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The man who never shuts a gate ncr closes up a door, You bet, wt en he takes ofl’ his shirt, he throws itontheflogr. _ _ ‘7 r u L I IL on luv nuu. , Or it he uves can b orb' nah to equal'ze hlshnh‘. You'll find lhe comb laid on the ban. the brush upon a. chair. The qugx; for the stove lsiatd upon the mantel- shel' : He nevn- knows about his clothes-nor where to finrl himaelfâ€" To breakfast ho is alwa' a late. his dinner‘s al ways cold ; To eupper he‘s so far behind he scowls and swears and Scolds. He uses mar 87 frte.'_’tls true ; basjovial friends you bat; For manv of his needed wants he finds himself in debt; 0! all his family thus he says :-"ilovo myself the best ; And when 1 pp provided for. why netd l mind Ronald Scott has been very good to me in a brotherly klnd of wayâ€"he and Olive treat me very much like a spoilt childâ€" sometimea Isuepect. he thinks me anything but; an agreeable kind of person. I won- der if he ever cared for anybody himself â€"lf he cares for anybody now. It, would be imposasble to tell from that grave stern faceâ€"I often fancy he is a man who would haveâ€" STRONGER THAN LIFE. I look out into the garden again indif- ferently, I wonder what Ronald Scott thinks of me? I know my want of in- terest in everything puzzles him a littleâ€" he cannot imagine why I do not take any pleasure in my woods. my meadows, my horses, my dogs. and my beautiful old house. Certainly I have been ill. but I am well nowâ€" so well that I have been on horseback several times. and have driven Olive and myself all about Yattenden in my basket-phaeton. But people say my illness has changed me very much; my face looks haggard, there are dark shadows under my eyes. Nobody knows what I snfl‘er ; through all my wanderings I have never mentioned Gerard Baxter’s name; I am surprised that I did not, he is never out of my thoughts. I have never heard of him since that day when we said good- bye to each other in my leafy combeâ€" not a single word 1 I do not know whether he is dead or alive -Olive does not know. She has never spoken of him since that morning she told me all she knew about him as we came through my wood. I do not think she suspects anythingâ€"she never thought I cared for him, she would have been sure to tell me. “ Tuo soulâ€"sides, one to face the world with And one to show a womanwhen he loved her." “ Why do you anpprse so? “ You are a Yankee for answering questions with questmna! Because when an Indian judgp x‘mea back to England, everybrdy know: he corms back to_ 100k for a. wife." “ Then evervbody is wrong, so far as I (m concerned." “ Cousin Ronald. ’ I ask auddeniy, with- out turning my head. f‘have you any sweetheart in England?” v - “ Why do you ask, cousin Rosalie 7" “Because 1 want to know I suppose.” that "I‘ilihink you are too late to try for “Olive.” I say. shaking my head. “You would not: advise me to enter the list: against Lockhart ‘4‘" he asks uninhi- u way, I think Olivelikes himâ€"a. little. But, she ‘1, 1Utah 5 madcapâ€"what she like: one day she hates the next." “Them if .he like: Lcckhart to day, there may br 503119 chance for me to-mor. 001181 “ Because I did not come home on any such quest, Cousin Rosalie.” “ U you your word 7” “ Upon my honor I” he laughs, looking round at me. “ Why, cousin, I never thouvhb you had a turn for match-mak- lng l_’ . .. n.‘ “.1- -_t_ . “ I never thought so either. But I know plenty of pretty nice girTsâ€"El- lino: Deane and AdaRoUestou and Katie." “ Why do you leave out your own par- ticular friend ’I" “ Tth, if there may b' row.” “ BecauaVeN-you know where to find her 7" “ Diofiybu like Olive '1’" I ask quickly, glgpcninground‘fit him. 11 1 , 7I,L L_ Dâ€"‘Tbliio you like her too well to wish to see her married to me ’2" r “ I should like yo.‘ 8" for each other,” 1 any 3 her better than any 0 world.” yum.- u: "\Iuvvvi "v- _r-_ _, “ I like you very much, cousin. YOU have been very kind to me '1" , N “ Rosalie, do you like me well enough 0 are what becomes of me '9" “How can you ask such a foolish ques- tlon?” “ As you said just nowâ€"because I want to know." n VAlv. “ Then you must like me bdittle, to wish to bestow her upon; me?" _ * ‘ V“. “I‘VVUf course I care. You are the only cousin I haveâ€"it in not an if I had half a dozen, or half a. score, like mpab _peopl_e." “Kim you care for 'me with til-8 citing that you mighb have divided among half a. dczan, or perhaps half a. score ’1" I do not answer. “ Rosalie, I did not come back to Eng- land to look for a sweetheartâ€"or a. wife. But do you think you couid ever care enough for meâ€"ab any future timeâ€"to gigs me both “E” ‘ . u 1 J u,1,,, “No,” I answer, In the same grave, matter-of-fach bone in which he has spok- en. without any change of color or added pulsation of the heart. “ I shall never care for any one, Ronald â€" I do not intend to marry any one. Thls place can hh to have been yoursâ€"ab my death, lb will be- long to you.”