while he knew that he was a fool to let her dominate him, somehow the thrill of her touch and the subversive melody of her eyes and voice overcame his better instincts. He returned her pressure.

"Go on with your story, dear," said Elsa.

The lady, after a silent glance at the two behind her, told, in a strangely quiet voice, of Kent's part in the adventure and her own. By the time By the time she had finished her narrative they had come to the big pool above the Blue Rocks. They moved out on to one of the great bowlders, and looked down the straight twenty feet into the deep, black water.

"Now we must say good-bye," said the lady firmly. "Elsa, I think you can stand without assistance."

Elsa made no sign. Kent looked from one girl to the other in helpless quandary. The lady's eyes were not on him, but on the girl at his side; they were unwavering. Elsa's were full of defiance; but finally they dropped in mute, though evidently unwilling acquiescence. She began thoughtfully sucking the outside of her persimmon, which she had kept in her hand all the while. She took it from her lips to speak.

"Dear little Pedro," she said, "I do wish you'd thought to bring him with you.'

"I did think to bring him," said Kent, pulling the toad from his pocket. "But if I were you, Miss, I wouldn't bite that persimmon"-she had put it to her mouth again,-"a month's keeping will improve the flavor, I assure you."

She was standing on the very edge of the rock; and she looked back at him shyly over her shoulder. She took Pedro and slipped him into the pocket of her kimono; and deliberately set her teeth in the puckering fruit. She turned her eyes upward, and pursed her lips, and dropped the persimmon on the ground. Then, without the slightest warning,

"What a dear you are!" she cried; and flinging her arms around Kent's

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neck, she kissed him on the lips, whirled like a flash, and he was half smothered by the heavy kimono which she had thrown off backward over his head.

He extricated himself in time to see two little white heels disappearing in the black water. Her laughing face reappeared at the lower end of the pool, and she threw him a kiss, and waved a white arm in farewell, as she floated out of sight around the Blue Rocks.

He turned to the lady with the whip she was gone, slipped silently away somewhere among the brush. The rock held only himself, a kimono, a pair of little pink slippers, and a half-ripe persimmon with the pulp oozing from its broken skin. A sudden anger flamed up in his breast; after what he had done for her, to leave him like that! In his heart he knew that she was right: it was better, after what had happened, perhaps better anyway, that they should part thus and forget each other quickly. Elsa would probably have made a fool of him, too. But he could not quite forgive the lady—then.

He called, but there was no answer. He ran down the trail to where he could see the stream below the Blue Rocks there was no sign of Elsa: she, too, had slipped away into the bush. Of course they had gone to their camp on the flat, he could find them there; but he knew that he would not: the meaning of their unceremonious leavetaking was unmistakable. He returned to their place of parting; the kimono and the slippers were gone. He felt very foolish. His mouth was puckered yet where Elsa's juicy lips had touched it. He brushed the persimmon from the rock with his foot; and as it splashed into the water he reflected that it would serve with its beautiful scarlet outside, and smooth sweet pulp, and puckering aftertaste as a very good epitome of the whole affair: the adventure had appeared at the outset attractive, later on rather interesting; but it left a bad flavor in the mouth.

U

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IN ATIVOS couldn't agree. The mother was determined that they should spend the winter in Honolulu, and Nell was equally determined that she would not forego a winter's gayety in San Francisco. Quite a stormy scene followed, which left them both in tears, but neither was willing to yield.

At its conclusion, Nell donned her prettiest hat and most becoming furs, and started for a walk, rightly judging that a brisk tramp in the crisp November air would do much toward settling her shattered nerves and restoring her to an amiable frame of mind.

She scurried along so rapidly that in a short time she was quite a distance from home. As she neared St. Mathews Church, she saw a crowd gathered in front of that stately edifice. Led by idle curiosity, she wandered up to the door to see what was the cause of the gathering. Just then a hearse came around the corner and stopped in front of the church, and she realized with a shock that a funeral was being held inside. She endeavored to depart, but the crowd behind her had grown quite dense, and before she could make her way down the center pavement, the church doors opened and the funeral party descended the steps. There was nothing for her to do but to stand back while they passed. She followed the mourners to the sidewalk, with the thought of escaping as soon as possible.

"Right in here, Miss, please," said the brisk voice of the undertaker, as

he grasped her by the arm and almost lifted her bodily into a carriage waiting at the curb. "I'm sorry to separate you from your party," he continued, as Nell shrank back and began to expostulate, "but I cannot delay the procession, and you can rejoin them at the cemetery."

