Miss Carey's. Vera herself was not there.

"You must try to excuse her," Miss Carey said, speaking her apologies for her. "Dear Vera felt that it would not be easy for her to be here and meeting you all just while I was telling you. She has very nice feelings. She is at tea this evening at the Castle."

If any of us thought that possibly under the circumstances she might prefer tea at the Castle to meeting us all, even without the communication which Miss Carey had to make to us, we did not say so. What we said was that we quite appreciated dear Vera's delicacy of feeling and honored her for it, and requested Miss Carey to convey to Vera our warmest congratulations. We asked when it was proposed that the marriage should be celebrated.

"In six weeks' time we hope," Miss Carey answered. “Mr. Rivers' wound is already so far healed that he can walk about the rooms at the Castle with a stick, and he maintains that within that time he will be able to walk with his bride down the aisle without a hobble. There are fears, however, that he will never walk without a hobble," said Miss Carey, smiling in a deprecatory way over her use of this word, which seemed to her so very nearly a slang expression.

"Is Lord Riverslade pleased with the match?" was the next question which some one was venturesome enough to ask.

"Lord Riverslade, now that he knows her, loves Vera for her own sake, as who could help doing?" Miss Carey said. "He has no wish that there should be a long engagement."

The six weeks really seemed a very little time. It was true that the engaged pair had known each other a great deal longer, and that a year or two before there had been an under

nor

standing between them which had been broken off, but though that made it all very well for them, it did not make it any more easy for us to decide in so short a space what we should give Vera for her wedding present, what should be worn at the wedding. We really felt as if we had been treated with hardly the consideration that was due to us. Still we procured our presents somehow, with one and all of which dear Vera expressed herself as pleased as if each had been the one thing in the world that she most wanted, and somehow too, the dresses were settled and got ready.

With the exception of some of the jewels, which were heirlooms, given to Vera by Lord Riverslade, the most beautiful and sumptuous of all the wedding gifts was a diamond ornament which had been sent anonymously from London. Naturally there were many speculations as to who the donor might be, but the general opinion was that it could be no other than Mr. Kingdon. It was particularly observed that Mr. Kingdon had sent no gift under his own name, and knowing what his profession, or at least his former profession, had been, it was perhaps not wonderful that he had not presumed to do so. The gift was in form of a diamond necklace, and was estimated to be worth not less than a thousand pounds. In course of a conversation at which Dr. Charlton was present, when Mr. Kingdon was mentioned as the probable donor a lady whispered, "Conscience money, perhaps."

Low as the whisper was, it was overheard by Dr. Charlton, who turned on the unfortunate speaker in his most abrupt manner: "Conscience money. perhaps, madam," he exclaimed fiercely. "It would be a very good thing, let me tell you, if a few more had such a conscience."

In spite, however, of all the magnifi

cence of the presents, the ornament which Vera most often wore in after years was a curious one, composed of a flattened, jagged-edged bullet, sunk into a circlet of gold, and designed as a pendant for a curb-chain bangle.

Such a wedding Barton had never seen before and certainly will never see again. The village was decorated with triumphal arches, flags, evergreens, and inscriptions wishing "Joy to the Happy Pair," and proclaiming that "None but the Brave deserve the Fair." It is impossible to imagine a bride and bridegroom to whom those epithets could be more appropriately given-the brave to the soldier, who limped a little as he went up to the altar steps, and the fair to the bride with her angelic beauty. The village had seen before a splendid show of floral decorations scarcely less gor geous, but what it had never seen before was the display of martial glory with which Mr. Rivers' old regiment celebrated his marriage. Fifty troopers were drawn up, on their horses, along the village street, and the church itself was thronged, or so at least it looked to our unaccustomed eyes, with the gay uniforms of the officers. Mr. Rivers himself wore uniform, and was attended by a brother officer as his best man. Lord Riverslade, in his own courtly manner, gave away the bride.

Miss Carey, in the corner of the front pew, alternately wiped her eyes and looked around her with a cheerful smile, as much as to say that she

knew she ought to be rejoicing, and meant everybody to see how happy she was; but now and again the thought that she was to lose Vera came to her too strongly to be resisted, and she had to weep quietly for a moment or two until the duty of cheerfulness reasserted itself.

As the bridal pair left the church the regimental band struck up the Wedding March, and so, with the troopers clattering behind and all the village cheering, they went up the street to the wedding breakfast at the Castle. There was more cheering and more playing of military music as they went away, amidst a shower of rice and slippers, for their honeymoon; and SO passed the most important event, in the opinion of us all, that had ever happened in the village.

