you dearer because of the years.

A boy does not realize at the time his affection for a servant. You had the virtues of your race, and wander now somewhere I trust o'er the fields of asphodel among the kindly. You had the faults of your race too. You loitered and perhaps malingered at times, and because you loitered I was often sent, several years before my 'teens, on long wagon journeys with you, to constitute a monitor of promptness. owe it to your memory to say that in all those hours of association with you you never did an ugly thing in my presence nor spoke a corrupting word. The Oxford and Cambridge Review.

I

Jake sang, in the crooning, imperfect, haunting way of his race. If, in the realm of shadows, Catullus should ever meet him he would be surprised to hear in Jake's favorite song, a song I heard him sing a thousand times, a far-off echo of his own invitation to Fabullus

I've got a little house down in town, An' I want you to come fo' to see me. Eat yo' breakfast 'fo' you come, bring your dinner wid' you

And skip out befo' supper time. But I think Catullus might have keenly missed, in stopping to listen to Jake's song, the pot of Love's pomade.

Edwin W. Fay.

Miss Phyllis Etherington, conscious of a sudden chilliness in her toes, crossly drew those extremities into a less adventurous position and endeavored to recompose herself to slumber. But she was aware, even in the semi-stupor in which she lay, of a certain element of disturbance in her surroundings. Her pillow felt extremely hard, and the sun appeared to be streaming through her cabin skylight with unusual ferocity. Had she overslept herself, she wondered. How about breakfast? She must have lain long. Had she been called? Certainly she was beginning to feel thoroughly restless. Something rigid and unyielding was pressing against her ribs. A book, perhaps: she was in the habit of reading late in bed and dropping off to sleep, the volume under perusal usually being retrieved somewhere in the neighborhood of the hotwater bottle in the morning.

Should

she make an effort now, or-the sluggard's inevitable alternativegive herself just five minutes longer?

The question was settled for her.

Her toes were once again sending up signals for help, and their appeal was backed ten seconds later by a sudden splash of water, which broke over the sleeper's feet and deluged her to the knees.

Miss Etherington sat up suddenly, to realize that she had mistaken her whereabouts. It was a dream reversed. Instead of tumbling out of fairy-land to wake up in bed, she had tumbled out of bed to wake up in fairyland.

She was sitting upon a sunny shorea concave arc of shelving yellow sand, with blue and white wavelets lazily rolling up and down the declivity. One of these broke gently over her bare feet for the third time.

Woman-like, she took a lightning inventory of her costume-and gave a little gasp of dismay. Her toilet presented the appearance of having been begun in haste and not finished at all. Her long hair, dank but luxurious, flowed down to her waist. A saxeblue serge skirt fluttered round her bare ankles. Her most adequate article of attire was a cork life-belt, fas

tened round her quilted dressing-gown. She was stiff and aching in every limb.

She remembered all now. The yacht -the tropical hurricane-the grinding crash in the dead of night-the trampling of feet overhead and the hoarse shouting of men-the heeling decks and flapping ropes-a pair of hands which had hurried her along the sloping alleyways and passed her down into a heaving cockle-shell-finally, the great green wave which had swung up out of the darkness and fallen upon them all and carried her down, down, down, until she lost consciousness. And here she was, cast up and alive upon a warm sandy beach. The life-belt was responsible for that, she supposed. She had no recollection of having put it on, though. Probably the hands which hurried her on deck had attended to that. There was a number on it: S.Y. Island Queen, R.Y.S.-State-Room No. 3. The number of her state-room was seven, so this could not be the belt which she had noticed rolled up in a rack above her berth, lazily wondering if she would ever need it.

Then, as her senses adjusted themselves, came the inevitable inquiry: "Where were the others? Her host, that cheerful, kindly old nobleman, was he gone? What a death for a man reputed to know the Pacific as most amateurs know the Solent! And the Arthur Denholms? And Colonel Shiell? And Margaret Alderson? And-" Miss Etherington's exquisite features hardened for a moment-"Leslie Gale?"

Then her face softened again. Death closes all accounts. Leslie Gale, lying peacefully in twenty fathoms of blue water, could never again do anything to increase or diminish the sum-total of his account with her-an account opened, run up, audited, and found incorrect in every possible way within a brief but extremely stormy period of

three weeks. That vendetta was at an end, anyway.

