Cobwebs from an Empty Skull

knocking.

The playful girl had left that room a moment before, with every appearance of being frightened. She had told the old one there was a robber in the house, and the venerable invalid was a howling coward-I tell you this because I scorn to deceive you.

I found the old gentleman with his head under the blankets, very quiet and speaceful: but the moment he heard me he got up, and yelled like a heliotrope. Then he fixed on me a wild spiercing look from his bloodshot eyes, and for the first time in my life I believed Maud had told me the truth for the first time in hers. Then he reached out for a heavy cane. But I was too punctual for him, and, clapping my hand on his breast, I crowded him down, holding him tight. He curvetted some; then lay still, and swore weak oaths that wouldn't have hurt a sick chicken! All this time I was firm as a rock of amaranth. Presently, moreover, he spoke very low and resigned like-except his teeth chattered:

'Desperate man, there is no need; you will find it to the north-west corner of my upper secretary drawer. I spromise not to appear.'

'All right, my lobster-snouted bulbul,' said I, delighted with the importunity of abusing him; 'that is the dryest place you could keep it in, old spoolcotton! Be sure you don't let the light get to it, angleworm! Meantime, therefore, you must take this draught.'

'Draught!' he shrieked, meandering from the subject. 'O my poor child!'-and he sprang up again, screaming a multiple of things.

I had him by the shoulders in a minute, and crushed him back-except his legs kept agitating.

'Keep still, will you?' said I, 'you sugarcoated old mandible, or I'll conciliate your exegesis with a proletarian!'

I never had such a flow of language in my life; I could say anything I wanted to.

He quailed at that threat, for, deleterious as I thought him, he saw I meant it; but he affected to prefer it that way to taking it out of the bottle.

'Better,' he moaned, 'better even that than the poison. Spare me the poisoned chalice, and you may do it in the way you mention.'

The 'draught,' it may be sproper to explain, was comprised in a large bottle sitting on the table. I thought it was medicine-except it was black-and although Maud (sweet screature!) had not told me to give him anything, I felt sure this was nasty enough for him, or anybody. And it was; it was ink. So I treated his proposed compromise with silent contempt, merely remarking, as I uncorked the bottle: 'Medicine's medicine, my fine friend; and it is for the sick.' Then, spinioning his arms with one of mine, I concerted the neck of the bottle between his teeth.

'Now, you lacustrine old cylinder-escapement,' I exclaimed, with some warmth, 'hand up your stomach for this healing precoction, or I'm blest if I won't controvert your raison d'être!'

He struggled hard, but, owing to my habit of finishing what I undertake, without any success. In ten minutes it was all down-except that some of it was spouted about rather circumstantially over the bedding, and walls, and me. There was more of the draught than I had thought. As he had been two days ill, I had supposed the bottle must be nearly empty; but, of course, when you think of it, a man doesn't abrogate much ink in an ordinary attack- except editors.

Just as I got my knees off the spatient's breast, Maud peeped in at the door. She had remained in the lane till she thought the charm had had time to hibernate, then came in to have her laugh. She began having it, gently; but seeing me with the empty bottle in my sable hand, and the murky inspiration rolling off my face in gasconades, she got graver, and came in very soberly.

Wherewith, the draught had done its duty, and the old gentleman was enjoying the first rest he had known since I came to heal him. He is enjoying it yet, for he was as dead as a monogram.

As there was a good deal of scandal about my killing a sprospective father-in-law, I had to live it down by not marrying Maud-who has lived single, as a rule, ever since. All this epigastric tercentenary might have been avoided if she had only allowed a good deal of margin for my probable condition when she splanned her little practicable joke.

'Why didn't they hang me?'-Waiter, bring me a brandy spunch.-Well, that is the most didactic question! But if you must know-they did.

JIM BECKWOURTH'S POND.

Not long after that (said old Jim Beckwourth, beginning a new story) there was a party of about a dozen of us down in the Powder River country, after buffalo. It was the worst place! Just think of the most barren and sterile spot you ever saw, or ever will see. Now take that spot and double it: that is where we were. One day, about noon, we halted near a sickly little arroyo, that was just damp enough to have deluded some feeble bunches of bonnet-wire into setting up as grass along its banks. After picketing the horses and pack-mules we took luncheon, and then, while the others smoked and played cards for half-dollars, I took my rifle and strolled off into the hills to see if I could find a blind rabbit, or a lame antelope, that had been unable to leave the country. As I went on I heard, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour, a strange throbbing sound, as of smothered thunder, which grew more distinct as I advanced. Presently I came upon a lake of near a mile in diameter, and almost circular. It was as calm and even as a mirror, but I could see by a light steamy haze above it that the water was nearly at boiling heat-a not very uncommon circumstance in that region. While I looked, big bubbles began to rise to the surface, chase one another about, and burst; and suddenly, without any other preliminary movement, there occurred the most awful and astounding event that (with a single exception) it has ever been my lot to witness! I stood rooted to the spot with horror, and when it was all over, and again the lake lay smiling placidly before me, I silently thanked Heaven I had been standing at some distance from the deceitful pool. In a quarter of an hour the frightful scene was repeated, preceded as before by the rising and bursting of bubbles, and producing in me the utmost terror; but after seeing it three or four times I became calm. Then I went back to camp, and told the boys there was a tolerably interesting pond near by, if they cared for such things.

At first they did not, but when I had thrown in a few lies about the brilliant hues of the water, and the great number of swans, they laid down their cards, left Lame Dave to look after the horses, and followed me back to see. Just before we crossed the last range of hills we heard a thundering sound ahead, which somewhat astonished the boys, but I said nothing till we stood on a low knoll overlooking the lake. There it lay, as peaceful as a dead Indian, of a dull grey colour, and as innocent of water-fowl as a new-born babe.

'There!' said I, triumphantly, pointing to it.

'Well,' said Bill Buckster, leaning on his rifle and surveying it critically, 'what's the matter with the pond? I don't see nothin' in that puddle.'

'Whar's yer swans?' asked Gus Jamison.

'And yer prismatic warter?' added Stumpy Jack.

'Well, I like this!' drawled Frenchwoman Pete. 'What 'n thunder d' ye mean, you derned saddle-coloured fraud?'

I was a little nettled at all this, particularly as the lake seemed to have buried the hatchet for that day; but I thought I would 'cheek it through.'

'Just you wait!' I replied, significantly.

'O yes!' exclaimed Stumpy, derisively; ''course, boys, you mus' wait. 'Tain't no use a-hurryin' up the cattle; yer mustn't rush the buck. Jest wait till some feller comes along with a melted rainbow, and lays on the war-paint! and another feller fetches the swans' eggs, and sets on 'em, and hatches 'em out!-and me a-holding both bowers an' the ace!' he added, regretfully, thinking of the certainty he had left, to follow a delusive hope.

Then I pointed out to them a wide margin of wet and steaming clay surrounding the water on all sides, asking them if that wasn't worth coming to see.

'That!' exclaimed Gus. 'I've seen the same thing a thousand million times! It's the reg'lar thing in Idaho. Clay soaks up the water and sweats it out.'

To verify his theory he started away, down to the shore. I was concerned for Gus, but I did not dare call him