His eyes were

Huff rushed into the room. wild, his tongue hanging out. He was covered with mud and dripping from every pore. "The company is ruined!" he yelled. "The Wesley Oak is blown down!"

Then of a truth panic swept the market! Frantic orders to sell, sell, sell, at any price, were rushed to the floor; the bulls saw ruin staring them in the face; the price collapsed, crumbled to nothingness. When it was down to two mills, the inside broker began to buy.

The exultant bears, fat with wealth, drunk with victory, divining that he had received orders from headquarters to support the market at all hazards and not believing that he could possibly do it, pounced upon him and literally carried him off his feet. The price broke another point. But although swamped for a moment, he clung desperately to the floor, yelling: "One mill for all or any part of five thousand shares!"

The orgy was frightful; yet pale but calm, the inside broker regained his feet and faced the storm. With set teeth, he repeated his bid: "One mill for all or any part of five thousand shares!" and he got it.

As the price hung steady, and still he bought every share of stock offered, the professional bears here and there began to cover, and the price rose to two mills. At this point the bears became uneasy. How could the tide be held against them thus with the chief asset of the corporation annihilated? Could there be any mistake about it? An indefinable fear seized them and they began to buy. But, horrors! There was no more stock for sale! The inside broker was still buying! The price went up like a balloon. Eight mills. A cent. Cent and a half! There was no stock for sale!

As the price reached two cents the frenzied shorts realized that the stock was cornered. Just then Bill Jenkins, First Vice President, sauntered in with his hands in his pockets.

"Tell us about the catastrophe," cried twenty voices. "Just when and how was the Wesley Oak blown down?"

"Wesley Oak? Blown down?" he repeated, calmly. "That was all a mistake. That was the oak t'other side the creek. The Wesley Oak's all right."

The Wesley Oak all right! From the floor of the exchange rose a roar like that of a hurricane. And then ensued carnage, the like of which made all that had gone before seem child's play.

At eight cents, the inside broker, calm, defiant, seeing the millions within his grasp, began to sell. The shorts ravenously gobbled up his offerings. The price held, and as he marketed the last of his purchases, the gong sounded and the stock closed steady as a rock.

That afternoon, while the Major and the boys were holding their daily directors' meeting, increasing salaries of all the officers, McGuire was handed another telegram:

"Tolbotton says come at any cost six thousand if you catch night train. McAllister." The Major smiled.

"I thought that was about the way it would work out," he said to himself; then to the boys: "Fellows, I hate to do it, but I've got to jump the game. You chaps have good clothes, enough to eat, and about twenty dollars apiece in real money. I hope you've learned your lesson. Coöperation is the law of life; individual competition is the law of death. Let the market alone. All the stock has been unloaded on the suckers-let them run it now to suit themselves. If you'll form a union and attend to your business, you'll have no more trouble. Now, half a dozen of you get busy and help me pack my trunk."

Most of the boys were inclined to tears at the thought of his departure, but they braced up and helped him pack.

As train time approached, the Major took a cab for the depot. No boys were in sight.

"It's only human nature," he thought, though he could not help a pang of regret.

At the station, as he turned from the ticket window, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the entire swarm. At their head was Johnny Huff. In his hand was a package. He mounted a seat, unwrapped the bundle, and, behold, a loving-cup! Twelve inches high, of solid aluminum!

"It is me pleasure ter present this," said Johnny, "and which it cost six dollars, ter the swellest gent what ever broke into Silverdale." The Major could not reply. He could only wring their hands.

The train rushed up and stopped. McGuire climbed aboard the rear platform and waved his hand to them until he was pulled out of sight.

And ever since then that aluminum loving cup, as one of the Major's most prized treasures, has reposed gracefully upon his great flat-top desk; and it is one of Bob's daily duties to keep it always filled with roses.

I

SEEK to tell of a Danish hostage, called Valgard the Fair, that in his youth was ceded to our great Alfred by the Danish king Guthrum when they two made peace together in the year of grace eight hundred and seventy-eight. From Denmark young Valgard came to England in the following of Ogmund Monksbane, who was his elder brother and Guthrum's first war chief; and though no warrior of more accursed memory than this same Ogmund ever fed the ravens, it was known that toward his young brother alone of all living things he showed a human heart. Wherefore those on whom it lay to choose the hostages were swift to name the comely boy as the one pledge that might clinch the Monkbane's shifty faith. And that nothing might be lacking, they further fixed it in the bond what would be the fate of Valgard and the eleven other hostages if they that gave them should break any part of their oath; and it was this that the discipline of the Holy Church. should take hold of them, and after that they should die a shameful death.

