Possum nodded at the small boy， who was racing ahead- a gallant little figure in white shirt and brief knickerbockers， with a wide felt hat. He took a flying leap upon the jetty， where the water swished softly on the pebbles， and capered beside the old dinghy that Tom had left moored near the skiff.
"Come on！" he shouted. "You"re too slow. I"m going offto meet Daddy by myself！"
Drawn by Allan T.Bernaldo
"He almost overbalanced."
As he spoke， he planted one foot gingerly in the old boat. It rocked and swayed， and he almost overbalanced. Possum sprang forward with a quick catch of her breath， but the little fellow righted himself with a mighty wriggle， and sat down abruptly in the dinghy. Possum turned to Aileen with a relieved， half-shamefaced laugh.
"He jolly near sat down in the water that time，" she said. "It did give me a start-lucky he managed to hit the boat." She raised her voice. "Keep still， Garth； let me steady her while you get out."There came a queer little cry from Garth. "But it"s going away with me！"Aileen saw， and screamed， and ran. She was too far away. The sudden jerk had parted the rotten strands of the old rope that held the boat， and slowly， yet all too quickly for Possum"s wild rush， the dinghy swung out into the stream. The tide was running out， and the current was very swift. It seemed but a second， while they cried out and ran， till the current caught the old boat and whisked it swiftly away.
"Come on，" Possum said， "quick！ Don"t worry， Missus， we"ll catch him."She leapt upon the jetty. Aileen followed， and flung herself into the skiff， thrusting the oars into the rowlocks. Possum tugged at the painter， and abused Tom"s knots under her breath. They yielded at last， and she sprang in， pushing off with a force that sent the boat spinning down stream. Possum grasped the oars. Aileen was already at the tiller-staring ahead in utter silence， seeing nothing but the little blue and white figure. It swung round a bend， and was out of sight.
"Keep her out in the middle， where the tide"s swiftest，Missus，" Possum said. "Don"t look like that-it"s all right- we"ll get him."She was rowing desperately， with sharp， quick strokes， under which the boat flew through the water. They rounded the turn， and ahead-but how far ahead！-was the dinghy， with Garth sitting upright and very still. Faster and faster， as they neared the mouth， the current set out to sea.
"It"s very light， you know，" Possum said between strokes， in answer to Aileen"s look. "And it got a good start. We"re gaining though， you notice." She was flinging quick looks backward as she rowed. "Ain"t he sittin" still？ My word， he"s good！ He"s got sense enough for ten！"Garth"s clear little voice came back to them over the dancing water. They could not hear his words， but there was no fear in the tone. Aileen felt almost ashamed of her own sick terror， hearing that brave， childish voice； but the stories of the danger of the current echoed in her mind， and she knew， if once the dinghy gained the lake before them， that hope was slight. And he was such a little， little boy ！
The high banks seemed to fly past. Afterwards， in her dreams， she saw them always： flickering visions of yellow banks and dark green masses of wattle-trees. But at the moment she saw only what lay ahead： glancing water， and swift oars flashing， and Possum"s flushed， strained face； and the boat that rocked and fled from them with its tinyburden.
But they gained. As they swung round turn after turn， they crept nearer and nearer to the dinghy. Surely they must win！ And yet， Possum was afraid. Looking at her， with senses sharpened by terror， the mother saw the fear in her eyes. She met Aileen"s glance with a forced smile， but it could not hide her fear. Her arms never ceased their rapid， mechanical strokes-under the thin blouse her muscles rose and fell as she opened her shoulders with long， powerful swings.
"Can you stand it？" Aileen whispered. "Oh， why can"t Irow decently！"
"You"re... far more use steering，" Possum gasped. " I"m all right. See how we"re gaining.""Then why are you afraid？" Aileen cried.
Possum shook her head， and forced a smile-a smile that brought no conviction. Then Garth cried out again， something about " water，" and " wet，" and Possum"s anxious look grew sharper. Her voice was shrill and strained as she called back to the child.
"I know， dearie-sit still！"
"What is it？" Aileen gasped； and suddenly she knew. They were gaining rapidly now， but the dinghy was settling down in the water. The leaks！ The wonder was that it had floated so long. Now the water rippled almost level with itsedge. For an instant Aileen lost her head in her agony of terror. She screamed， starting half up.
"Sit down！" Possum"s voice， stern in its anxiety， brought her to her senses. She flung a backward glance. "Near down，" she gasped； "I knew， when we gained so quick."Garth"s voice came again， and this time with a sob of fear. The dinghy was almost sinking. For another moment the skiff spun through the water， rounding a bend， and there， ahead， lay the open water of the lake. Possum shipped the oars with a sudden jerk.
"Try and keep her straight"-she flung the words at Aileen. "There"s one chance--"Ahead， the dinghy seemed to stop. There was a slow， sickening swirl， and， even as Possum screamed to Garth tojump， the water closed over the little boat. There was a cry-a cry that choked suddenly. Then the skiff quivered and stopped a s P o s s u m d i v e d i n t o t h e stream.
The water lay blank and desolate before the woman who sat staring in the skiff- blank but for the wideningDrawn by Allan T. Bernaldo
"They saw the empty boat first."
ripples that spread across the
pathway of the current. So it lay for a dragging moment that was years， and then Possum"s head broke it， and， but farther away， Garth"s upturned face. They disappeared again.
When she saw them once more， they were together- Possum gripping the boy tightly， and keeping afloat with one hand. The skiff was drifting down towards them. Aileen grasped an oar and tried to bring it closer， loathing the helpless ignorance that made her efforts awkward. Close- closer， but still too far. She thrust the oar towards them， leaning over the side. It was too short.
