has tried both, the wail of genuine physical anguish is easy
distinguishable from the pumped-up ad misericordiam
blubber. Harold's could clearly be recognised as belonging to
the latter class. "Now, you young--" (whelp, _I_ think it was,
but Edward stoutly maintains it was devil), said the curate,
sternly; "tell us what you mean by it!"

"Well, leggo of my ear then!" shrilled Harold, "and I'll tell you
the solemn truth!"

"Very well," agreed the curate, releasing him; "now go ahead, and
don't lie more than you can help."

We abode the promised disclosure without the least misgiving; but
even we had hardly given Harold due credit for his fertility of
resource and powers of imagination.

"I had just finished saying my prayers," began that young
gentleman, slowly, "when I happened to look out of the window,
and on the lawn I saw a sight which froze the marrow in my veins!

A burglar was approaching the house with snake-like tread! He
had a scowl and a dark lantern, and he was armed to the teeth!"

We listened with interest. The style, though unlike Harold's
native notes, seemed strangely familiar.

"Go on," said the curate, grimly.

"Pausing in his stealthy career," continued Harold, "he gave a