A snared and a savage man was Ogmund Monks-bane when they brought this word to the tent of skins in which he laired; and it saddened him besides that the boy Valgard strove to contend him, saying:

"It will be no hindrance to you, kinsman. Never will you so much as think of me when the battle-lust comes on you. And I shall bear it well."

In our king's will at London, therefore, young Valgard grew into man's estate and, contrary to his expectations, throve mightily, discovering a rare aptitude for gentle accomplishments. And for that his heart was noble

as well as brave and he was as debonaire as he was comely, the king and the royal household came to love him exceeding well until-as the years went by and the peace held-they scarcely remembered that he might one day stand as a scapegoat for loathsomest crimes against them.

Only Valgard himself never for the span of one candle's burning forgot it. Like poison at the bottom of a honeyed cup it lay behind every honor he achieved. Yet even as he had promised his brother, he bore it well and gallantly enough-until, in the sixth year of his captivity, it fortuned to him to fall in love.

She of whom he became enamored was a young maid in the queen's service, whose rightful name was Adeleve but whom men called Little Nun both by virtue of the celestial sweetness of her face and because of her being but newly come from a cloister school. And in this cloister they had taught her so much of heaven and so little of earth that whenso her heart was taken by Valgard's brave and debonaire ways she knew neither fear nor shame therein, but continued to demean herself with the lovely straightforwardness of an angel or a child. Wherefore Valgard who was used to women that smiled at him from under heavy lids or drew full red lips into rosebuds of enticement might not dream. that she felt more than friendship. And since in her presence he was always silent and humble as he had been before Our Blessed Lady herself, though elsewhere light speeches sparkled on his lips as bubbles on the clear wine, he wist not for a long time the true name of what he felt.

But one day at that season of the year when the king's household rode often to hunt the wild boar in the woody groves that compassed

London round, it happened to Valgard to become separated from the rest and stray alone through still and shadowy glades. There in the solitude, as was ever his unhappy case, his gayety fell away and his forebodings climbed up behind and went with him heavily. Riding thus, it chanced to him to approach the spot where the queen and her maidens tarried and so to come upon the Little Nun herself, that also rode apart, following a brook which sang as it went. Then at last was he

made aware of his love, for suddenly it was neither a dislike of death nor any rebellious wish to flee therefrom that possessed him, but solely the dread of being parted from her, which so racked him that he was in very agony.

Now as soon as ever the Little Nun perceived that a great trouble was upon him she spoke straight from her heart, though timidly as a child knowing the narrowness of its power, and prayed him to say whether his distress were aught which her love might assuage. When he heard her speak thus sweetly and marked the angelic tenderness of her eyes under her little dove-colored hood, lo, everything fell clean out of his mind before one almighty longing. Descending from his horse, he took her hands and spoke to her passionately, so:

"Tell me whether you love me. My heart cries out for you with every beat. Must it be as the voice of one calling into emptiness? Tell me that you return my love and my life will be whole though it end to-night."

The Little Nun's face of cloistral paleness flushed deeply like an alabaster vase into which is being poured the red wine of the sacrament, but her crystalline eyes neither fell nor turned aside.

"I love you as much as you love me—and more," she answered softly.

Whereupon he would have caught her in passionate arms, but that even as he reached this pinnacle of bliss it came back to him how he was a doomed man; and he was as one that is cast down from a height and stunned by the fall.

Anon his voice returned, and sinking to his knee he begged her in broken words to forgive the wrong he had done her in gaining her love, that well knew himself to be set aside for shame and dole and apart from the favor of

woman.

To which the Little Nun listened as it might be one of God's angels, bending over

the golden bar of Heaven, would listen to the wailing in the Pit. And so soon as he paused she spoke with halting breath.

"Alas, could anything so cruel happen? Ah, no! The peace has held six years-the king believes it firm-and every night and morning I will pray to Our Lady to change your brother's heart."

As she said this, her face bloomed again with her hope. But Valgard only bowed his head upon his hands and groaned; for that albeit he had faith in the Virgin, he knew the nature of Ogmund Monks-bane.

Soon after, constraining himself to hardness for her sake, he rose and drew from her away and continued to speak with the dullness of one in great pain, schooling her how she must put him from her heart and forget him.

But to that, when she had listened a while with widening eyes, the Little Nun cried out piteously:

"Alas! what then shall I do with my love? It came into being before you called it—it cannot cease at your bidding. Oh, if it be God's will that we shall not have a long life together, then God's will be done, but make not a thwarted useless thing out of the love which He has permitted me! Let me give it to you. Even though it be too poor to ease you much, yet let me give it! How else shall I find comfort?"

