But it was Walter, Walter the chronicler, Walter the clever, the
daring, the ambitious, leader in every escapade, adviser in every
difficulty, who was to suffer the crowning humiliation. Walter became
a kipper. If there is one thing that a herring cannot stand it is to
be separated from his roe. Walter's roe was ruthlessly torn from him
and served up separate on toast, with nothing to show that it was
the glorious roe of Walter. It was eaten at the Criterion by a
stockbroker, and it might have been anybody's roe. Meanwhile the
mutilated frame, the empty shell of Walter, was squashed flat in a
wooden box with a mass of others and sold at an auction by the pound.
It broke his heart.
A.P.H.
* * * * *
FLOWERS' NAMES.
LADY'S SLIPPER.
Country gossips, nodding slow
When the fire is burning low,
Or chatting round about the well
On the green at Ashlins Dell,
With many a timid backward glance
And fingers crossed and eyes askance,
Still tell about the Midmas Day
When Marget Malherb went away.
"After Midmas Day shall break,
Maidens, neither brew nor bake;
See your house be sanded clean;
Wear no stitch of fairy green;
Go barefoot; wear nor hose nor shoon
From rise of sun to rise of moon;
For the Good People watch and wait
Waiting early, watching late,
For foolish maids who treat with scorn
The mystic rites of Midmas Morn.
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