_ I turn my head now to look ab him. His grave eyes meet mine unwaveringlv; his head In a little benb-as he looks in- tently into my face. ‘7At y'our death 1” he repeats, with a. Put I may not care to have ybu know I am sweetheathes." Then yen have none?" Have you one in your eye for me 7"? I suppose you came back'for a. wife, the re‘st ‘1‘ The Shirtless Man. ‘ and Olive to care VK‘reamfly. “Ilike 7 one!" girl in the shocked look. “ Why, child, 1 am ever‘ so many years older than you are i” “ Oniy ten. And, when one does not care to live. it makes a great d fl'arencaâ€"" “ But you do care to live i It is only some morbid fancy you hnve taken into your headâ€"people often take such fancies into their heads when they have been ill." “ This is no fancy of mineâ€"the strong- ... 1' «Ah the more I seem toeee how little .m‘; This is no fancy of m‘ or I gob, the more I seem life is worth Jiving l" luv u. uu...- , “ But you haveuao much you have everything your sire.” Have I? I do not answer him, my eyes are on the great; pearly bank of cloud whoae fringes are slowly turning from silver to gold in the light of the setting auu. “ Rosalie, will you let me try to make you happv “I Will you try to care for me a little 7 I loveâ€"I have loved you ever since the first moment I saw your face. Don‘t you think I could make you happy, loving you so much as that 'I” I do not think it for a moment. I do not seriously entertain the thought even for one seco d of time. A year ago it might have seemed to me a very desirable arrangement. It would restore Woodhay to the man whom I always felt ought to have had it. But a year ago I did not care for any one else. Now my heart lies buried in a grave that was dug for it down among the tangled ferns and leaves and grass in my shadowy combe one dayâ€"a grave whose fresh sods I have never visib- edâ€"a grave where with my dead love I have buried all hope, all pleasure, all de- sire of llfe. ann. lvvn .v-.._ -_ “ Yes," I answer slowly ; “ I suppose you have a right. to ask." “ I do not want to ask it by reason of any right, and you are not bound to an- swer me." “ No I am not bound to answer you." “ Rosalie, have you ever fancied that yogeared for_ any other man 7" “ I am sorry, if you really care for me, coalin Ronald. I don't know how you can "â€"-amlling allghblyâ€"“ knowing how cross I am I" “ May I ask you one question, Roalie?" 1 know what the question is before I look round into his face. The question is put so gravely, so com- posedly, that It does not stafile me. I answer it just as gravely, just as composv edly, looking straight before me at the smogth gray terrace-walk. n 11:11,, “Not fancied It, courlu Ronald I I have cared for another man so much that, though you may be a hundred times bet- ter, a thousand times worthior, you can never be to me what he once was.” “ I am not going to ask you his name. But this man, Rosalieâ€"A; cannot be but that he loved you in return 7" “ Oh, yes he loved me I ’ “Then is be dead?" - “ No," I answer, with a. strange little smile ; “he is married." , For one moment Ronald Scott stands belide me in dead silence. I do not look at him ; but I can fancy the astonishment â€"â€"the disgust perhapsâ€"in his grave stern faceâ€"his silence might mean either or both. “I will not trouble you any more. dear," 119 says gently. “ I would never have ask- ed that question if had dreamed what your answer would be. ButI did not think vou cared for any oneâ€"it seemed so unllkely thatâ€"he would not care for you." “ Poor child.” he says at lastâ€"and his tone is only pitiful, not disgusted at allâ€" “Roqr chiflq l"_ 1 «r 1 A ALLA- r .m . I do not look at him, and I do not: think he is looking at me. But two great. tears well into my eyes and fall upon my anhy- purple gown. .. J ,,,pl I hold out my left: hand to himâ€"the one next to himâ€"without turning my head. The foolish tears drop down my cheeks and fall upon the gown whose dead violet ahade Olive abhors. “ I :11in Befifour friend always, Rosalie -â€"remember thnt l" :;§é;'; iay vaguely, not dreaming how new I shall make trial of his friend- ahig ; “I shall gegnfmber." _ â€"â€"'r 1 He ahoioprsr and kisses my hand gravely, dispaasionately and walks out of the room just as Olive and Mt. Lockhnt come in to it. “ There I: no new: in the paper to-day." Olive says, picking up the Time’s from the floor Where Ronald Scott had throwq 71b. 7‘71: not ‘I" I answer languldly‘ still standing in the deep bay-win iuw look ing _o_ut._ _ . - u r“ 1 “imbibing tha Icall news. Oh, what 1. this?” She does not speak again for a minute or two. I suppose she is studying the paragraph which seemed to have attracted her attention. I am studying the sunset colors in the sky, the mystic glory of my sunset hill, the deep ruddy green of my shadowy woods. Mr. Lockhart has jun; wished us good-bye and left the room; Diggeu has carried away the tea-things ; Olive has