“And I,” said Bromley Chitterlings proudly, “am known everywhere as the Pirate Prodigy—the Boy Avenger of the Patagonian coast.” “But how came you here?” “Listen! My pirate brig, the Lively Mermaid, now lies at Meiggs’s wharf in San Francisco, disguised as a Mendocino lumber vessel. My pirate crew accompanied me here in a palace car from San Francisco.” “It must have been expensive,” said the prudent Jenkins. “It was, but they defrayed it by a collection from the other passengers, you understand. The papers will be full of it to-morrow. Do you take in the ‘New York Sun’?” “No; I dislike their Indian policy. But why are you here?” “Hear me, Jenk! ’T is a long and a sad story. The lovely Eliza J. Sniffen, who fled with me from Doemville, was seized by her parents and torn from my arms at New Rochelle. Reduced to poverty by the breaking of the savings bank of which he was president—a failure to which I largely contributed, and the profits of which I enjoyed—I have since ascertained that Eliza Jane Sniffen was forced to become a schoolmistress, departed to take charge of a seminary in Colorado, and since then has never been heard from.” Why did the Boy Chief turn pale, and clutch at the tent-pole for support? Why, indeed? “Eliza Jane Sniffen,” gasped Jenkins,—“aged fourteen, red-haired, with a slight tendency to strabismus?” “The same.” “Heaven help me! She died by my mandate!” “Traitor!” shrieked Chitterlings, rushing at Jenkins with a drawn poniard. But a figure interposed. The slight girlish form of Mushymush with outstretched hands stood between the exasperated Pirate Prodigy and the Boy Chief. “Forbear,” she said sternly to Chitterlings; “you know not what you do.” The two youths paused. “Hear me,” she said rapidly. “When captured in a confectioner’s shop at New Rochelle, E. J. Sniffen was taken back to poverty. She resolved to become a schoolmistress. Hearing of an opening in the West, she proceeded to Colorado to take exclusive charge of the pensionnat of Mdme. Choflie, late of Paris. On the way thither she was captured by the emissaries of the Boy Chief”— “In consummation of a fatal vow I made, never to spare educational instructors,” interrupted Jenkins. “But in her captivity,” continued Mushymush, “she managed to stain her face with poke-berry juice, and mingling with the Indian maidens was enabled to pass for one of the tribe. Once undetected, she boldly ingratiated herself with the Boy Chief,—how honestly and devotedly he best can tell,—for I, Mushymush, the little sister of the Boy Chief, am Eliza Jane Sniffen.” The Pirate Prodigy clasped her in his arms. The Boy Chief, raising his hand, ejaculated,— “Bless you, my children!” “There is but one thing wanting to complete this reunion,” said Chitterlings, after a pause, but the hurried entrance of a scout stopped his utterance. “A commissioner from the Great Father in Washington.” “Scalp him!” shrieked the Boy Chief; “this is no time for diplomatic trifling.”