Suddenly, as their eyes met, she stretched out her hands to him with a little sobbing cry that was half piteous and half pitying. And so drew him back, malgre his will, until he had put his arms about her where she sat in the saddle above him. When she gathered his head to her breast and cherished it there, with little soft wordless sounds of comforting.

Thus, for that he was so well-nigh spent with struggling, he leaned a while upon her love. And it heartened him. And he lifted his head, thinking to set burning lips to her sweet mouth.

But even as he thought to do this, something in himself or her checked him, so that he kissed instead her small ministering hands. Wherefore the Little Nun remained unstartled and blessedly trustful, and raising her eyes to the blue heavens of which they seemed so much a part prayed softly to Our Dear Lady to keep true the heart of Ogmund Monksbane.

The fourth morning after this, the queen's maiden Adeleve was wedded to Valgard the Hostage. And that day at noon did our be.

nignant king and his housewifely queen make a marriage feast for the young pair that both of them held dear. A marriage feast, wella-way!

It happened to the sweet bride to come to it last and alone, for that she had lingered above to pray once more to her on whom she fixed her faith. Blissfully enough she began the descent of the stairs that cored the massive wall; but ere she reached the foot, where a door gave upon the king's hall, dead was her joy. For this is what befell.

First, a quavering shriek as of an aged woman stabbed by evil tidings; and after that a deathlike stillness. Then the door opened and a girl staggered forth and up the stairs, her hands groping before her as her staring eyes had been sightless, the while she moaned over and over the name of her soldier lover.

Though she knew not why, little Adeleve shrank from the groping hands and crept by them down the stairs. Whither rose these words in a man's loud voice:

"--but last week came a load of Danish pirates to the shore, reeking of slaughter and gorged with Irish spoil. And every night thereafter a band of them sat at drink with the Monks-bane, stirring his fighting lust, until

Here the voice was lost in an outburst of many voices, till it overleapt them hoarsely to answer a question from the king.

"The twoscore English soldiers I named to your grace; besides all the nuns of Saint Helena's that lie stark in their blood

Then once again the tumult rose, which now there was no overleaping, and the bride cowering against the wall saw how all heads turned toward him who stood opposite the king in the mockery of gay feasting clothes. And suddenly one called down Christ's curse on the race of Ogmund Monks-bane, and a second echoed the cry. Whereat the other Danish hostages-to show that their hands were clean-took up the shout more fierce than any, and smote Valgard that he reeled under their fists. And the aged woman whose son had been slain flung her cup of wine in his face.

Thereafter the young wife saw only the figure of her doomed lord upon whom it seemed that the curses descended as a visible blight, withering to ghastliness his fresh beauty and blasting his spirit that he shrank further and further from the damning looks and tongues till he might no longer in any wise

endure them, but calling in agony upon his God strove with his hands to stop his sight and his hearing. And when so presently he became aware of the Little Nun approaching, he cried out to know whether she also was come to curse him, and bent his arms around his head as against a blow.

But even as he did this, he met the anguished love in her eyes and saw how she was laboring to make of her fragile self a buckler for him against the press of crowding bodies; whereupon he caught hold of her shoulder and held to her as a man sinking into Hell might hold to the robe of an angel. Until brutal hands thrust her one way and dragged him the other.

Now the sentence was that he should die at sunrise, unto which time the Church should have him to chasten. And this sentence our king might not alter, for that he was called the Truth-teller and had sworn to take the atonement of life for any breach of the faith. But this much he granted, out of the pity and love he had toward the young pair, that they might be together when the end drew near. And stranger than betrothal or marriage feast was this vigil of their wedding night!

Strange was all the world now to the Little Nun, since the arch of her Heaven had fallen about her with the destruction of its keystone, which was her faith in the Virgin. As the white dove of the Ark hovering over a changed earth whereon it might see no familiar foothold, she hung faltering on the threshold of the king's chapel, while the bells tolled the midnight hour, gazing at the group of deathful men looming amid blended smoke and starlight and torch-glare, at the pitiless shining figure of Our Lady above the altar, at him who stood in grim endurance before it, stripped to naked feet and a single garment of horsehair.

When Valgard felt her eyes and turned his set face toward her, she fluttered to him as the dove to the Ark. But no longer to brood or minister; only to cling to him in utter helpless woe of her helpless love. And when it happened to her hand to touch his horsehair shirt where it was wet with the blood of his atonement, she screamed sharply and was like to go wild with weeping over him and lamenting that she might not bear any of his punishment on her own soft flesh. It was he that kneeling on the stones gathered her to his breast and cherished her, speaking to comfort her such words of resignation as no priest's