more than once suggested that It is time hi my Inte-prandial drive; but I am in no 111qu for exerting myselfâ€" even to the extffl 9f putting on my hat. “Such a hon? 16 thing 1" Olive ex- claims. “ Allie, d1 you know that un- fortunate Gerard BaxL ‘1' was married '1” “ Yes,” I answer calm‘flfiithout turn- ing my head ; “ I knew it :“metime ago.” ,II 7‘. ALA»; "- “Tideâ€"01;;8’I 6381;“le to all you afioub itâ€"lh is enough to shock you if" ypu had ever known the wretched boy. « ‘5 “ Whai 1â€": EM fliaskr condon ng her. The girl is sitting on the come of the sofa, looking up at me with a whim 9 Ibartl- ed face. "‘TWfiy, he was arrested the day [More yesterday on a charge of having mnrd ered his wife '1" Ollve Deane went away this morning and Ronald Scott. left; after luncheonâ€"the house seems quite lonely and deserted. But: I am not thlnking of either my friend or my cousin. as I sit) alone in my brown- I do not answer him, rpy gayeg CHAPTER IX “ Why, child, I 9.13 ever much to live for ; your heart can de- panelled morning-room at Woodhay, hold, ing in my hand the Times of yesterday. I had hidden the paper away that I might study something in itat my leisure toâ€"day -â€"something that I already know by heart. As I sit in the deep old-fashioned bay- window, with the paper in my hand, my eyes are on the blaze of color without, in- tently staring. I see no sunny garden precints shut In by tall green hedges top; ped by the blue sky. I see a man in a prison-cellâ€"gaunt, haggardâ€"the man whom I still love with all the reckless cbstinancy of my natureâ€"the boy whose weakness of purpose has spoiled both hls life and my own. I believe every word of the story he told to the magistrate before whom they took him, though, in the face of such overwhelming evidence as was produced ‘ against him, I do not see that there was any course open to the magistrate but the course he adopted, of committing him to prison to take his trial at the Octobe Serious for the murder of his wife. The account of the examination before the magistrate in given in full in the paper in my hand, under the heading of “ Police intelligence." I have mastered every particular of the cane. weighed every grain of evidence in my own mind. Bun. con- clusively as the crime aeematobe 7 to 13111; home to the wrtcched lad who it: o a and his trial in October, I am entirely .ouvincâ€" ed that hehad no handorpart iniu as that. I had no hand or part In it myself. Three weeks before the day Gerard Baxter was arrested on the charge of hav- ing made away with his wifeâ€"en the twenty-third of Julyâ€"his motherin-law, Eliza White, deposed to having gone to lodgings to visit her daughter. The pris- oner opened the door for her, and told her that her daughter had gone out. about half an hour before, to buy something in a neighboring street. She had gone home perfectly satisfied, and fully intending to call again in the evening ; tut some tuni- ness of her own prevented her doing this, and, when she repeated her visit on the following morning,. she was rather surprised to hear from her son-in-law that her daughter had again gone out. On neither occasion had he invited her into the room, but had stood in the do; r- way to answer her inquiries. He said her daughter was quite wall, and that he ex- pectedA her in every minute ; but he did Gerard Baxter’s manner rather odd. and surly ; but then he never had a very pleasant manner, and it made no impres‘ sion upon her. She was so sure that he had been telling her the truth on both oc- casions that she never thought of making any inquiries among the neighbors. In answer to the magistrate, she said the lodgings were very poor ones. Gerard Baxter was an artist, and could not always sell his pictures ; but he had some copies of pictures for churches, she thought, and they had brought in some money. They never were in actual want. 1:16;:ng her to wiit, not had she time to waste wniting for her. She thought Gerard Baxter’s manner rather odd and She went on to say that she had not called again for several days, being rather hurt with her daughter for never comlng near her. She had been In the habit of running into her house every evening al- most when her husband went out. They had not got on very well together. Her daughter was a child almost, and very thoughtless, and Gerard Baxter was soured by dissapointment and poverty, and had lately begun to drlnkâ€"not hard, but more than was good for him ; but he was never cruel to his wife at the worst cf times, so far as she knew. Mrs. Eliza White’s evidence wa so impartial that it produced a strong impression ln her favor in the court. For a whole week she saw nothing of her daughter, nor did she go to her lodg- ings to inquire after her She blamed herself for it very much afterwards ; but she had to earn her own bread by wash- ing, and had lodgers to look after. At the endof a week she went, however, and found the door looked; then she turned