He hustled her in, slammed the door and the carriage joined the slowlymoving procession down the street.

Following her instinct to jump from the carriage, she raised her hand to open the door, but there appeared to her a vision of that determined young undertaker lifting her in his strong arms and dumping her back, so with a laugh at her predicament, she sank back on the cushioned seat and decided to make the best of it.

Before her carriage had gone half a block, it was halted, the door opened and a young man entered.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but this is the only carriage that has a vacant seat, and I'm sure you won't mind sharing it with me. My name is Lawrence Graves."

He paused, evidently expecting the young lady to divulge her's in return, but Nell had no such intention.

"I'm very glad to share the carriage with you," she answered hurriedly.

Now here was a dilemma Nell did not know how to deal with. She was sure if they broached the subject of the deceased the young man would discover that she was an imposter, and didn't even know whose burial it was. So to ward off this catastrophe, she plunged into a discussion of the beauty of the floral offerings, the glorious weather, art, music, anything she

could think of, but she didn't dare let the conversation lag a minute for fear he would ask her relationship to the deceased.

The young man met her more than half way, and she was astonished to find that she was enjoying herself. Having never attended a burial before she didn't know whether or not it was customary for the relatives to so thoroughly enjoy the ride to the cemetery. In a marvelously short time they reached their destination. She deemed it advisable to hide herself in the crowd, thus evading the young man, and at the earliest possible moment escape to the nearest car line. It was

with a sigh of regret, however, that she relinquished such an agreeable and congenial acquaintance. She tarried on the outskirts of the crowd, not to see the mourners, but hoping to catch a last glimpse of her late companion. She failed to find him, however, so she left the cemetery and sought a nearby street car.

The next morning Nell was in the breakfast room before the other members of the family. She had come to a decision about two things. First, she positively would not go to Honolulu, and second, she would not tell any one of her adventure of the day before.

"Guess I'll see whose funeral it was I attended," she thought, as she picked up the morning paper. The glaring headlines on the front page attracted her attention, and she glanced at them, at first indifferently, then as she read, with intense interest. Her face grew

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pale and her knees trembled as her eyes took in the following:

"Daring escape of a Federal prisoner. $5,000 reward has been offered for the capture of Douglas Allen, the high finance promoter who escaped from Bellevue Hospital yesterday afternoon. While his case was pending trial, Allen had been permitted to enter Bellevue Hospital for treatment for an abcess in his ear. The escape was unique, not only for the ease with which Allen outwitted the two guards in the service of the government, who were responsible for him, but also for his method of getting away. He so timed his departure from the hospital that he reached the street just as the funeral procession of our highly honored citizen, Mr. George Gates, was leaving St. Mathews Church, which is in the same block. He entered a carriage in the procession and went to the cemetery, and thus made good his escape. Allen had an accomplice who made all the plans for him, and she was in the carriage which he entered. She was a beautiful young lady, stylishly dressed. The police have an excellent description of her and her clothes, and they have traced her to the Page street car line. They are confident of having her under arrest before night."

"Good morning, dear," said Nell's mother, sweetly, as she entered the breakfast room. "I hope you have decided to go with me to Honolulu."

"Yes, mother," replied Nell, emphatically, "and instead of waiting until next week, let's go on the 'Manchu,’ which sails at noon to-day."

I

T was summer in Japan and the atmosphere was golden. Down at the white sand dunes along the beach almond-eyed youngsters moulded fairy palaces of tiny grains of sand and ran away gleefully clapping their hands and shouting as the sea crept upon the beach and stole back again carrying the sand palaces with it. A half a mile out a transport lay with her smoke rising lazily upward through the still air. About her sides men, women and children passed baskets of coal from one to another into her bunkers as they stood in lines on the coal barges. Far over on the terraced hills one could descry the Japanese farmer as he worked in his truck garden.

I alone seemed to be the only idle person on that summer morn. I climbed the hills to the terraced spots. Once I stopped before a gate and looked in. Sloping lawns ran down to it, and over them the silk-cocks strutted. Trees of many kinds shaded the graveled walks. In the center of the garden a fountain played in the sunlight. Opposite the fountain was a tea-house. A girl sat on the porch singing to herself and arranging a set of tea cups. Presently she looked up, saw me and beckoned. I entered the garden where the geisha girls sing of the summer seas and

summer women.

"You look tired. The terraced hills of Nagasaki are too steep for you," laughed my geisha girl in broken English a few minutes later as we drank our tea.

