Of course we told our own dear and respected Lymchurch coastguards, and I think they may be trusted not to let it down on the Longbeach coastguards for many a good day. If their memories get bad I think there will always be plenty of people along that coast to remind them! So _that's_ all right. * * * * * When we had told the girls all, and borne their reproaches for not telling them before, we decided to give the Viking five bob for the game way he had played up. So we did. He would not take it at first, but when we said, "Do--you might buy a pig with it, and call it Stokes after that coastguard," he could no longer resist, and accepted our friendly gift. We talked with him for a bit, and when we were going we thanked him for being so jolly, and helping us to plant out the repulsive coastguard so thoroughly. Then he said, "Don't mention it. Did you tell your little gells what you was up to?" "No," said Oswald, "not till afterwards." "Then you _can_ hold your tongues. Well, since you've acted so handsome about that there pig, what's to be named for Stokes, I don't mind if I tells you something. Only mum's the word." We said we were quite sure it was. "Well, then," said he, leaning over the pig-stye wall, and rubbing the spotted pig's back with his stick. "It's an ill wind that blows no good to nobody. You see, that night there was a little bird went an' whispered to 'em up at Longbeach about our little bit of a keg. So when we landed they was there." "Of course," said Oswald. "Well, if they was there they couldn't be somewheres else, could they?" We owned they could not. "I shouldn't wonder," he went on, "but what a bit of a cargo was run that night further up the beach: something as _wasn't_ sea-water. I don't say it was so, mind--and mind you don't go for to say it." Then we understood that there is a little smuggling done still, and that we had helped in it, though quite without knowing. We were jolly glad. Afterwards, when we had had that talk with Father, when he told us that the laws are made by the English people, and it is dishonourable for an Englishman not to stick to them, we saw that smuggling must be wrong. But we have never been able to feel really sorry. I do not know why this is. _ZAIDA, THE MYSTERIOUS PROPHETESS OF THE GOLDEN ORIENT_ THIS is the story of how we were gipsies and wandering minstrels. And, like everything else we did about that time, it was done to make money for Miss Sandal, whose poorness kept on, making our kind hearts ache. It is rather difficult to get up any good game in a house like Miss Sandal's, where there is nothing lying about, except your own things, and where everything is so neat and necessary. Your own clothes are seldom interesting, and even if you change hats with your sisters it is not a complete disguise.