After the reception, Dr. Charlton escorted Miss Carey to her house. They were very silent during most of the walk. When they came to Miss Carey's door and she put out her hand for the doctor to shake, he held it in his own while he asked her, "Do you think these two young people are going to be happy?"

"I am sure they have every prospect of it, Richard," Miss Carey answered. Then the doctor did what he had never done before he raised the hand which he still held, and kissed the fingers reverently.

"In honor," he said gravely, "of the unknown gods of the 'might have been.'"

Horace G. Hutchinson.

of an extensive motor-works in Berlin. Feeling that the recommendation of the leading hotel was sufficient guarantee for the preservation of their interests,

the Explorers slept late on the morning after their arrival. About midday they made their appearance in the Unter den Linden, and, following the suggestion of one of their overnight boon companions, searched the Dorotheenstrasse for the lunch supplied by the Hotel Prinz Frederick Karl. The service in this old sporting house was excellent, and Birdie, who for some unintelligible reason had proposed to stand as host on the occasion, was initiated into the vagaries of a Berlin restaurant bill, which required him to pay for a brace of lobsters by weight, and peaches at one mark fifty a time.

After a very excellent lunch the Explorers wandered down to the garage, proposing to give the car a short overhaul before starting on their way, and making Frankfurt on the Oder the stable for the night. Arrived at the garage, a huge yard enclosed by ironstudded swing gates,-the Explorers found three tyres down. Birdie's face lengthened. The manager of the garage, who barely understood the best possible French that the 'Explorers possessed, met all inquiries as to the cause of this sudden subsiding of inner tubes with a non-committal shake of his

head.

"C'est très ennuyeux, mais les pneu. matiques sont mauvais."

This was poor consolation, since Birdie had equipped the car with new outer tyres before starting on the foreign journey. The manager summoned a gang of blue-bloused mechanics, and in ten minutes their united efforts made it clear to Birdie that the car had been lodged in the yard of one of those vulture firms which prey upon the owners of "bird of passage" cars. An examination of the inner tubes disclosed the fact that the car had been deliberately pushed about the yard on flat tyres. In all probability the valves had been previously unscrewed to render, from a destructive standpoint, this

man-handling perfectly effective. But before they were again on the road the Explorers were to have their fingers further burnt by these self-same sharks.

Among the mechanics employed in this garage was a Frenchman. When. at last, the injured tubes had been repaired, and when, in the case of two rendered useless, they had been replaced and the car was ready to move off, the Frenchman came up to Birdie and said, laying a truculent emphasis on his words

"Monsieur, il faut que vous restiez ici jusqu'à ce que le pneumatique que vous avez commandé arrive.”

This was a deliberate effort to enforce a blackmail: blackmail was written all over the little Frenchman. Birdie, who had got his bonnet up for the purpose of oiling, denied the business claim, whereupon the Frenchman burst into a melodramatic appeal first to Ethel, then to the Major, and finally to the manager and his colleagues of the works. From the melodramatic plaint he quickly enough changed to the aggressive, and announced vehemently: "Nous ne per mettons pas que vous partiez jusqu'à ce que Vous m'avez payé.”

By this time Birdie had his engines started, and his passengers had taken their seats. But before he could let in the clutch, the Frenchman shouted in a high treble to his fellow-workmen, and they rushed forward, closed the swing gates, and slid down the iron bar which secured them.

The Frenchman, striking a defiant attitude, muttered "Maintenant?" For a moment the situation looked serious. "There's the making of a fight here. Ethel," said the Major, as he jumped out of the car. "Now, you go for the first man that moves." After this injunction the Major strode to the gate, undid the bar, and pulled the wings open. Ethel was at his heels; and pos

sibly his six feet of perfectly developed manhood overawed the blackmailers, for the heroic Frenchman gave place, and Birdie drove the car out in peace.

This incident is instructive, for it shows the snares and pitfalls which pursue the course of the ignorant and unwary motorist when, in the choice of a garage, he is dependent upon the advice of the hall porter of a Continental hotel. The writer has not the smallest hesitation in suggesting that, not only did the proprietors of this particular garage criminally do damage to the car entrusted to their care with the specific object of reaping a benefit by the repair thereof, but they also, seeing that the owners of the car were foreigners unacquainted with the language of the country, deliberately attempted to hustle them into the purchase of a particularly expensive auxiliary.

By the time the Explorers drove the car clear of this den of thieves and collected their belongings from their original hotel, the unanimous vote of the party found it too late to attempt to make Frankfurt that night. The difficulties also of getting free of the suburbs in the half light of evening induced them to prefer an early morning start. If they were able-and there was then no reason why they should not-to run into Breslau from Berlin, they would yet be in time for the Kaiser's review, which preceded the

manœuvres.

