The foot-tub is brought, and the aunts proceed to undress his Highness, whereat he waxes wroth. They persist; there is a frightful howl, a struggle, and the tub of hot water is very vigorously overturned among the photographs, scissors, and eatables that strew the floor. The Professor, in alarm, comes tearing in, a book in each hand. At that moment a patter as of small feet is heard in the hall, and a little figure with flying golden locks darts into the room. Ralph rushes into her arms in a kind of ecstasy, crying, "Oh, daykumboa! daykumboa!" "What is it that Ralph is saying, Daisy?" eagerly asks Miss Helena, in the lull that follows. "He has been wanting daykumboa all the afternoon." "He says, 'Daisy come back,'" answers the little girl. "That's what you wanted--wasn't it, Ralphie?" "Es, me ont daykumboa," assents his Highness. The Professor regards his niece with humble admiration not unmixed with awe, and retires to his study to lay his dictionaries by. Victoria rolls her eyes ceilingward, and says, "Well, I declar'!" then falls to work picking up the ruins of their various offerings, and the two ladies turn to help her after a little silent astonishment. Ten minutes after, his Highness is seen in the garden pouring sand down his sister's neck, and sternly ordering her to "fit 'till," when she objects, in a tone that makes his aunts wonder if this _can_ be the same boy who spent the greater part of two hours in wailing, "Ont daykumboa." [Illustration: Music: Little Birdie.] A SCARECROW NO SCARECROW. An umbrella for a scarecrow Was in a corn field placed, And with loud caws the sly old crows Around it gravely paced; When suddenly a shower fell, And under it they went, And staid until the rain had ceased, As in a little tent. Then said they, as they all trooped out, "_That_ man's a jolly feller; Not only plants the corn for us, But lends us his umbreller!" * * * * * =The Paradise of Insects.=--None but those who have travelled on the Upper Amazons can have any idea of the number and voracity of the insect torments which work their wicked will on the bodies of the unfortunates exposed to their attacks. The "sancudos," or small sand-flies, form by far the most important section. In the villages, round which the forest is cleared away for some distance, the sancudos are generally pretty quiet during the day, except where darkness prevails: there they are ever busy, and are a perfect plague. The triumphant note of a sancudo which has made his way under your curtains is more annoying than even his bite; and should you have been careless in getting into bed, and been accompanied by two or three of these blood-suckers, we will defy you to sleep until you have exterminated them.