the five cooks,' said Una. • And what did your Mother say when you came home?'

'She'd say you're settin' too long over this old pit, so late as 'tis already,' said old Hobden's voice behind them. Hst!' he whispered.

He stood still, for not twenty paces away a magnificent dog-fox sat on his haunches and looked at the children as though he were an old friend of theirs.

'Oh, Mus' Reynolds, Mus' Reynolds!' said Hobden, under his breath. If I knowed all was inside your head, I'd know something wuth knowin'. Mus' Dan an' Miss Una, come along o' me while I lock up my liddle hen-house.'

A PICT SONG

Rome never looks where she treads,
Always her heavy hooves fall,

On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on-that is all,

And we gather behind them in hordes,

And plot to reconquer the Wall,

With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk-we!

Too little to love or to bute.

Leave us alone and you'll see

How we can drag down the Great!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!

We are the germ in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!

Mistletoe killing an oak

Rats gnawing cables in twoMoths making holes in a cloakHow they must love what they do!

Yes,-and we Little Folk too,
We are as busy as they-
Working our works out of view—
Watch, and you'll see it some day!

No indeed! We are not strong,
But we know Peoples that are.
Yes, and we'll guide them along,
To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?

Yes, we have always been slaves;
But you-you will die of the shame,

And then we shall dance on your graves!

We are the Little Folk, we! etc.

HAL O' THE DRAFT