Only among the poor would he hobble about. He never ventured up the hill where the better people lived; and it is perhaps for this reason that he was seldom disturbed. * * * * * To himself Silly Peter was monarch of the air. In his own distorted mind he was master of all creatures that flew. Worldly cares he left to those who had inherited worldly material; as for himself, he was concerned only with the aerial strata and with the feathery creatures thereof. Nobody wanted it; so he acquired it as he acquired the cast-off hat that he wore. He fathomed it, tasted it, drank it, navigated his creatures through it, and even fanned life into it by flapping his bony arms. He understood the air and the sky, and it all belonged to him. Every atom of sky that poured itself over the village of M---- belonged to Silly Peter. It seemed as though he purposely limped lightly over the ground that was foreign to his nature; for he was captain and master of the sky. II "We must first loosen the ground," said a petty officer. "If the soil is too hard, then the action will drag. And quick action and a brisk finish always make for a better picture." "Hey, you!" commanded the Captain. "Go get another shovel and help dig." While two soldiers stood digging in a rectangular plot in the market-place, the camera-men had set up and were adjusting a motion picture apparatus. Twenty-five feet away stood six soldiers leaning on their rifles talking and laughing. "Enough digging!" shouted the Captain. "Turn the loose earth back into the pit." The soldiers obeyed. "Are you ready?" he said as he turned to the camera-men. "All ready," came the reply. "Now," said the Captain winking maliciously to two of his men. "You run around and pick me up a beggar." The soldiers started off, pushing their way through the sheepish crowd and into a side street. After walking a few hundred paces one remarked to the other: "When you don't need them, a hundred are upon you. When you want them--the devil take it." At last they came upon Silly Peter and decided that he would answer. "Come along, boy; the Captain wants you," they said, taking hold of his arms. "Let me go!" The boy struggled. "I did nothing." "Come along, you fool!" They brought Silly Peter to the square, placed him on the spot that smelled fresh with upturned earth, placed a shovel in his hands and told him to dig his grave. When they stepped aside, the terrified boy could see the camera before him and the six soldiers standing at attention a few paces away. Already the clicking handles started turning. "Dig!" shouted the Captain. "I don't want a grave," whimpered the frightened creature as several pigeons approached. "I don't want a grave," as he turned up the loose earth with trembling shovel-strokes. "I don't want a grave," and tears ran in trickling rivulets down his silly face.