"AND what do you think, Papa! A gentleman left his horse down on the beach, yesterday, with his two little children in the carriage. The horse ran away and came right up past our house!" The speaker was Harry Bradford, a bright boy of ten years. He was the oldest of five children, and, with his brother who was three years younger, he had come to meet their father at the train, and was now telling him what had happened since they last saw him.

Mr. Bradford had taken his family to the seaside for the summer vacation, and they were enjoying it to the utmost; for they had taken their pony, and with riding, boating, and swimming, the boys were having a royal holiday. The father

remained at his business in the city through the week, but came to them every Friday night; and Saturdays and Sundays, when the children had him to join them in their sport and rest, they considered the best days of all.

The place chosen by the Bradford family was a mile or two outside one of the fashionable cities by the sea. Between two rocky headlands, a mile and a half apart, a beautiful beach of white sand stretched in a graceful curve, and upon it rolled the surf in dark-green waves breaking continually into white foam. Here the children played in the sand, bathed in the clear water, or rode in their pony-cart along the hard, smooth beach.

The farm-house where they boarded was about

a quarter of a mile back from the beach, on an avenue much frequented by riders and driving parties from the gay city near by.

The coming of summer visitors had occasioned quite a transformation in the old house. A piazza had been added to the front, and on it hung a hammock, while another hammock could be seen under the apple-trees in the orchard which lay on the ocean side of the mansion. The grass had been trimmed to make a smooth lawn, the house had been painted, red tubs with flowers in them were placed at various points, and a semicircular graveled drive-way led from a gate below the house, at the edge of the orchard, past the front of the low piazza, and out to another gate as far above the house as the first was below -the two gates being perhaps one hundred and fifty feet apart. Everything about the premises had a very attractive appearance, especially to Mr. Bradford, as he came from his hot city office, driving up the pleasant road about sunset, his bright eager boys recounting the tale of their week's doings to his willing ears.

When Harry spoke of the runaway horse, Mr. Bradford was at once interested, for he imagined the feelings of the frantic father on seeing his little children in such imminent danger. So he said: "Did the children get hurt, Harry?" “O, no, Papa; the horse was stopped." "Who stopped him, my boy?"

"Mr. Marsh did, Papa;— but I helped, too." Finding that no serious consequences had come from the adventure, Mr. Bradford paid little attention to Harry's modest avowal of a part in it, and as the boy said no more about the runaway, conversation turned into other channels, and the father thought no more of it until after supper.

Mr. Marsh, whom Harry had mentioned, was a New York gentleman, who, with his wife and baby, was stopping at the same house with the Bradfords.

After the evening meal, Mr. Bradford came out upon the piazza to enjoy the fresh breeze from the ocean, and there found Mr. Marsh sitting alone, and apparently in deep thought.

Mr. Bradford greeted him with a hearty shake of the hand, and drawing a chair to his side, seated himself, saying:

"Well, Mr. Marsh, Harry tells me you had quite an excitement here yesterday. How about the runaway?"

"It was the pluckiest act I ever saw!" said Mr. Marsh, half rising.

Mr. Bradford looked at him in amazement. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Let me tell you about it," said Mr. Marsh. "Yesterday, after we all had come up from bathing, I sat here on the piazza, reading, with baby in my lap. Your children were playing on the grass in the orchard, near that lower gate, and Mrs. Marsh sat near me on the piazza.

"Suddenly we heard the clatter of a horse's feet, and a shout in a man's voice: "Stop that horse! stop that horse!' Looking up, I saw a carriage containing two little children, about two and three years old, drawn by a horse that was madly rushing straight up the road. It was a terrible moment. I turned to give the baby to Mrs. Marsh, and ran for the upper gate, as I knew the horse would pass the lower gate before I could get there. But Harry had seen him too, and as the horse came past, the boy shot out from the gate like a flash of light, and without a word sprang at the horse's head, seized the bridle, and held on with a grip like a vise. His weight was insufficient to stop the frightened animal, which dragged the boy, his feet hardly touching the ground, from the point where he seized it, over the entire distance to the upper gate. Here I also was able to clutch the bridle, and we brought the horse to a standstill. When the father came up, he was so agitated that he could not speak."

Such was the adventure so simply told by Harry, when he said "But I helped, too."

