Short Story. Two Masqueraders.
By MARY DUFF, in the “People’s Friend.”

“If grandfather had only left us fifty pounds apiece, instead of this rambling, fusty white elephant of a Moated Orange !”

I yawned wearily, and for perhaps the twentieth time in the last hour got up from the smoky, sulky lire of sodden peat to look out; at the window. A oh, raining again ! Boguioor was enough ■to demoralise an archangel. “Oathy, I have an inspiration.”

1 turned round a little doubtfully. Nora’s .Inspirations sometimes did not “pan out” very successfully, and I was Btm sore, at intermittent,' intervals, over our exodiis f I*o m' civilisiition as repre sented by-a parknu’-bcdrqom in Ivanris ton (with an opposite neighbour in piucemez, who .bad lately, developed rather remarkable intuitions on the sub ject of my by-weekly evening, class) to ■the savagedom and 'solitude of Bog moor. “An inspiration?” I repeated, and I tided to ke«p the apprehension out of my face as I looked Interrogatively at the brown eyes shining with ; the light of a new-born enthnsiasm behind a motley array of yellow jam pots. “ Yes ; why shouldn’t we let Bog moor ?”

“ Let it's enough to make old Grandfather I* a limy, and all Hi o Hat trays of them, turn 'in their graves.” ■ “Wed, let ’em: one good turn de serves another. and It will ho rather a good turn for its, won’t it. Mistress 1’ nnl cm i cc-prop rio ty, if wo can pocket a hundred 71011 mis so easily V" Nova viirouettcd across the floor, and laid her two hands on ni.v c'r ml dors.