Why had she come to dislike him so intensely? she wondered. Was it because he had asked her to marry him? Apparently not; for in that case she should at this moment be cherishing the bitterest feelings towards some seventeen other gentlemen, mostly of blameless character and antecedents, who had at various periods mooted the same proposition. Was it because he had proposed to her after an acquaintance of three days? no; one man had done SO after one ball, and she had felt rather flattered. She had disliked Leslie Gale from the moment of their first meeting. He had not treated her with the respect-not to say the servility— to which she was accustomed. She objected also to the manner in which he had treated his dismissal. True, he had not behaved violently or idiotically, like most of the others. On the contrary, he had exhibited most exasperating detachment of mind about it, and had talked-no, chatted to her about herself in a manner which she resented very much. He had appeared almost

sorry for her.

"You are in a difficult position," he said musingly, at that point in their inteview at which a right-minded lover would have taken a pathetic departure. "You are a girl with brains and character-and a bit of a spoiled child into the bargain. You cannot love a man who is your mental and moral inferior, and you are too opinionated and conceited to give in to your superior. So you fall between two stools."

At this she had been unable to resist the temptation of a crushing retort. "Are you my superior?" she rapped out.

"Yes."

Joy! He had fallen into the trap. "Then"-maliciously-"why don't you

subdue me?"

"Then you think you will subdue me?"

"No," he said frankly-"I don't. You won't give me the chance. Modern civilization deprives man of many of his weapons. If we were shut up together on a desert island, or if we had lived in the cave-dwelling period

"You would have subdued me with a flint axe, I suppose," said Miss Etherington scornfully.

"No, not at all. There would have been no need. If I had wanted you I should have used the flint axe to settle the claims of your other suitors, and then picked you up and carried you off."

"It is possible," said Miss Etherington gently, "that I might not have come."

"Yes, you would. You would have come gladly, knowing that the best man had got you; and that is all a woman really cares about."

"If you honestly believe that," replied Miss Etherington almost compassionately, "all I can say is that your intelligence is even more unformed than I suspected. When you have seen a little more of the world you will realize that mankind has progressed beyond the schoolboy attitude towards life.

Women are now free agents." "Yes. And I'm not sure," remarked the experienced Mr. Gale, "that there are as many happy marriages under the new system as the old. Women are notoriously bad judges of a man. I shall watch your future career with

interest, Miss Etherington-interest and apprehension. In matters of the heart

I mistrust your judgment."
He rose.

"Now," he said, "if you would like to have the last word you had better say it at once; because it is getting late, and the rest of the party may be wondering what you and I are discussing under the lee of the chart-house."

At this Miss Etherington had risen from her seat and sailed silently and majestically aft.

That was a fortnight ago. Since then, in the constricted space of a yacht, friction had been inevitable. Miss Etherington at first made an attempt to avoid Mr. Gale's society, but relinquished this on being taunted with "running away." So she changed her tactics, and treated Mr. Gale with excessive sprightliness in public and cold disdain in private. Gale's flippant and philosophical detachment did not wear well. He maintained a careless and semi-humorous pose for about a week, and then one evening, under the baneful influence of a full round moon, suddenly crumpled up and descended to sentimental entreaty. Miss Etherington, perceiving that he had delivered himself into her hands, let him run on for nearly ten minutes, and then gave free rein to a rather exceptional talent for biting sarcasm. Gale's amorous expansiveness collapsed like a punctured balloon at the first stab; and feeling hot and foolish and being a man, he lost his temper, and said things which should not be said to a lady, however provoking.

Then followed seven days of open hostility. Finally one night, when the indefatigable Mrs. Arthur Denholm organized a dance on the deck under the awning, Leslie Gale, who hated feuds, summoned his entire stock of common-sense and courage and asked Miss Etherington for a waltz.

He met with a flat refusal, for which

Miss Etherington swiftly released her waist from his arm, and crossed the deck to where one Ommaney, a callow and cub-like member of the company, was lolling against a stanchion.

"Billy dear," she said, with an entrancing smile, "will you dance with me?"

Billy, much flattered, complied.

An hour later Miss Etherington, on her way to bed, found her path barred by Mr. Leslie Gale, who was standing at the foot of the companion. His face was white, and his teeth chattered gently--but not with cold or fear.

"Let me pass, please," said Miss Etherington, rather nervously.

"I only wanted to say," answered Mr. Gale in a voice which Miss Etherington had never heard before, "that I think you are the most ill-bred and detestable girl I have ever met. You may pass now."

That was last night-say twelve hours ago. And now Leslie Gale was dead, lying with the wreck of the yacht deep down beside the coral reef that had wrecked them. Dead! And so were the others, to all seeming. She gazed round-at the horse-shoe curve of the little bay; at the palm-covered slopes behind her; at the boiling surge outside the bar. Was she utterly alone? She was a plucky young woman, and declined to be frightened until she was sure.