The readers of ST. NICHOLAS may be glad to know that this is no story made up from imagination. "Harry" is a real live boy, only eleven years old now, though of course his name is not Harry, nor his father's name Bradford. The incident here recorded happened in August, 1883, and "Harry" will be as much surprised as any of you when he reads about it; for he is as eager to read his ST. NICHOLAS when it comes, as he is happy to ride his pony or to dive through the big waves when the surf breaks on the beach.

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Nay, my lord, rather let me try the gittern," she said. "See, now will I charm this snaily from its cell with the air that Réné taught me," and together the two heads bent over one of the vicious little "desert snails of Egypt," which young Isabelle of Tyre had found crawling along the casement of the palace.

"Snaily, snaily, little nun,

Come out of thy cell, come into the sun;
Show me thy horns without delay,
Or I'll tear thy convent-walls away,"

sang the girl merrily, as she touched the strings of her gittern. But his snailship continued close and mute, and the boy laughed loudly as he picked up the snail and laid it on his open palm.

"T is vain, Isa," he said; "thy snaily is no troubadour to come out at his lady's summons. Old Hassan says the sluggards can sleep for full four years, but trust me to waken this one. So, holo! See, Isa, there be his horns — ah! oh! the foot of a lion grind thy Pagan shell!" he cried, dancing around the room in pain, "the beast hath bitten me! Out, Ishmaelite!" and he flung the snail from him in a rage, while Isabelle clung to the casement laughing heartily at her cousin's mishap. But the snail flew across the room at an unfortunate moment, for the arras parted suddenly and a tall and stalwart man clothed in the coarse woolen gown of a palmer, or pilgrim to Jerusalem, entered the apartment just in time to receive the snail full against his respected and venerated nose. "The saints protect us!" exclaimed the palmer, drawing back in surprise and clapping a hand to his face. "Doth the King of Jerusalem keep a catapult in this his palace with which to greet his visitors?" Then, spying the two young people, who stood in some dismay by the open casement, the stranger strode across the room and laid a heavy hand upon the boy's shoulder, while little Isa's smothered laugh changed to an alarmed and tremulous "Oh!"

"Thou unmannerly boy," said the palmer, "how dar'st thou thus assault a pilgrim?"

But the lad stood his ground stoutly. “Lay off thine hand, sir palmer," he said. "Who art thou, forsooth, that doth press thy way into the private chambers of the king?"

"Nay, that is not for thee to know," replied the palmer. "Good faith, I have a mind to shake thee well, sir page, for this thy great imperti

The burly pilgrim looked down upon the lad, who, with arms akimbo and defiant face, barred his progress. He laughed a grim and dangerous laugh. "Thou rare young malapert!" he said. “Hath, then, the state of great King Godfrey fallen so low that chattering children keep the royal doors?" Then, seizing the boy by the ear, he whirled him aside and said: "Out of my path, sir page. Let me have instant speech with the king, thy master, ere I seek him out myself and bid him punish roundly such a saucy young jackdaw as thou."

"By what token askest thou to see the king?' the boy demanded, nursing his wounded ear.

"By this same token of the royal seal," replied the palmer, and he held out to the lad a golden signet-ring, "the which I was to show to whomsoever barred my path and crave due entrance to the king for the gray palmer, Conradin."

"So, 't is the queen mother's signet," said the boy. "There is then no gainsaying thee. Well, good palmer Conradin, thou need'st go no further. I am the King of Jerusalem." The palmer started in surprise. "Give me no more tricks, boy," he said, sternly. "Nay, 't is no trick, good Isabelle, in solemn assurance.

palmer," said little "This is the king."

The palmer saw that the little maid spoke truly, but he seemed still full of wonder, and, grasping the young king's shoulder, he held him off at arm's length and looked him over from head to foot.

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"Thou the king!" he exclaimed. Thou that Baldwin of Jerusalem whom men do call the hero of the Jordan, the paladin, the young conqueror of Bostra? Thou a boy!"

"It ill beseemeth me to lay claim to be hero and paladin," said young King Baldwin modestly. But know, sir pilgrim, that I am as surely King Baldwin of Jerusalem as thou art the palmer Conradin. What warrant, then, hast thou, gray palmer though thou be, to lay such heavy hands upon the king?" And he strove to free himself from the stranger's grasp.

But the palmer caught him round the neck with a strong embrace. "What warrant, lad?" he exclaimed heartily. "Why, the warrant of a brother, good my lord. Thousands of leagues have I traveled to seek and succor thee. Little brother, here I am known only as a gray palmer, but from the Rhine to Ratisbon and Rome am I hailed as Conrad, King of Germany!”