Variety is always charming, and since, as a rule, it is not pleasant or profitable to return to a hotel within half an hour of paying your bill, the Explorers determined to sample another hostelry from those which had been recommended to them by their friends in Nauen. In this case no difficulty was experienced in securing rooms and a new garage, in which Tommy was housed to keep sentry over the welfare of the car. The Explorers them

selves set out to discover Berlin by night, and after wandering through a considerable number of uninteresting beer-shops and cafés, came to the conclusion that the Café Riche was the place which gave best promise for a comfortable dinner. Except in the hotels, everybody in Germany apparently dines by daylight. The Explorers climbed the entry stairs to the Café Riche about 8 P.M. Beyond the waiters, this gorgeously decorated diningsaloon was empty. The management, however, was quite prepared to serve their meal, which was styled a supper; but the head waiter explained that the place would not begin to fill until eleven o'clock, and would remain open until eight or nine on the following day. Not wishing to make the acquaintance of the Berlin night worshippers, the Explorers remained the solitary guests of the café until ten o'clock, and then returned to their hotel to fortify themselves against their projected early start on the morrow.

By seven o'clock on the following morning the car was making the trams stand still on the Frankfurterstrasse. It was a kindly morning, and in the beginning of the run the car was kindness itself. The road out of Berlin is always interesting, through the faubourgs of Friedrichsfelde and Biesdorf. In the gray of the morning, just before the lakes were reached, it would have been quite possible to imagine that the Explorers had arrived upon Newmarket heath. They passed at least three strings of blood-horses wending their way to the gallops. There was no time to halt and investigate; but as far as sheets and bandages and the cut of the stable-boys were concerned, each string might have been turned out of an English stable.

It is not the intention of the writer to dwell long over the narrative of the journey to Frankfurt. It is not a happy story. Although the car had

started smoothly enough, thirty kilometres out of Berlin she began her old fit of cussedness. Birdie's face grew longer and longer. He stopped her and tested the sparking plug. He drenched her engines with paraffin. He unscrewed the carburetter, wiped the float, and then intimated in the saddest of sad intonations that he was a beaten man. After every incline the pace became slower, until at last the Explorers looked down into the valley of the Oder with a car that was doing little more than ten miles an hour. Once on the road a great heavy touring car swished past them. It bore no mark upon its tailboard. It was one of the giant engines belonging to the War Department. There was a pensive look on Birdie's face as he stood still on the roadway, oil-can in hand, and watched the ordnance carriage disappear at sixty kilometres an hour. Arrived at the pretty little manufacturing town of Frankfurt on the Oder, the Explorers took the car up to the vestibule of the Hotel Prinz von Preussen. Frankfurt was a town of 60,000 inhabitants. There was hope that something might be done to the car. But disappointment gathered thickly in the way of the Voyagers, for Birdie and the Major on investigation found that the only professed motor-smith was nothing more than a bicyclemender. His men, clever enough mechanics in healing metal hurts, knew nothing of the diagnosis of ailments in the intricate machinery of a car. So leaving a minor break with them to mend, Birdie and the Major returned to the hotel to hold a consultation during lunch. The spirit in which both the lunch and consultation were undertaken was of a despondent character. All three of the Voyagers were so pessimistic that the consultation actually found itself looking up the train services from Frankfurt to Breslau. The nature of the repast, more

over,

was lowering to the spirits. There is little that is encouraging in a choice between the braised back of a hare and the fat roast cutlets of a German pig. Birdie suddenly put down his knife. His companions looked at him in astonished expectation.

"What is it, Birdie?" said the Major; "have you had an inspiration?"

"I believe I've got it," answered the owner of the car. "It is all that bad oil they used in Reading. It has bunged up the silencer. We'll take off the silencer and let her rip."

"But it will make the deuce of a row," suggested Ethel.

"What does that matter as long as we get over the ground? besides, it won't inconvenience any one on the road. It's only in towns that the noise upsets people. I know a man who always takes off his silencer as soon as he gets into the country. A car just flies when it's off.”

And so it was ordained. The little crowd that had collected in the small front garden of the Prinz von Preussen were nearly scared out of their wits when at last, at five o'clock in the evening, Birdie's small repairs had been effected and he started ignition minus his silencer. For all the world it sounded as if a battery of machineguns had been brought into action, and there was not a window in the Wilhelmsplatz without a scared face pressed against it as the expedition started again in its endeavor to make Breslau by dawn on the following morning.

Birdie smiled again as his car jumped to every suggested impulse. "She's herself once more," he said. looking over his shoulder.

"Well, then, you had better get her out of this place as quickly as you can," the Major suggested, when he could make himself heard above the awful racket of exploding gas which was taking place beneath the car.

He