow's aim was good.

And I remember how she smiled,
And spake like music deep and mild,
Thou hast a warrior's soul, my child.

Yes! I could stand though death were near,
To spare my lady's cheek a tear,

Or save one thing she holdeth dear.

WILLIAM WATERFIELD

Edged Tools.

A ROMANCE OF TWO SUMMERS.

BY ETHEL M. ARNOLD.

CHAPTER III.

DURING the week that followed Cecil saw but little of Murray Wentworth, since he was out shooting the inoffensive partridge every day; and even on the nights when he took her into dinner she talked more to her left-hand neighbour than to him-such is the innate perversity of woman's nature. But in spite of this the tone of intimacy which he had from the first adopted towards her remained unchanged. All his best things were said especially for her benefit. If she by any chance perpetrated a sarcasm, instinctively her eyes sought his, as though sure of its being understood and appreciated; a kind of electric communication seemed in fact to have established itself between them, which was patent for all the world to see.

One morning at the beginning of the next week there came a slight variation in the monotony of their days. Mr. Brandon, the only really keen sportsman among the men-kind, went off to shoot alone; for Mr. Loudoun was in the agonies of last rehearsals, Mr. Franks had for once ventured to make up his mind that he preferred the blandishments of his lady-love to shooting his fellow-sportsmen, and Murray Wentworth was overwhelmed with preparations for a political campaign he was about to undertake in the neighbouring county. Cecil Cartwright, full of an unusual thirst for communion with her friends, retired to her room shortly after breakfast to write letters, and soon, seated at her writingtable by the window looking out on the shaded lawn, she was deep in an epistle which bade fair to assume portentous dimensions. But gradually her ideas seemed to flow less freely, her pen was refilled with less monotonous regularity, her eyes strayed oftener and oftener from the paper before her to the green lawn and the cool trees under whose shade the rest of the party were gathered together in various attitudes of lazy enjoyment. They had been there all along, but not till now had they disturbed her peace. Even Millicent's heated remonstrances

against Mr. Franks' peculiar method of scoring in the single she was playing with him had not sufficed to disturb the even tenor of her correspondence. But another chair had lately been added to the rest, and now a masculine voice gave tone and body to the women's talk, and it was this new element apparently which proved so disturbing to her mind. She became conscious too that it was hot and stuffy in the house, though to most unprejudiced people her room would have seemed refreshingly cool and airy; the grass seemed greener, the sky more azure, the protecting canopy of the trees more dense than they had seemed before. Suddenly she thrust her unfinished letter into the blotting-paper, and catching a passing sight of herself in the long glass, she took up her sunshade and proceeded leisurely down the stairs and across the hall, where she stopped a moment to bury her face in a great bowl of early chrysanthemums, and then out into the garden.

Millicent saw her first.

"Cecil, dear, take my place," she cried, springing to her feet. "No, mine," cried Frances, doing likewise.

And Murray Wentworth said nothing, but stood quietly by the chair he had vacated, and with a smile of thanks she accepted his silent offer.

"I suppose you know," she said, as she settled herself comfortably in her seat, while Wentworth stretched himself on the grass beside her, "that I have come out entirely against my will? The noise you good people have been making out here made letters an impossibility."

"I'm very glad of it," said Mrs. Brandon promptly. "I wish we'd made more noise, and then perhaps you'd have come out sooner."

"It's all very well, dear Mrs. Brandon," said Cecil, with much gravity; "but if you had the number of 'dearest friends' that I have, you wouldn't scoff at the exactions of my correspondence." But as Cecil was a proverbially atrocious correspondent, her gravity only made the Brandons laugh.

"Hullo! here's a telegram for somebody," exclaimed Millicent, as the butler's stately form appeared bearing towards the group with the familiar brown envelope on a silver salver.

"Collins is an excellent creature," said Cecil, meditatively regarding the man's advancing figure. "It's such a pity he's got legs like a sickle!"-which poetical description of poor Collins' very slightly bowed legs made it difficult for the others to keep their countenances on his approach.

"A telegram for you, sir," said the man, stopping before

Murray Wentworth. "The boy is waiting to know if there's any answer."

Wentworth took the missive carelessly enough-it was probably only to say that the time of his first meeting was altered. But no sooner had his eye glanced at its contents than he rose quickly to his feet, saying with a good deal of suppressed agitation—

"Yes, there is an answer. I will come in." And followed in silence by the butler he walked rapidly towards the house.

"Poor fellow! I'm afraid it is some bad news," said Mrs. Brandon as soon as they were out of earshot; "he looked very much upset."

And as she spoke she turned half involuntarily towards Cecil, who, as though unconscious of her surroundings, was still watching the departing couple just now entering the front door, and the look of yearning anxiety on her face revealed as certain to her hostess something which she had only suspected hitherto.

"Cecil, dear," said Mrs. Brandon, rising and gently taking the girl's hand so as to recall her to herself, lest the others should see what she had seen, "will you come for a walk with me? I feel rather chilly."

Cecil, seeming suddenly to realize where she was, jumped up, and putting her arm in Mrs. Brandon's, the two sauntered off together in silence; and shortly afterwards the party left under the trees broke up, and the garden was totally deserted.

Luncheon was not such a lively meal as usual; for though Murray Wentworth was not there (he had gone out, leaving behind an explanatory message for Mrs. Brandon with the butler), the knowledge that misfortune had happened to any member of the party seemed to produce a sense of oppression in the rest. Cecil did not talk much, and seemed relieved when it was over; a feeling which was probably intensified when the carriages came round to take the others to a garden-party, from which Cecil had begged to be excused, and when, soon after, the sound of their departing wheels told her she was left alone. She stood a few moments on the steps where she had seen them all off, looking absently down the avenue, and then walked slowly into the hall, where she stopped again with her hand on the table, still lost in thought. Suddenly she threw back her head with a gesture characteristic of her changing nature, as though dismissing all unpleasant thoughts, while her face resumed nearly all its usual serenity. She walked quickly into the library, chose a volume of Browning from the shelves, and gently humming to herself she entered the hall again, took down her wide-brimmed garden hat from the stand, threw a light shawl over her arm, and stopping a