"I suppose so," returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still biting the tiny moustache. "Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must be, I suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to tell between what two trees it would have to be between two of those trees there we should have to walk to get to the North Pole." The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed.

I say, Bovey, it's rather ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I haven't a single soul in the world but you and Lady Violet to think of me at all, or for me to think of." "I don't suppose you have," said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. "You are a lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless."

"Well, now," said he, preparing to take his leave, "is there anything further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall scarcely see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning as you intend. One thing of course you've been vaccinated?" The Hon. Bovyne muttered, "bah!" Clarges began putting the photographs away, all but Lady Violet.

For look you, Simpson, I am the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he might be dull." The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, "I believe I should be dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old are you, Arthur?" "Twenty-two," answered Clarges. "Good heaven!" exclaimed the Hon. Bovine, "and I am getting perilously near to forty.

I say, it looks like snow to-night, doesn't it?" "What do you know about snow!" rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. "Let us get on, there's a good fellow confound you! don't stare at those imaginary trees any longer, but come along." Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about those trees. "I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like that, out of all the others!

When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some time later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree against which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and again. "I must be dreaming," said the Hon. Bovyne. "That tree oh! its impossible nevertheless, that tree has its counterpart in the one opposite it, and both have extraordinary branches!

Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably ill and irritable, was delighted. "Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping," he said, "I must see Arthur about it." He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the old woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, and finding nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. Something wrong.

"Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order to get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, real hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand up against the sky. Like little feathers huff-f-f-f one could almost blow them away!" The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as to many others.

The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat and looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down the stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy pine and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like wind to the nearest house.

"That's to admit of heavy underclothing," said Clarges, not in the least perturbed. "Knickerbockers," continued Simpson, "that are certainly one size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must have come off Praed St." The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" he said. But young Clarges did not mind in the least.