and pressed them to his cheek. His hair was floating on his back, and his clothes were scanty and dirty. He looked more dressed for bathing than for living in the mountains.

"It went well to-day, did n't it?" Mano said.

The boy smiled sadly, displaying his magnificent Gipsy teeth. He picked out one of his cigarettes and tossed it to the girl with the baby. She leaped, with the baby, and caught it in mid-air, and her pleasureful laugh resounded about us for a second.

"Since it went well, why did you have to weep?" my brother asked.

"I wept because it went so well."
"Why?"

"I do not know. Because I want things, and do not get them," he cried. “A year ago I thought I wept because I wanted her." With his eyes he indicated the sitting girl. "She is now mine, and she has given me a son, but I cry just the same.' A sob, and then another, shook his breast.

"No; but I write. It is just as bad." And then the boy, feeling the sympathetic atmosphere we were creating about him, began to talk:

"I think what I want is to be an emperor; to have people kneel before me and kiss the hem of my garments."

I could not help covering my face and laughing silently, for his worn trousers and his torn shirt had no hems.

Mano did not laugh. Seriously he amended:

"It is n't exactly an emperor you want to be. What you want is to play as you played to-day before millions of people, to make them all worship your music, to make that human sea weep when you will and laugh when you will."

The boy seized my brother's hands. "You see into my head, you see into my heart!" he cried. "Could I could I do that?"

Mano nodded.

"You did it to-day, even though it was only three riders and three horses. It was marvelous, my my friend, your playing.

Never have I heard its like."

At that the boy began to tremble like a leaf, and the tears sprang from the dark pools of his eyes and trickled down to his chin and then to his chest and on to his poor hemless shirt. And through his tears and his sobs he talked wildly to ustalked of the visions that came to him, which he brought to life with the power of his violin.

"Sometimes I can do it," he said, “and at others I cannot. Yet I am most unhappy when I can make alive the things that live in the air only."

THE GIRL WHO WAS LIKE A BROOK

FOR days and days afterward I thought a great deal about the Gipsy boy, and fervently wished to be present when he should play to millions of people and be worshiped. I wanted to see him realize his dream and to be present at his happiness. I was too young, too inexperienced to know that the dream of a great artist is never realized, and that he is happiest when he is most miserable.

Some days afterward we were caught by one of those sudden, terrific storms that I have witnessed only in the Balkans. It was so violent that it uprooted trees, and the rain washed down great stones.

"There is a shelter in a gorge not far from here," said our guide; but when we came to it, it was already occupied by a Gipsy encampment. The camp was bedecked with all kinds of bright-colored rags, hanging stringily in the storm, and our guide told us that it was a bridal encampment, where a wedding was soon to take place.

Some of the Gipsies invited us to go into their tents and lie down until the storm passed; but since, with our mackintoshes and the overhanging rocks, we were

partly protected, we preferred the cleanliness outside to the dubious shelter of their tents. We sat down at the opening of the gorge to watch the storm.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun, and our guide went in where he could dry himself, and prepare a meal for us. The Gipsies came out of their tents to give us a look of inspection. They were more villainous in appearance, if possible, than the others we had come across, perhaps because they had been huddled together in their tents during the storm. To my intense delight, however, among them was my old friend Valérie, and it was she who was to be the bride in ten days. They were waiting for other Gipsies in different parts of the Balkans to come to the encampment.

It was several years since I had last seen Valérie, and she had taken the time to grow into a real woman. Her hair was braided into a great many braids, in which were inserted hundreds of imitation coins. With her copper color and her shining teeth and her muscular, lithe figure, she made a very stunning picture in that grandiose background.

months been accustomed to remarks like this from all the people of the Balkans. Having made this observation, Valérie stretched herself full length on the ground, her chin in her palms, and lost herself in contemplation of Mano.

"When you finish looking at the trees, you can begin to look at me, Effendi," she said wistfully, after we had sat thus for five minutes.

Mano at once turned to her. She smiled very prettily at him, and he returned her smile.

"Where is your wife?" she asked.

As my brother did not reply, and feeling quite left out, I answered for him: "He has n't any." At once I knew that I had displeased him.

In amazement Valérie cried: "But how old are you?" "Twenty-eight," he replied reluctantly. "How curious! how very curious!" she commented. "Are all the women you know bloodless?"

I should have been amused at her questioning except that I felt my brother was greatly annoyed. Valérie sat up, and from her bosom brought forth a small pouch of tobacco and a booklet of tissuepaper. She tore out a leaf and carefully rolled a cigarette, licking the edge of the paper to make it stick. When it was made, she lighted it, took a puff, and with great ceremony presented it to Mano. Knowing how fastidious he was, I felt certain he could not possibly smoke that cigarette. She rolled one for herself, and then said:

"I am to be married in ten days, and yet I have not prepared a cigarette for the man who is to possess me."

My brother said nothing to this. "Smoke with me now!"

"I am sorry," Mano replied. "If you will permit me, I will take this cigarette with me as a souvenir; but I cannot smoke it."

"Why?"

"Because I have already smoked, and the doctors do not permit me to smoke much on account of my heart."

I had never before heard my brother

lie, but I knew he was lying now, and I was storing the fact away for future refer

ence.

Valérie held out her hand for the cig

arette.

"Give it to me. Don't waste a good cigarette for a souvenir. I wanted us to smoke together, that was all."

She put out both cigarettes by spitting on them, and then tied them to the edge of a gaudy cotton scarf she was wearing.

"Let me tell your fortune." She crawled nearer to him, and stretched out her hand.

Mano put a coin in his hand, and held it out to her.

With an imperious gesture she brushed the coin away.

