"No matter about reasons," said Bullion, with a quiet air. "I never tread on people's corns. Only when it's wanted let me know. You see he went by the board. He begged me to save him. How could I? I've done enough for other people. Must take care of number one, now. Kerbstone, he begs, too. I shan't help him." Fletcher felt relieved; at the same time he determined without delay to make a new effort to get the fatal evidence of his former crime into his own possession. "Oh," said Bullion, as if he had forgotten something, "the wife and baby, let's see 'em." Fletcher called his wife, who came in timidly, and shrank from the fierce look of the man of money. "How d'e do, Ma'am? Your servant, Ma'am. Glad to see you. But the baby?" "Fetch the baby, lovey," said Fletcher. Baby was brought, smiling with as little reason as possible, and winking very hard in the light. "Pretty dear!" said Bullion, chucking her under the chin. "I wonder what the devil this means," thought Fletcher. How was his surprise increased when, after a moment, Bullion inquired,-- "Teeth cut yet? Some of 'em, I see. More to come. Want something to bite, little one?" He pulled out his purse and gave the child three or four large gold pieces. The little hands could not hold them, and they fell on the carpet, rolling in different directions. Bullion left hastily, with a quick nod and a clipped "Good-bye." "Well, I vow!" said Fletcher, with a long breath. "It's well he didn't stay to pick 'em up; they'd 'ave stuck to his fingers like wax. He couldn't have let 'em alone." "What a good man he is!" said the overjoyed little woman. "_Good_ man! He's crazy. Old Bullion giving away gold pieces to a baby! He's lost his wits, sure. He never gave away a sixpence before in his life. Oh, he's cracked, without a doubt. I must keep watch of him. When _he_ grows generous, there's something wrong." [To be continued.] THE WATERFALL. Down across the green and sunny meadow, Where the grass hangs thick with glistening dew,-- In the birch-wood's flickering light and shadow, Where, between green leaves, the sun shines through,-- Plunging deeper in the wood's dark coolness, Where the path grows rougher and more steep, Where the trees stand thick in leafy fulness, And the moss lies green in shadows deep:-- Hark! the wind amid the tree-tops rushing In a sudden gust along the hills!-- No,--the leaves are still,--'tis water gushing From some hidden haunt of mountain-rills. Upward through the rugged pathway struggling, Loud and louder yet the music grows; Near and nearer still, the water's gurgling Guides me where o'er moss-grown rocks it flows. Breathless, for its welcome coolness thirsting, On I haste, led by the rushing sound, Till upon my full sight sudden bursting, Lo, the forest's hidden treasure found!