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when he telephoned, or where the message came from. She looked at the clock againonly five minutes since the bell rang-twenty-five since he had left the house, but she felt that a great deal had occurred in them. She threw herself on the sofa, and for a few minutes tried to make herself unconscious of everything about her, of everything that might happen; her nerves and brain needed some rest from the tension of the last hour.

"If only Joe Parker would come," she moaned presently; and dragging herself to the looking-glass stood critically examining her face. Haggard and old, with lines about the mouth and eyes,-and what a difference it made when her hair was pushed back from her temples. Joe mustn't see her like this—and he would be here directly. She cooled her eyes with her hands and ar

ranged her hair; she knew that the well-cut skirt and the dainty muslin blouse she wore were becoming, if she could rid her face of its careworn expression she could gather courage for the interview with him. Thank goodness, he was coming to supper.

Then she remembered Wendern's instructions and went to the dining-room again. She managed to put on a haughty manner or what she meant to be one-while she made the alterations he had indicated, and explained to the servants that Mr Wendern had just telephoned them, and that if he were not back she would take his place at the table.

They were astounded. "Well, I never did," Rogers said when she had gone. "I shouldn't wonder if she plays first fiddle here: she will if we don't look out, or it looks very much like it."

(To be continued.)

A NIGHT IN SHERWOOD.

BY ALFRED NOYES.

The scene is a glade in Sherwood Forest, showing on the right the mouth of the outlaws cave, and on the left a small log-hut. It is about sunset. The giant figure of LITTLE JOHN comes out of the cave, singing.

LITTLE JOHN.

When Spring comes back to England
And crowns her brows with may,

Round the merry moonlit world

She goes the greenwood way.

[He stops and calls in stentorian tones.]

Much! Much! Much! Where has he vanished now ?
Where has that monstrous giant the miller's son
Hidden himself?

[Enter MUCH, a dwarf-like figure, carrying a large
bundle of ferns.]

MUCH.

Hush, hush, child, here I am!

And here's our fairy feather-beds, ha ha!

Come, praise me, praise me, for a thoughtful parent.
There's nothing makes a better bed than ferns
Either for sleeping sound or rosy dreams.

LITTLE JOHN.

Take care the fern-seed that the fairies use
Fall not among thy yellow locks, my Titan,
Or thou'lt wake up invisible. There's none
Too much of Much already.

MUCH.

[Looking up at him impudently.]

It would take

Our big barn full of fern-seed, I misdoubt,

To make thee walk invisible, Little John,

My trim Tom Thumb! And, in this troublous age
Of forest-laws, if we night-walking minions,
We gentlemen of the moon, could only hunt

Copyright, 1912, by Alfred Noyes in the United States of America.

Invisible, there's many and many of us

With thumbs lopped off, eyes gutted and legs pruned, Slick, like poor pollarded pear-trees, would be lying Happy and whole this day beneath the boughs.

LITTLE JOHN.

Invisible? Ay, but what would Jenny say

When such a ghostly midge, as Much would make,
Sipped at her cherry lips.

MUCH.

Don't joke about it!

It is a serious matter. Jenny takes

The smallness of her Much sorely to heart!
And though I often tell her half a loaf

(Ground in our mill) is better than no bread,
She weeps, poor thing, that an impartial heaven
Bestows on her so small a Crumb of Bliss

As me! You'd scarce believe, now, half the nostrums,
Possets and strangely nasty herbal juices

That wench has made me gulp, in the vain hope
That I, the frog, should swell to an ox like thee.
Oh, Little John, she's desperate! She'll advance
Right inward to the sources of creation.

She'll take the reins of the world in hand. She'll stop
The sun like Joshua, turn the moon to blood,
But if I have to swallow half the herbs

In Sherwood, I shall stalk a giant yet,
Shoulder to shoulder with thee, Little John,
And crack thy head at quarter-staff. But don't,
Don't joke about it. 'Tis a serious matter.

LITTLE JOHN.

Into the cave, then, with thy feather-bed.
Old Much, thy father, waits thee there to make
A table of green turfs for Robin Hood.

We shall have guests anon, O merry times,

Baron and knight and abbot, all that ride

Through Sherwood, all shall come and dine with him When they have paid their toll! Old Much is there Growling at thy delay.

MUCH.

[Going towards the cave.]

My poor dear father.

Now, there's a sad thing too. He is so ashamed

Of his descendants. Being exceeding shy,

He could not help it. Why, for some nine years
He shut his eyes whenever he looked at me;
And I have seen him on the village green
Pretend to a stranger, once, who badgered him
With curious questions, that I was the son
Of poor old Gaffer Bramble, the lame sexton.
That self-same afternoon, up comes old Bramble,
White hair ablaze, and big red waggling nose,
All shaking with the palsy, bangs our door
Clean off its hinges with his crab-tree crutch,
And stands there-framed-against the sunset sky!
He stretches out one quivering forefinger
At father, like the great Destroying Angel

In the stained window: straight the milk boiled over,
The cat ran, baby squalled and mother screeched.
Old Bramble asks my father-what-what-what-

He meant-he meant-he meant! You should have seen
My father's hopeless face! Lord, how he blushed
In his exceeding shyness! How he blushed!

'Tis a hard business when a parent looks
Askance upon his offspring.

[Exit into the cave.

LITTLE JOHN.

Skip, you chatterer!

Here comes our master.

[Enter ROBIN HOOD.]

Master, why! what's this?

This was a cloth-yard shaft that tore thy coat!

ROBIN HOOD.

O, ay, they barked my shoulder, devil take 'em!
I got it on the borders of the wood.

St Nicholas, my lad, they're on the watch.

LITTLE JOHN.

What didst thou there? They're on the watch, i' faith!
A squirrel could not pass them. Why, my namesake
Prince John would sell his soul to get thy head,
And both his ears for Lady Marian;

And whether his ears or soul be worth the more
I know not.

ROBIN.

Well, I went and tried to shoot

A grey goose-wing through Lady Marian's casement.

LITTLE JOHN.

O, ay, and a pink nosegay tied beneath it.
Now, master, you'll forgive your little John,
But that's midsummer madness, and the may
Is only half in flower as yet. But why-
You are wounded-why are you so pale?

ROBIN.

No-no

That's nothing; but I wished to send her warning.
I could not creep much closer; but I swear

I think the castle is in the hands of John.

I saw some men upon the battlements,
Not hers-I am sure-not hers!

LITTLE JOHN.

Hist! Who comes here?

[He seizes his bow and stands ready to shoot.]

ROBIN.

Stay, man, it is the fool! Thank God, the fool,
Shadow-of-a-Leaf, my Marian's dainty fool.
How now, good fool, what news? What news?

[Enter SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF, a slender figure in
green trunk-hose and doublet, twirling a long
fern in his hand.]

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF.

Good fool!

Should I be bad, sir, if I chanced to bring
No news at all? That is the wise man's way.
Thank heaven, I've lost my wits. I am but a leaf
Dancing upon the wild winds of the world,

A prophet blown before them. Well, this evening
It is that lovely grey wind from the West
That silvers all the fields and all the seas,
And I'm the herald of May!

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