"I am not telling you your fortune for gain, but because I want to." She took his hand in both of hers, and stroked it several times. "It is the most beautiful hand I have ever seen," she said slowly. She scrutinized the lines in it, and presently began to read his fortune: "Many women have loved you madly; but a Gipsy is coming into your life, and she will love you more than any before, and you will be very happy."

She watched him intently as she spoke; but he was again gazing at the landscape before him, his hand lying impassively in hers.

Valérie became angry, and threw Mano's hand from her. Addressing herself to me as if she were years and years older, she ordered:

"Go and play, child!"

"No, I do not wish her to move, please," my brother intervened. "She is resting for her journey."

Valérie showed her annoyance by the movement of her shoulders, but that mood did not last. She changed, and began to be sweet and lovely, like a nice dog. She untied the cigarettes from her scarf and smoked them, one after the other, telling all sorts of charming things to Mano, taking each one of his features separately and eulogizing it. Then boldly she asked:

"Have you ever fallen in love with a Gipsy, Effendi?"

"I never had the honor of knowing a Gipsy."

"You know me now."

Although years lie between that day and the present, with the eyes of my memory I can still see her, alluring, feline, uncompromisingly feminine; and I cannot help thinking that it is an advance in our civilization that it is the men who do the courting and not the women.

A group of men sat about the entrance of one of the tents. Pointing to it, my brother asked:

"Is one of the men there to be your husband?"

Valérie indicated one of them.

"Don't you think you have played enough on his feelings for to-day? You must not hurt him too much even for the sake of the game."

A gleam of anger came into Valérie's

eyes.

"I was n't thinking of him at all. Till to-day he filled my brain. I have forgotten him now, and I am not playing a game."

"Oh, yes, you are. You are trying to make him jealous." Mano's tone was icecold. It froze me, but it transformed Valérie into a fury.

"Make him jealous of you, you whitelivered, soft-handed scorpion!" In her rage she was a match to the storm of a little while ago, and her rapidity of speech was marvelous. Epithet followed epithet in half a dozen languages, and I knew that my brother would have given a great deal to have had me away. The things she called him were full of color and picturesqueness, but the groundwork was indeAt last I understood why my cency. mother had forbidden me to speak to the Gipsies.

After she had told Mano all she thought about him, Valérie rose majestically.

"My man told me last night that he would give me anything I wanted. I shall tell him that I want your corpse for a footstool."

All the tales Valérie had told me of yore returned to me now with new power.

In that remote place, what chance had three of us against a camp of Gipsies?

"O Valérie!" I cried, "remember how good I was to you for years, and think of your little dog, and how we cured it!" It was silly for me to think of so small a thing in this crisis, but I added, “And I gave you my best handkerchief, and you lost it."

To my surprise and relief, Valérie became calm at once.

"Yes, you have been good to me," she acknowledged; "and as for that pretty handkerchief, I have it still. I never had one so pretty."

"Did you find it again?" I asked.

"I never lost it. I lied to you, because, if you knew I had it, you would have told the police."

"But, Valérie, you were my friend." "Was I?"

"Yes, and I loved you. And because I loved you then, you are not going to hurt my brother now."

From the corners of her eyes she watched him instead of answering me, and a tremor passed over her.

"Do you know why I do not have you killed by my man?" she asked Mano.

He smiled.

"You are a very delightful young person, Mistress Valérie. First you tease your future husband, now you wish to tease me by pretending that you will have. me killed; and all the time you are playing a game because you are young and happy."

She leaned against a tree, drawing her slim, well-formed young figure up to its full height. When she spoke her tone was tender and wistful:

"Effendi, Effendi, can't you understand? I am not playing a game." Again she repeated, "I have not been playing a game." She raised her arms appealingly, and put her hands behind her head, and gazed at him with eyes that looked like a hurt dog's. She was entirely different from all the creatures she had been during the last hour. She was sad and lovable and extremely appealing. "Effendi, why are you so cold—and do not understand?" and as he did not answer her, suddenly, as

if thirsting for information, she asked, "Tell me, which way does the brook

run?"

"It runs downward," he answered.

"It runs downward because it cannot help it. I am a little brook, Effendi-" She waited for him to speak, entreating him with eyes that were lovely to look into now. "You have nothing to say to that, Effendi?"

Very gently he smiled at her.

"Do you like little brooks?" she asked eagerly. "There is one not far from here. If you walk straight in that direction, you will come to it; and on this side of the brook there are three large trees coming out of one root. They are called the Three Brothers. A long time ago there were three brothers who were brave and handsome and tall like you, and women died for love of them. They were slain, but because they were so handsome and brave, these three trees sprang up where they died. They are tall and straight, and their branches are long and shady. One cannot fail to find them."

She turned her face upward and scrutinized the sky.

"The moon rises late to-night, Effendi." She made him a long teména, and ignoring me as if I were not there, she turned and walked away.

I never saw her again. As soon as it became dark, while the music of the Gipsies was playing its loudest, with great precaution we left the camp-left it as if we were thieves, escaping for our lives.

With his finger on his lips my brother imposed silence, and on and on we rode in the wilds of the Balkans, while the stars came out one by one until the full company had taken their places in the pageant of the night. We did not even halt when the moon, as Valérie had said, rose late. I touched my brother's sleeve and asked:

"Why are we traveling as if we were thieves?"

"Thieves," he repeated musingly. "No, little sister, perhaps never before have we been so pure of purpose, so stainless of theft."

For many centuries the Briton has regarded his boundaries with comfort. The contemplation of that "silver streak," the sea, has made him serene. Gone from him was the fear of the foreign enemy. Hence he could look out for himself, wrest liberties from his own rulers that he might be freer to live his own life in his own way, which is the great object of democracy. Meanwhile, during all these centuries, the German has been taught by the sure and merciless teacher, experience, to look upon his open-land boundaries with horror, for