_The Driver_ (_to the_ Surly Passenger, _with another outburst of communicativeness_). Yon stoan is called "SAWMSON'S Putting Stoan." He hurried it up to the tope of the hell, whaur it's bided ever sence. [_The_ Surly Passenger _receives this information with an incredulous grunt_. _The Lady P._ What a magnificent old ruin that is across the valley, some ancient castle, evidently; they can't build like that nowadays! _The Driver._ That's the Collander Hydropawthec, Mem; burrnt doon two or three years back. _The Lady P._ (_with a sense of the irony of events_). _Burnt_ down! A Hydropathic! Fancy! _Male P._ (_as they enter Callander and pass a trim villa_). There, _that's_ Mr. FIGGIS'S place. _His Comp._ What--_that?_ Why, it's quite a _bee-yutiful_ place, with green Venetians, and a conservatory, and a croaky lawn, and everything! Fancy all that belonging to _him!_ It's well to be a grocer--in _these_ parts, seemingly! _Male P._ Ah, _we_ ought to come up and start business here; it 'ud be better than being in the Caledonian Road! [_They meditate for the remainder of the journey upon the caprices of Fortune with regard to grocery profits in Caledonia and the Caledonian Road respectively._ * * * * * THE WHEEL OF FATE. (_A Fragment of an Old Romance, slightly Modernised._) CHAPTER XXI. "GRAMMERCY!" quoth the Baron D'AGINCOURT, as he rolled off his bicycle into a potato-bed; "'tis a full-mettled steed! Methinks those varlets have fed him with overmuch oil of late, so restive is he become. And, lack-a-day! My doublet is besmirched with mire! Thou smilest, I see, AGATHA. There is but scant reason for merriment, shameless girl!" "Nay," replied the beauteous Lady AGATHA, as with exquisite skill she rode her dainty steed (a thorough-bred Coventry) up and down the terrace, "'twas not at thy mishap, dear father! Of a truth thou must be sorely bruised. Was not that thy seventh fall this afternoon? If I smile, 'tis but that I am happy." "Humph!" said the Baron, as he hopped painfully behind his machine, vainly endeavouring to mount anew. "Happy, eh? And wherefore? Whom hast thou seen to change thy mood so greatly since this morning? 'Twas but a few hours ago that thou wast weeping over some trifle of a spilt oil-can. Ah, I am up at last!" "I have seen none," said the lovely maiden, with blushing cheeks; "at least, save only----" She hesitated, doubtfully. "Whom, girl?" insisted her father. "Sir ALGERNON FITZCLARENCE." With a desperate swerve, the Baron rode towards her, his face purple with passion. "What, thou hast chosen to disobey me again? Talking with him whom I had forbidden to come within twenty leagues of my castle! Now, by St. Humber, both thou and he shall rue this day! I say that----" The Baron's skill failed him once more, and he was shot off into the gooseberry-bushes. "Nay, hear me, dear father----"