in regard to them was that they had come upon some of the most highly concentrated beef they had ever had in their hands. When they laid the tins among the hot ashes of their fires and began to break them open with their stone hatchets, my engineer thought with me that all the interest there would be in the subsequent proceedings could not possibly compensate us for the waste of precious time which would be entailed by our remaining. We bolted in spite of our fettered hands, but before we had got more than a couple of hundred yards from the camp, there took place the severest earthquake, coincidental with a thunderstorm and the salute of a battery of a thousand heavy guns. We were whirled into the air like feathers in a breeze, but managed to cling--our bonds being broken--to some of the boughs among which we found ourselves. Shortly afterward, a quarter of an hour or so, there came on the heaviest shower I had ever experienced. Such a downpour of branches of trees, gnarled roots, broken fruits, birds’ feathers, mutilated apes of many species, and--well, anatomical specimens! It went on and on until the boughs around us were made into splinters and we were beaten to the ground with the force of those missiles, all the dense forest around us echoing to the shrieks of the lories and parrots, the monkeys and the wildcats.” “And now the missionaries,” said Ella, after a pause. “And what happened after that?” whispered Phyllis. He shook his head. “After that we came away,” he said. “We couldn’t see that there was any need for us to stay loafing about the forest when we had our business to mind in another direction. It took us two days, however, finding our launch.” “And that is what the missionaries call your dynamite outrage against the natives?” said Ella. “So it would seem,” said he. “I suppose they managed to get some account of the business; one can’t hush up a dynamite outrage even in the interior of New Guinea.” “But what a gross misrepresentation of facts it was to say that you had massacred the natives,” cried Phyllis indignantly. He laughed with a shrug. “Oh, we must all live,” he said. “Unless those who treat tins of dynamite as though they were tins of brawn,” said Ella. Then turning to Phyllis she smiled. Phyllis had no difficulty interpreting the smile. “Yes,” she said, “your opinion was quite correct: Mr. Courtland doesn’t care what people say, and it doesn’t matter in the least what they do say, or what falsehoods are spread abroad.” “Not in the smallest degree,” said Ella. “Herbert Courtland is still Herbert Courtland.” “But so far as I can gather,” said Mr. Courtland, “all that the missionaries said of me was substantially correct.” “Read the paper and you will see how detestably false all the charges are,” cried Phyllis, rising,--the servants had now left the room,--and picking up the _Spiritual Aneroid_ from where Ella had laid it on a chair. Herbert Courtland had not yet opened it. He took it from her, saying: