“_Jim!_” said Sophronia, sternly, “open your mouth an’ say ‘I do’ out loud, or I come down there immejit!” “I do!” came from the floor below. “‘Ere’s the ring,” said Sophronia, promptly; “‘I, M., take thee, N.’—if you’ll ’ave the kindness to go on, sir, we won’t detain you any longer than we can ’elp. I’m give away, I believe; an’ I’ll take ’im, M.” “Forasmuch as,” began the Reverend Mr. Chizzy, a few minutes later, addressing the chore–girls, “Samuel and Sophronia have consented together in holy wedlock—“ He stopped suddenly. Up through the opening in the floor arose the head of a youthful negro, perhaps fourteen years of age. Mr. Chizzy recognized him as the stable–boy, a jockey of some local fame. “What you want me to say I done do?” he inquired. “Mrs.—Mrs.—Bilson!” said Mr. Chizzy, with a tremulous indignation in his voice; “did this negro infant act as your parent or friend, just now?” “‘E give me away,” replied the unabashed bride. Mr. Chizzy looked at her, at Bilson, at Jim, and at the chore–girls. Then he opened his book again and finished the ceremony. * * * * * The Tullingworth–Gordons were angry when they heard of the marriage. They missed the two mainstays of their domestic system. But—well, Bilson was growing old, and Sophronia was growing tyrannical. Perhaps it was better as it was. And, after all, they had always wanted a Lodge, and a Lodge–keeper, and the old ice–house stood near the gate—a good two hundred feet from the house. It was nearly a year before Bilson could walk around with comfort. Indeed, eighteen months later, he did not care to do more than sit in the sun and question Fate, while Mrs. Bilson tried to quiet a noisy baby within the Lodge. “‘Ere I am laid up, as I should be,” said Bilson; “an there’s an active woman a–goin’ around with a baby, and a–nussin’ of him. If things was as they should be, in the course of nachur, we’d ’ave exchanged jobs, we would.” [Illustration] “THE RUNAWAY BROWNS,” by H. C. Bunner, illustrations by C. J. Taylor; publishers, Keppler & Schwarzmann. The experiences of Paul Brown and his wife, who escape a tame, adventureless life, with a view of having “things happen to them,” and to this end leave a pleasant home to be gone a year and a day, are just the reading for a Summer’s afternoon, and there is still enough of Summer in the air to make it enjoyable to its fullest. How the Browns fell in with a band of barn–storming professionals; how they became tin peddlers; how they took charge of a lone hotel, and how they finally and gladly reached their trim cottage, is told in these clever and amusing pages, and will bring more than one hearty laugh even from those unused to smile. —_N., P. & S. Bulletin._ _In Boards, $1.00._ _In Paper, 50 Cents._ _All Booksellers._ _By Mail, from the Publishers, on Receipt of Price._ “MADE IN FRANCE.”