Joyce--dear Joyce!--she loves you."

The beach birds played again along the strand; the boy ran into the
foam with his companions and felt the spray once more. The Mighty
Hunter shot his bird--a little cripple that twittered the sweetest of
them all. Nothing moved in the solemn chamber of the committee but the
voice of an old forsaken man, sobbing bitterly.

IV.--CAKE.

The funeral was over, and Mr. Reybold marvelled much that the Judge
had not put in an appearance. The whole committee had attended the
obsequies of Crutch and acted as pall-bearers. Reybold had escorted
the page's sister to the Congressional cemetery, and had observed even
Old Beau to come with a wreath of flowers and hobble to the grave and
deposit them there. But the Judge, remorseless in death as frivolous
in life, never came near his mourning wife and daughter in their
severest sorrow. Mrs. Tryphonia Basil, seeing that this singular want
of behavior on the Judge's part was making some ado, raised her voice
above the general din of meals.

"Jedge Basil," she exclaimed, "has been on his Tennessee purchase.
These Christmas times there's no getting through the snow in the
Cumberland Gap. He's stopped off thaw to shoot the--ahem!--the wild
torkey--a great passion with the Jedge. His half-uncle, Gineral
Johnson, of Awkinso, was a torkey-killer of high celebrity. He was a
Deshay on his Maw's side. I s'pose you haven't the torkey in the Dutch
country, Mr. Reybold?"

"Madame," said Reybold, in a quieter moment, "have you written to the