"It was like being rocked to sleep," said Mr. H----, in a sentimental tone. "And I heard church bells ringing, and I said to myself, 'They are ringing for my funeral. My poor, poor mother! And the guv'nor, too! This will bring their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.'" "Please don't talk of it!" cried Veronica, wiping her eyes. "I feel (I don't know if you do, E----?) that this should be a lesson to us all to be more charitable to each other. I didn't believe, Mr. H----, and I must freely confess it, that you had it in you to feel and speak like this! It shows how we may be mistaken." "I don't wear my heart on my sleeve," replied the hero, languidly, leaning back in his chair. "I knew you all misunderstood me, but I made up my mind to bear it, certain that the truth must out, even though I _didn't_ give a potato-masher to the establishment." "And," said I, "truth is stranger than fiction any day." The hero glanced sharply at me, for I was sitting gazing up at our roof-tree, and now and then I sniffed. After a pause I said, sniffing again:-- "Does anyone smell a very strong smell of some gas--hydrocyanic gas, I suppose? Where is it coming from? We pasted up all the windows and doors," I added, rising from my chair. Everybody now sniffed in turn, and all declared that the smell grew stronger and stronger. Suddenly both I and Veronica gave a shout together. [Illustration: "'WONDER YOU'RE NOT DONE FOR ENTIRELY,' SAID THEY, HAULING HIM OUT BY HIS BLANKET AND THE HAIR OF HIS HEAD."] "Veronica! Everybody!" I cried. "We pasted up the windows and doors and forgot to shut the ventilators of the chimneys. Every bit of gas has escaped! All our trouble has been for nothing. And as for your death throes, Mr. H----, well, I don't want to be rude, but it has all been----" "_Bunkum!_" finished Willy-Nilly. "Church bells and all, old chap!" * * * * * At eve we re-entered the cottage--cautiously at first, then more boldly. Nothing had happened--nothing at all! Flies buzzed in hundreds around us as if they had enjoyed the nice aromatic bath they had had. Every scrap of gas had gaily escaped up the wide chimneys. It was two in the morning before we had got the cottage shipshape again, and the breakages and general damage would be hard to calculate. "I've done with the Simple Life," said Mr. H----, the erstwhile hero of this memorable day. "If you don't mind, I think I'll leave. There's not enough repose about the life, don't you know." "And I, too," said the MacPhairson. "It's too expensive! Me Axminster's ruined, me bagpipes have gone to glory, and me tent's in smithereens." So these two have left. As for those of us who still remain at Simplicity Hall, we have decided to leave the "moss--quitoes" and "etceteras" alone, hoping that, as we mean to sleep in the tents till the Rand winter comes on, we may in the end starve them out. +The End.+ [Illustration: Some Experiences in Malaya.]