defiance at him, and forgetting her admission of fear a moment before.
"My father was an Admiral. I am laughing at my mistake. It is salt."

"What is?" asked her astonished passenger.

"In your hair."

He ran his fingers through his hair, and the salt rattled down to the
bottom of the canoe. There was something of relief in _his_ laugh.

* * * * *

De Plonville always believes the officers on board the gunboats
recognized him. When it was known in Paris that he was to be married to
the daughter of an English Admiral, whom rumor said he had bravely
saved from imminent peril, the army lieutenant remarked that she could
never have heard him speak her language--which, as we know, is not
true.




A NEW EXPLOSIVE.


The French Minister of War sat in his very comfortable chair in his own
private yet official room, and pondered over a letter he had received.
Being Minister of War, he was naturally the most mild, the most humane,
and least quarrelsome man in the Cabinet. A Minister of War receives
many letters that, as a matter of course, he throws into his waste