He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. 'It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,' said the sergeant-major, 'a very holy man. White, as he took it from his son and, having examined it, placed it upon the table. 'And what is there special about it?' inquired Mr. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously. He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. 'To look at,' said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, 'it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy.' The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. 'Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps,' said the sergeant-major off-handedly. 'What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?' 'I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers,' said the old man. He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again. 'Better where you are,' said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. 'I'd like to go to India myself,' said the old man, 'just to look round a bit, you know.' 'He don't look to have taken much harm,' said Mrs. 'When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whisky and tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.ДЄt the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds of wars and plagues and strange peoples. 'Sergeant-Major Morris,' he said, introducing him. White said, 'Tut, tut!' and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. 'There he is,' said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. 'Never mind, dear,' said his wife soothingly 'perhaps you'll win the next one.' I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter.' I don't know what people are thinking about. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence 'of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. 'That's the worst of living so far out,' bawled Mr. 'I should hardly think that he'd come to-night,' said his father, with his hand poised over the board. 'I'm listening,' said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire. Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly.

Monkeys paw