stalwart postmen leaped from their meals to rush at the intruder. In the midst of the confusion the policeman's truncheon was seen to sway aloft. Next instant the vaulted roof rang with a terrible cry, which truth compels us to state was Floppart's dying yell. None of those who had begun the chase were in at the death--save the policeman,--not even Abel Bones, for that worthy did not by any means court publicity. Besides, he felt pretty sure that his end was gained. He remembered, no doubt, the rule of the Office, that no letters or other things that have been posted can be returned to the sender, and, having seen the dog safely posted, he went home with a relieved mind. Meanwhile the policeman took the remains of poor Floppart by the tail, holding it at arm's-length for fear of the deadly poison supposed to be on its lips; and left the kitchen by a long passage. The men of the Post-Office returned to their food and their duties. Those who manage the details of her Majesty's mails cannot afford to waste time when on duty. The policeman, left to himself, lost himself in the labyrinth of the basement. He made his way at last into the warm and agreeable room in which are kept the boilers that drive the engine that works the lifts. He was accosted by a stalwart stoker, whose appearance and air were as genial as the atmosphere of his apartment. "Hallo!" said he, "what 'ave you got there?" "A mad dog," answered the policeman.--"I say, stoker, have you any ashpit where I could bury him?" "Couldn't allow 'im burial in our ashpit," replied the stoker, with a decided shake of the head; "altogether out of the question." The policeman looked at the dead dog and at the stoker with a perplexed air. "I say, look here," he said, "couldn't we--ah--don't you think that we might--" He paused, and cast a furtive glance at the furnaces. "What! you don't mean--cremate 'im?" The policeman nodded. "Well, now, I don't know that it's actooally against the rules of the GPO," replied the stoker, with a meditative frown, "but it seems to me a raither unconstitootional proceedin'. It's out o' the way of our usual line of business, but--" "That's right," said the policeman, as the stoker, who was an obliging man, took up a great shovel and flung open the furnace-door. A terrific glare of intense heat and light shot out, appearing as if desirous of licking the stoker and policeman into its dreadful embrace. "I don't half like it," said the stoker, glancing in; "the Postmaster-General might object, you know." "Not a bit of it, he's too much of a gentleman to object--come," said the policeman encouragingly.