some one had drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion went on: "If that girl was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed and replied: "Martha, you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures in the magazines."

Such remarks amused Carley, and later she took advantage of an opportunity to notice her neighbors. They appeared a rather quaint old couple, reminding her of the natives of country towns in the Adirondacks. She was not amused, however, when another of her woman neighbors, speaking low, referred to her as a "lunger." Carley appreciated the fact that she was pale, but she assured herself that there ended any possible resemblance she might have to a consumptive. And she was somewhat pleased to hear this woman's male companion forcibly voice her own convictions. In fact

early in the street this morning, what was you doing there?"

"Nothing, Miss Annie, I just went out to see, that's all and that's the same banana, 'deed it is Miss Annie."

"Sallie, how can you say so and after all I do for you, and Miss Mathilda is so good to you. I never brought home no bananas yesterday with specks on it like that. I know better, it was that boy was here last night and ate it while I was away, and you was out to get another this morning. I don't want no lying Sallie."

Sallie was stout in her defence but then she gave it up and she said it was the boy who snatched it as he ran away at the sound of Anna's key opening the outside door. "But I will never let him in again, Miss Annie, 'deed I won't," said Sallie.

And now it was all peaceful for some weeks and then Sallie with fatuous simplicity began on certain evenings to resume her bright red waist, her bits of jewels and her crinkly hair.

One pleasant evening in the early spring, Miss Mathilda was standing o

ergy did he do this, that he received from his antagonists themost complimentary sobriquet of the one hundred thousand men .Wherever Napoleon made his appearance in the field, his presencealone was considered equivalent to that force.

The following proclamation rang like a trumpet charge over thehills and valleys of France. "Frenchmen! You have been anxious forpeace. Your government has desired it with still greater ardor.Its first efforts, its most constant wishes, have been for itsattainment. The English ministry has exposed the secret of itsiniquitous policy. It wishes to dismember France, to destroy itscommerce, and either to erase it from the map of Europe, or todegrade it to a secondary power. England is willing to embroil allthe nations of the Continent in hostility with each other, that shemay enrich herself with their spoils, and gain possession of thetrade of the world. For the attainment of this object she scattersher gold, becomes prodigal of her promises, and multiplies herintri

is the recognition of the fact that we are born without knowledge, and that the acquisition of knowledge is a slow and painful process.

If all man needed upon earth was a "knowledge of God," then why the necessity of establishing educational institutions?

Unless a child is taught to talk, it will never be able to speak the language of our tongue. Without teaching the child the rudiments of speech, he would be unable to communicate his thoughts to others. Without proper training his "grunts" of expression would be meaningless, and the only way he could express himself would be by the primitive instinct of making signs and by pointing.

The brain needs the same kind of training as any other part of the body that requires exercise for development. Nourishment for the mind is just as necessary as nourishment for the body.

Just as there are some foods which have been so adulterated and refined that when eaten they add no nourishment to the body, so there are truths which have been adult

erstand my language.

And after seven moons, one day a soothsayer looked at me, and hesaid to my mother, "Your son will be a statesman and a great leaderof men."

But I cried out,--"That is a false prophet; for I shall be amusician, and naught but a musician shall I be."

But even at that age my language was not understood--and great wasmy astonishment.

And after three and thirty years, during which my mother, and thenurse, and the priest have all died, (the shadow of God be upontheir spirits) the soothsayer still lives. And yesterday I met himnear the gates of the temple; and while we were talking togetherhe said, "I have always known you would become a great musician.Even in your infancy I prophesied and foretold your future."

And I believed him--for now I too have forgotten the language ofthat other world.

The Pomegranate

Once when I was living in the heart of a pomegranate, I heard a seedsaying, "Someday I shall become a tree, and the wind will sing inmy

e building, divided into apartments or flats of a dismal and dingy sort. We found the landlady in the basement: a gaunt woman in soiled gray, with a hard, thin-lipped mouth and pale, suspicious eyes. She was rocking vigorously in a creaking chair and sewing on a pair of overalls, while three dirty kids tussled with a mongrel puppy up and down the room.