into the room of a neighbor on the next floor, a woman named Hang, the wife of a German who played the violin in the orchestra of some theatreâ€"she forgot what theatre. Mrs. basg said that she was surprised to hear her making inquiries for her daughter, since Baxter had told them all she had gone to stay with some cousins in the country. They had not seen nor heard anything of her in that house since the twenty-second of July ; Mrs. White herself had seen her on the twenty-first. .. v. Mrs'. White then resolved to wait ti her son-in-law should come in ; but, though she sat with Mrs. Hang for more than two hours, Baxter did not make his appearance. Meanwhile Mrs. Haag told her all she knewâ€"how for three days Baxter had told them, when they inquir- ed for his wife, that she had just gone out and would be in presently, and on the fourth had told herâ€"Mrs. Hangâ€"that she had gone to visit some cousins in the country. The neighbors suspected no- thing. When they asked for her later on. he said he had had letters from her, and even gave them messages which she sent to them in the letters. He left his wife alone very much, and they all pitied her â€"she was so youngâ€"a mere child, and so pretty. On the morning of the twenty- second they had had words about some- thing ; sheâ€"Mrs. Haag-heard him threat- en to rid himself of herâ€"to choke her, she thought he said ; but such threats were common enough in that tenement- houseâ€"she had never given them a second thought. .. .. n . -..1 7 MR. VWhlte, finding Baxter did nob come back, 1er Mrs. Haag, and went home. She knew Lilyâ€"her dgughher's name was Elizaâ€"the 3311116 as he]? own, but size always cllled hergelf_Lily_â€"h§d some copsinu In Kent ; and, though she was surprised to hear she had gone to pay them a visit, it was not outside the bounds of probabliity that she should have done so. And, being troubledwith her own con- cerns, she gate no more thought to the matter until the afternoon of the four- teenth of August“ Here the witness was so overcome by grief that it was some time before the ex- amination oogld prcceegi. _ On the afternoon of the fourteenth of August a policeman came to her, to take her to the mortuary. A body had been found floating in the river near Black- friars Bridge ; Mr. Hang had happened to see it, and at once recognised it as the body of Mrs. Baxter, and the girl's mother was sent for to identify in, as her husband was not: to be found. Mrs. White had no difficulty in identi- fying the body. though it had been in the water a considerable timeâ€"three weeks, the surgeon said, who made the post mor- tem examination. The face was much disfigured from the action of he water: but the beautiful red gold hair, the small even teeth, the girl's height and age, the wedding-ring on her finger, were all con- clusive evidence. Her clothes were poor. and had no mark upon themâ€"a black cashmere dr‘ss, black jacket, and a little brooch with hair in it, which Mrs. White at once recognised as having been a pre- sent from herself to her daughterâ€"she had put the hair into it herselfâ€"it was her father's hair. Mr. and Mrs. Haag had also identified the clothes, but could not remember the brooch. Mrs. Hang, being called up corroborated Mrs White's evidence in every particular. The prison- er obstinateiy refused to answer any ques- tions put to him by the Bench, and main- tained all through the inquiry a sullen demeanor, which had considerably pre- judiced the court against him. So much I had read, studying every wordâ€"I think the sentences have burnt themselves into my brain. There were no marks of violence on the body, so far as could be ascertained ; but, from the state it was in when found. this could scarcely be Ba'lefactorily proved. It was supposed that Baxner had pushed his wife into the river on the night. of the twenty-second of Julyâ€"the day Mrs. Hang had heard him threatening to take her life. I believe Gersrd’ Baxter to be innocent of the crime imputed to him. I have not asked Ronald Scott his opinion, nor uncle Todâ€"1 could not trust myself to ask them any questions. But I heard Olive ask uncle Tod at breakfast what they would do to Gerard Baxter, and uncle Tod said they would try him, find him guilty most prob- ably, and condemn him to death. The guilt seemed most conclusively brought to himâ€"whether he would be recommended to mercy or not he could not say. It might come out that there had been ex- tenuating circumstances. It was a horrible business altogether. It is a. horrible business. I think so, as I sit staring into my quiet sunny gard- en, into which even the echo of such evil deedn has never come. It is all so peace- ful, so orderlyâ€"the blackbird and thrush hop in and out of the tall th‘ck wa‘ls of yew and beech, my peacock glimmers up and down in the distance, iaint pearly clouds float across the serene sky. How different it is from the wretched London street, perhaps more wretched court or alley, where the man to whom I would have so freely given Woodhay, with all its gardens and terraces, woods and meadows, has worked and starved till it seems that his misery has driven him mad! I hate the blue sky, the orderly flower beds, the ruddy gables, and carved window-set- tings of my quaint old house. I cannot hear to look at them, thinking how little happiness they have given me. If I had been what he imagined me, the pennlless girl learning music as a means of future livelihood, I would have married him, and we should have been Lunrnbu ulul, auu "U EALVuA-A non-v w--.