She sprang resolutely to her feet and set out inland. Not far off uprose a

little hill. From the summit of this she could survey her kingdom and take an inventory of its possibilities. She was not beaten yet. Her pulse beat high. Her small bare toes resolutely crimped the sand.

Meanwhile, behind an adjacent sandhill, following the movements of his beloved with breathless interest, lay Mr. Leslie Gale. He chuckled gently. His chief asset in life-some people considered it a liability-was a strong if somewhat untimely sense of humor. Not even a recent escape from a watery grave could damp his enjoyment of the situation. He sat up in his rapidly drying pajamas, and slapped himself feebly.

"My sainted aunt!" he murmured brokenly. "I shall have to get a flint axe!"

II.

Miss Etherington, white-lipped and struggling gamely with the terrors of utter loneliness, lay face downward upon a patch of coral sand. She had completed her survey of the island, which was not much larger than a couple of full-sized golf courses; and lo! it was her exclusive property. There were no habitations, and no inhabitants. She lay very still, holding herself in. Once or twice her shoul

ders heaved.

Suddenly, like music from heaven, the sound of a discreet and thoroughly British cough fell upon her ears, and in a moment the cobweb of terror which was beginning to enshroud her senses was swept away. Hardly believing her good fortune, she sprang up, tossed back her hair from her eyesand found herself face to face with Mr. Leslie Gale.

"Oh!" she gasped. "You?" "Yes-just me!" he replied. "There is nobody else."

"Are all the others?" She pointed to the tumbling seas outside the bar.

"I don't know," replied Gale, interpreting the question. "Very likely most of them got away in the lifeboat. You were in the cutter, you know."

"If they escaped, wouldn't they have landed here?" said the girl doubtfully.

"I'm not SO sure. That squall which struck us was the tail-end of a cyclone. They may have been swept out to sea. In fact," he added, covertly regarding Miss Etherington's white face and troubled eyes, "I am sure they were. I saw them get clear away myself. Anyhow, they are not here. I have been all over the island to see."

"Are there any traces?"

"Yes, but not of human beings. Chiefly spars and gratings. I collected all I could: they may be useful for-domestic purposes."

It was not, perhaps, a very happy way of putting it. Miss Etherington flushed and demanded

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. We may have to stay here for months. Are you an expert at household management? Can you tend the fireside, while I labor to keep the home together?"

"I can't live here alone with you for months," cried the girl desperately.

"I am afraid it can't be helped," said Mr. Gale. "We may get taken off by some passing vessel, but for the present you must be content to live the life of a cave-woman."

Miss Etherington caught the allusion, and her spirit responded instantaneously to the implied challenge.

"First find your cave!" she replied disdainfully.

"By the greatest luck in the world," announced Mr. Gale calmly, "I have already done so. Come and see."

He led the way along the sea-shore, eager to exhibit his discovery, Miss Etherington rebelliously following. Already, she reflected, primitive man was

asserting himself: in a procession of two she walked in the rear.

"Presently he will expect me to fetch and carry," she said to herself. "Let him dare!"

The cave lay close to the water's edge, in a tiny cove facing south. It ran back some fifteen feet into the heart of a lofty rock, and was floored with white coral sand, warm and dry beneath the rays of the noonday sun which streamed in through the doorway.

"Somewhere to sleep, at any rate," commented Mr. Gale cheerfully. "But what chiefly concerns me at present is the discovery of something to eat. Come and find cocoa-nuts."

Once more the procession moved off, its order unaltered. A cocoa-nut palm was speedily found, and Mr. Gale embarked upon a brief acrobatic' display, which presently furnished them with a supply of solid and liquid refreshment. of which both our islanders stood in considerable need.

"This landscape," said Gale, as he sat contentedly sunning himself after the fashion of man when fed, "reminds me of North Berwick Links, with a few palms dotted about and no tourists. There is Point Garry." He indicated the little promontory in which their cave was situated.

"Have you climbed to the top yet, partner?" he continued.

"No," said Miss Etherington shortly; "I have not."

"Well, you shall," said Mr. Gale kindly. "We may see things from there which have hitherto escaped our notice. No good sitting here moping!"

With great energy he led the way to Point Garry and scaled the heights, assisting his companion from time to time.

"We will now scan the horizon," he announced, when they reached the top. "I think that is what Robinson Crusoe would have done under the circum