The current whisked her away-still stretching vainly towards the two faces in the water， crying to them， calling to God. Then she flung herself into the water， striving， with desperate helpless strokes， against the racing tide.
A motor-launch came swiftly round from the lake， the two men in her talking and smoking. They saw the empty boat first， and the words died upon their lips.
"My goodness！" said Tom Macleod， and sprang to his engine. The launch leaped like a live thing tearing through the water. The skiff danced past them， rocking upon the waves.
"Can you see them？" he asked， between his teeth.
"One of "em"s close，" Nick said. "Steady-starboard a little. Be ready to back if I miss." He hung over the side and clutched at the fair head near the boat. "Ah-got her. It"syour wife." His great shoulders quivered as he dragged herin， looking wildly ahead as he did so. A cry broke from him.
"There"s my girl-she"s got your Garth. Hold on， Poss！
Get on with you， man-starboard， starboard ！"
He flung Aileen into the boat， and turned again swiftly. Possum was paddling feebly with one hand， almost done. She met his eyes and her lips parted.
"Take Garth，" she gasped. But he took both， catching them with his great arms， and holding them out of the water until Tom could get to his side. He caught his boy from Possum"s tired hands and laid him in the boat beside his mother， while Nick O"Connor dragged in the girl.
From Possum， by Mary Grant Bruce (Ward， Lock & Co.)Author.-Mary Grant Bruce， a living Australian writer， has written many charming stories for children， including A Little Bush Maid， Mates at Billabong， Norah of Billabong， and From Billabong to London.
General Notes.-To recognize and understand the characters you must read the whole book. What is a dinghy？ What do you think of Possum"s achievement？ Talk about other stories of female heroism.
ROmANCE
I saw a ship a-sailing， A-sailing on the sea，Her masts were of the shining gold， Her deck of ivory；And sails of silk， as soft as milk， And silvern shrouds had she.
And round about her sailing The sea was sparkling white，The waves all clapped their hands and sang To see so fair a sight；They kissed her twice， they kissed her thrice， And murmured with delight.
Then came the gallant captain And stood upon the deck，In velvet coat and ruffles white
Without a spot or speck，
And diamond rings and triple strings Of pearls about his neck.
And four and twenty sailors Were round him bowing low，On every jacket three times three Gold buttons in a row，And cutlasses down to their knees- They made a goodly show.
And then the ship went sailing，
A-sailing o"er the sea，
She dived beneath the setting sun， But never back came she，For she found the lands of the golden sands， Where the pearls and diamonds be.
- Gabriel Setoun
Author.- "Gabriel Setoun" is the pen-name of Thomas Nicoll Hepburn， headmaster of Milton House Public School， Edinburgh， born in 1861. He has written many books for juveniles and adults， including The Child World and a life of Robert Burns.
General Notes.-The poem given is an enlargement of an old rhyme. What is ivory？ What are shrouds？ What are cutlasses？ Is this a ship that never was？ Why does sunset suggest gold， and pearls， and diamonds？ Make a drawing of the poet"s dream ship.
GIOTTO， THE SHEPHERD BOy
This is the story of a shepherd boy who lived in the sunny land of Italy six hundred years ago. Now， when a person is not forgotten after so long a time， he must have done something to make his name remembered. And it is because Giotto became a great painter of pictures that his story is often told.
Even when he was quite a little boy he was very fond of drawing， and he drew very well. The work of tending the sheep was not hard， and he had plenty of time to spare. So， instead of being idle， he used to draw on the smooth stones in the fields with a piece of slate.
One day， as he was drawing pictures of his sheep and goats， a stranger came quietly behind him and watched him. Giotto did not know that anyone was near， and kept on with his drawing. It was so well done for a boy who had never been taught that the stranger， who was a great painter， asked him if he would like to be taught how to paint.
Giotto looked so pleased， and answered so eagerly， that the stranger asked the boy"s father if he might take his son away and teach him. The father agreed； and so the clevershepherd boy went with his new friend.
Giotto worked so hard and got on so well that by and by his paintings came to be well known， and rich people were glad to buy them. He used to carve figures in marble， too； and in many of the churches of Italy his work may still be seen.
Giotto was fond of fun， and was very witty. Let me tell you two stories about him. One day， he painted a fly on the nose of a figure his friend was working at. Soon afterwards， his friend came in and saw the fly. Raising his hand， he tried to brush it off； but it was still there. He tried again； and then he saw that it was not a real fly at all. But he knew who had played the joke upon him-only Giotto could have drawn the fly so well.
Here is the second story. The Pope wanted an artist to do some work for him， so he sent a messenger to Giotto. The messenger asked for some work that might be shown to the Pope. Giotto took a piece of paper and a brush full of paint. Then， with one sweep of the brush， he drew a circle that was truly round.
" Here is the drawing，" said he. "But am I to take nothing but this？" asked the messenger， looking as if he thought Giotto was joking. "That is enough. Show it to your master， and tell him how it was done； he will understand，" replied Giotto.
When the Pope looked at it， he knew that only a great painter could have drawn so true a circle in the way the messenger described. So he sent for Giotto to paint some pictures in St. Peter"s， a great church at Rome. Even now， in Italy， when a person wants to say that a thing is quite round， he says， " It is as round as the circle of Giotto."Author.-Unknown.
General Notes.-Giotto (j？t"-tō) di Bondone(b？n-do"-nay) was born at a little village about 14 miles from Florence， about 1266-1276. The man who found him drawing on a smooth stone was Cimabue (che"-mah-boo"- ay)， a Florentine painter. Another shepherd boy became king； who was he？ See which pupil can draw the " roundest" circle on the blackboard.