Dean showed his badge, and told her that we wanted to speak to her in privacy. She got up to chase the kids and their dog out, and then stood with hands on hips facing us.

"Well, what do you want?" she demanded sourly.

"Want to get a line on your tenants," Dean said. "Tell us about them."

"Tell you about them?" She had a voice that would have been harsh enough even if she hadn't been in such a peevish mood. "What do you think I got to say about 'em? What do you think I am? I'm a woman that minds her own business! Nobody can't say that I don't run a respectable --"

This was getting us nowhere.

"Who lives in number one?" I asked.

"The

onument that the famed tomb of Perneb was found--more than four hundred miles north of the Theban rock valley where Tut-Ankh-Amen sleeps. Again I was forced to silence through sheer awe. The prospect of such antiquity, and the secrets each hoary monument seemed to hold and brood over, filled me with a reverence and sense of immensity nothing else ever gave me.

Fatigued by our climb, and disgusted with the importunate Bedouins whose actions seemed to defy every rule of taste, we omitted the arduous detail of entering the cramped interior passages of any of the pyramids, though we saw several of the hardiest tourists preparing for the suffocating crawl through Cheops' mightiest memorial. As we dismissed and overpaid our local bodyguard and drove back to Cairo with Abdul Reis under the afternoon sun, we half regretted the omission we had made. Such fascinating things were whispered about lower pyramid passages not in the guide books; passages whose entrances had been hastily blocked up and concealed by ce

rcling about it as it revolved slowly.

"The globe itself is keeping perfect time, and Darius is all right, Xerxes is a few seconds of longitude ahead of true position."

"That's dreadful, Mr. Grego!" Stenson was deeply shocked. "I must adjust that the first thing tomorrow. I should have called to check on it long ago, but you know how it is. So many things to do, and so little time."

"I find the same trouble myself, Mr. Stenson." They chatted for a while, and then Stenson apologized for taking up so much of Mr. Grego's valuable time. What he meant was that his own time, just as valuable to him, was wasting. After the screen blanked, Grego sat looking at it for a moment, wishing he had a hundred men like Henry Stenson in his own organization. Just men with Stenson's brains and character; wishing for a hundred instrument makers with Stenson's skills would have been unreasonable, even for wishing. There was only one Henry Stenson, just as there had been only one Antonio Stradivari. Why a man

delicate path around them.

"Hands on the wall."

The skin on the back of Adam's hands looked like tissue paper, ready to tear at a moment's notice.

The air reeked - an acrid combination of vomit and excrement that the drizzle only aggravated. Adam spread his legs and let Dan pat his sides for weapons.

Dan pressed the muzzle of his automatic into the small of Adam's back, hard enough to bruise. He grappled with his handcuffs and slapped them around Adam's left wrist. Then, with a twist to the cruel metal that would ensure compliance through pain, he wrenched Adam's arm behind his back and fastened the other half of the cuffs. It was never easy; Dan felt vulnerable working alone. He'd never grown accustomed to it after leaving the force. Only the reassuring click-click-click of secured handcuffs released the tension pent within.

"You're American aren't you?" - Silence - "Aren't you going to read me my rights?" Adam turned to search his captor's face when the tension eased on h

nd time it's happened that we know of. There may be others."

"The second time?"

"The previous interview was when we noticed it. The leady was not hot. It was cold, too, like this one."

Moss took back the metal plate from the leady's hands. He pressed the surface carefully and returned it to the stiff, unprotesting fingers.

"We shorted it out with this, so we could get close enough for a thorough check. It'll come back on in a second now. We had better get behind the wall again."

They walked back and the lead wall swung closed behind them. The soldiers left the chamber.

"Two periods from now," Franks said softly, "an initial investigating party will be ready to go surface-side. We're going up the Tube in suits, up to the top--the first human party to leave undersurface in eight years."

"It may mean nothing," Moss said, "but I doubt it. Something's going on, something strange. The leady told us no life could exist above without being roasted. The story doesn't fi