Close by him there sat, also at a desk, a much youngnr man, employed as clerk in the same establishment. He was of medium height and slender, with a smooth, hairless face and short crisp hair, and a merry, rov ing, bird-like eye. He was of a convivial turn of mind, and thought a good practical joke now and again the salt of life. Like the majority of Australian lads, his faculty of veneration was very feeble, and he could not venerate his superior. Indeed, he thought a good joke at his expense would be capital fun ; it might sbalse the man out of his cold gravity for a moment and provide a laugh for the joker. Accordingly he laid his plan, inviting a couple of mates of his own type to witness the result. Boscomb continued perusing the note, with a closely knit brow; the postman but a minute ago had handed it to him as the Post Office deck clanged four strokes. Robert Glovel—commonly called Bob— the merry young clerk, ostensibly occupied with his pen, was casting stealthy glances at the manager, and doing his best to keep a i certain expression on his face from develop ing into a grin. However, he might just as well have indulged in a bold glize and a broad smile, for Boscomb was too much engrossed with the strange communication to heed anybody. Presently he rose with the note in his breast pocket and a harassed look in his gentle eyes. He gave some business directions to Bob, said he was going home early, and, bidding him " good evening," he left him to laugh out freely if he chose. Later on, Bob, having secured the premises for the night, this being part of his duty, stood in the street ready to depart also. A mischievous smile lurked at his lip corners still, but suddenly, as if with a magic touch, it died, giving birth to a loftier mien. His roving eye alighted on a figure, the sight of which momentarily took all his senses

prisoner, to bar out any thought but that touching itself. 