I set Darby free in his old home under the archway, where no doubt he will soon find another mate, and I shall probably discover by their depredations in my garden that he has reared strong and healthy families to prey upon my cherished plants and trees. At present the young voles are by no means tame, and still indulge in kicking, squeaking, and scratching if I attempt to stroke them, but I have learnt a good deal about their domestic life and derived a great deal of amusement from my experiment in vole-rearing. ELIZA BRIGHTWEN. [Illustration: DARBY AND JOAN.] "OUR HERO." A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO. BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the Dower House," etc. CHAPTER II. HOW MOLLY HEARD THE NEWS. "Molly, Molly, listen to me. I've something to tell you, Molly." "What is it?" "Put that book down. What are you reading? _The History of a Good Little Girl._ Oh, I know; and there was a naughty boy, who tied a string across the stairs, and the grannie tumbled down and broke her leg. That's all; at least, she got well again, and he was sorry, and never did anything naughty again. So now you know, and you can stop. Listen to me, Molly." Roy jerked the book out of his twin-sister's hands. It was not a handsome and well-illustrated volume, like those now in vogue, but it was bound in dull boards, and the woodcuts were fantastically hideous. To Molly Baron, who had never seen anything better, such a volume brought delight. She loved reading, while Roy hated it, unless he found a book about battles. Molly had a pale little face, with large anxious black eyes, and short dark hair, brushed smoothly back. She wore a frock of thick blue stuff, short-waisted and low-necked, while her thin brown arms were bare. Nobody else was in the schoolroom, which served also as a playroom for the two children. Its furniture was scanty, including no easy-chairs or footstools, but only straight-backed hard-seated chairs and backless wooden stools. Mrs. Baron was a mother unusually given to the expression of tender feeling, in a sterner age than this of ours; but even she never dreamt of permitting her children opportunities for lounging. They had to grow up straight-backed, whatever might befall. In this room Roy and Molly had done all their lessons together, till Roy reached the age of nine years; and the day on which he began to attend a day-school had witnessed the first deep desolation of little Molly's heart. An ever-present dread was upon her of the coming time--she knew it must come--when he would be sent away to a boarding-school, and she would be left alone. But as yet no date had been named to her, and she hugged the present condition of affairs, trying to believe that it would go on indefinitely. Since Molly had read the book at least six times already, she made no protest, but simply waited to hear the news. "Guess what's going to happen. Guess, Molly."