I was tired.

"Will you stay with me and listen to a story; and—”

I interrupted: "No, I can not." Then I hesitated for the fraction of a minute and waited to see if my geisha girl would frown; but she did not. A soft, mysterious light burned in her almond eyes and it seemed to urge, "Stay." A sheet of paper driven by the wind rustled across the lawn, "You can." A silk-cock crowed, "You must." The wind playing in the camphoras begged, "Please do." My weakness mastered me and I answered, "Yes."

The tea pot was empty. A few cakes lay carelessly in a gilt edged saucer. I like cakes.

My geisha girl snuggled up to me and together we watched a lonely cloud as it sailed over the harbor and settled upon one of the hill tops and refused to move like a refractory child. Presently my geisha girl commenced her story sadly:

"Naro, the son of a silk merchant, and Koliah, his only companion, had always been together; had always talked of the trees and the flowers; had always wondered how many different kinds there were in the world; and if the butterflies, the bees and the birds would be sorry if the trees and flowers were to die.

"Yes, they would be sorry,' they affirmed once as they sat on the sand dunes at evening.

"Like the birds among the cherry blossoms they kissed and cooed. The world was still young and good to them, and they wanted nothing. But a day dawned, oh, too soon, a day when hearts were shut and no one seemed to care.

"You must prepare to leave im

mediately for the island of Formosa. You are now a young man and must be trained for the army of Japan,' was the message delivered to him.

"He feared to tell Koliah. The villagers heard of the contents of the message, and she heard it from them. Little mounds of earth covered with lilies, which were supposed to be the grave of an errant fighter of Japan who had perished while fighting a dragon to extricate an imprisoned maiden from a tall tower, decayed into a Past; for Naro was going away to Formosa and they must forget those childish fancies. There was an old, dead Pride of India at one of the terraced spots where they had played at post office with their books of tissue, brushes and cakes of ink. Naro had a sweetheart and Koliah named her Ogwain, for she thought it the sweetest of all girls' names. Naro used to write to Ogwain telling her of the trees and flowers. But she never answered them; for it was Koliah at all times who answered, 'I like you, my Naro.'

"But now it was all over. What were childish fancies to them in that cruel hour?

"Three days later Naro was gone. "Two years dragged by and then came a third and a fourth. At times Koliah wept, her tears flowing into little vials which she sealed and threw into the sea, for she knew that they would float to Naro.

"Finally there came. an evening when an old fisherman hurried from door to door and told that Naro had returned. Every one rejoiced; Koliah rejoiced; Naro rejoiced; and it seemed that the birds, the trees and the flowers rejoiced.

"Once Naro startled. The fingers that had moulded in the sand were thin; deep lines were on her face: she had suffered in her loneliness. But the heart was not changed, it was the same true heart.

"Naro had brought home a box of curios for her. Here were a few shells from the shell strewn beach of Formosa. Here were the plumes of

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a seven colored bird he had killed with a stone; and here was a bit of sea-weed he had gathered and pressed, and some little pink shells.

"Late that night as the villagers sat at the tea house of Koliah's father some one mentioned that Naro and his companion should be married immediately.

. "No! No!' said her father and mother together. 'She is the daughter of a tea merchant. He is the son of a silk merchant, and he is an officer in the army of Japan. She is not worthy of him.'

"At day-break Naro and Koliah were on the sand dunes as in other days. When evening came they still sat there oblivious of everything and with their minds out away in the plains of the past. Koliah sobbed that there was nothing for her to return home for; these were the thoughts which seemed festering around her heart, chilling and crushing it to nothing.

"We shall row out there,' Naro proposed as he pointed to the sun which was sinking into the white caps.

"We shall belong to each other then and they can not part us,' she answered.

"Late that evening the fishermen strolling along the beach saw a man and a woman go hurrying by. The man was Naro and the woman was his playmate.

"Darkness settled; a tiny skiff launched into the waves and took her own course; the wind died down to a low moan; and the woman in the seabeaten skiff asked, 'Why are the sea birds sobbing at this late hour, Naro?' ""They are crying for us, Koliah,' a belated fisherman homeward bound heard him reply.

"In the morning as the sea birds circled above the sand dunes and looked down they saw a curious sight. On the beach lay the bodies of a man and a woman lashed together with a thick cord. The weeping villagers were kneeling about Naro and Koliah and wringing their hands in their desolation. After a while they lifted the bodies and bore them to the homes