wall; twice over he painted it, making it two bricks thick; brick by brick he
painted it, and mortared every brick to its place. And when he had quite
finished he laughed, and called "Good-night, Tiki-pu!" and went home to bed
quite happy.

The next day all the apprentices were wondering what had become of Tiki-pu;
but as the master himself said nothing, and as another boy came to act as
colour-grinder and brush-washer to the establishment, they very soon forgot
all about him.

In the studio the master used to sit at work with his students all about him,
and a mind full of ease and contentment. Now and then he would throw a glance
across to the bricked-up doorway of Wio-wani's palace, and laugh to himself,
thinking how well he had served out Tiki-pu for his treachery and presumption.

One day--it was five years after the disappearance of Tiki-pu--he was giving
his apprentices a lecture on the glories and the beauties and the wonders of
Wio-wani's painting--how nothing for colour could excel, or for mystery could
equal it. To add point to his eloquence, he stood waving his hallds before
Wio-wani's last masterpiece, and all his students and apprentices sat round
him and looked.

Suddenly he stopped at mid-word, and broke off in the full flight of his
eloquence, as he saw something like a hand come and take down the top brick
from the face of paint which he had laid over the little door in the palace-
wall which Wio-wani had so beautifully painted. In another moment there was no
doubt about it; brick by brick the wall was being pulled down, in spite of its
double thickness.

The lecturer was altogether too dumfounded and terrified to utter a word. He