to those who look with careful eyes, at least, though the casual observer may see nothing in them but multitudes of sheep. Unique they may be, unlike the rest of England they certainly are, but not monotonous. And then the dales, with the villages nestling in the bottom, are so picturesque, and the green pastures, separated by dykes, have a homelike appearance, with the small black Sussex cattle with their long white horns, at least to a Sussex eye. Over some of these meadows the carpenter, with the little French baby in his arms, now made his way. Hitherto he had been lucky and had met no one, but now he was approaching a village a few miles from Lewes, which, for the purposes of this story, we will call Bournemer, and though the sun had set, it was still too light for him to risk being recognised, so he still kept to the fields, which he could the more easily do, as the house he sought was nearly a mile from the village. At last he saw it standing in the next field with a clump of trees on one side of it; it was little more than a cottage, though from the sheds adjoining it might have been taken for a small farmhouse; it was sheltered from the north by the down at the foot of which it lay, its red roof telling well against the soft grey background in the evening light. It faced the field, the road at the foot of the down running at the back of it, and already there was a light in one of the lower rooms; the front door was closed, but the gate of the field was open, details which the carpenter took in at a glance, and interpreted to mean that the shepherd was gone to fold his sheep for the night, and his wife was at home awaiting his return to supper. "He will be back soon. I must be quick; now is my time," said the carpenter to himself, making his way towards the house by the clump of trees, which afforded him a little shelter. Here he paused for a few minutes, and, after listening intently, put the baby on the ground while he took off his shoes. Then, picking it up, he crept quickly and noiselessly across the path towards the front door, on the step of which he laid his burden, and then crept back to the trees, where he put on his shoes, and with the purse which Leon had given him for the baby's maintenance in his pocket, he made his way back to the boat on the beach, congratulating himself on the success of his scheme. No one, he argued, was any the worse for it, while he was one thousand francs the better. He had wronged no one, as the baby was sure to be well taken care of. John Shelley was certain to take it in, and would probably think the Lord had sent it to him, and, with a chuckle over the shepherd's simplicity, he went his way.