â€" bappy. But I refused him, became I was Mias Somers Scott of Woodhay Man- or. And now all my wood: and moors and meadows have tumed to ashes be- tween my tea 1!. I heard anoise and ran out to see what it was. I ssw at some distance off a heavy black cloud, funnei shaped and twisting at the bottom likea screw. It seemed whirling with rapidity, and was coming through the woods like a wild animsl. It was just awful. People began to cry out and run around distracted, and I felt very queer. I saw that big black thing come bouncing along like a great cannon ball and I concluded I was about to fly away on it and be an angel. The cloud did not lie close to the ground, but bounded up and down, jumping clear over the tops of some of the trees and tearing others to pieces. I thought I would lie down a while. I selected a spot that was full of mud and water. I don't know why I chose such a. place, but maybe it was because I was in a hurry and did not have time to chese well. It W8.“ 8. soft piece, however, and had its attractions at that moment. After I had got myself well settled in the mud I saw the cyclone was giving me the go by. It passed about 200 yards to my left and tore things up terribly. There was a tree standing there in full view. The cyclone struck it about forty feet from the ground, turned the branches and all around half a dozen times like lightning, and then snatched the whole upper portion into kindling wood and carried it off. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and although I am glad I saw it I don’t want to see it againâ€"not so close, anyhow. There has been much talk lately in cerbaln circles concerning ghosts and spiritual apparitions generally, but I have seldom heard better advice on the subject of ghost-seeing than that given to me now many years ago by a very hardened sceptlc. With a merry twinkle in his eye, he said, “My dear young friend, if a. ghost comes in at the door, take a pistol; if he comes up through the floor, take a pill." How to Deal with Ghosts. Dodging a Cyclone. (To 31: CONTINUED lnterenlngflmt about the Boy.- at in} From Tom Howie, Armstrong and, Dean, the three scout: who captured Riel, expect to yet a Government reward. The Winnipeg Field Batbexy is the only corps at the from whinh ha received no casualties in .any of the engagymentl. The nights in the Norbth t are very chilly, while the days are t e opposite. The “ boys" are as dusky looking as the “ breeds." Plans of the battle fields have been drawn by the hundred. Almost every one has his own idea of the brush he was fighting in. Chief Stewart), of the Hamilton Police Force, has been appointe’l Marshall in connection with the tidal of Rial and other rebels. A counsel from the Qiebec bar has to be appointed. “ A” Battery has done wonderful ser- vice and hard work. They have the great- est percentage of killed and wounded In all the engagements. A great. many of the wounded who had he be taken to the rear in wagons were put in stretcher: made of cattle hide, which were fastened hammock fashion across the wagon. Complaints are made of the outgoing and incoming malls for the troops which seem to teach their destination very slow- ly. The post; ( flica authorities do not; seem to know the position of tha‘ differ- ent regiments. Saskatoon seems to be the proper place for a crossing and probably the Govern- ment will reward the generoalty ot the Temperance Colony by running the tele- graph line lnto the settlement). The post office authorities at Winnipeg are now sendlng two mall: weekly to Battleford by Swift Carreng, instead of by Ql’Appelle, as formerly. All malls for the volunteers at the front go by this route. A rumor is current that a. secret organ- izationhas been formed at Winnipeg with branches all over the Dominion, who have sworn to take the life of Riel should he be let escape from the hands of the Government at the forthcoming trial. Some crank sent a bundle of tracts, ad- dressed “ Louis Riel, leader of the rebel halfbreeds and Indians, N. W. T.," which fell into the hands of the General. On opening the package a number of tracts and religious pamphlets were discovered. Inside a pamphlet was a page of the Bi- ble containing a portion of the Psalms of David with a sheet of note paper; on which was written “ Prepare to die I Whv shed blood ? You must die 1" Louis David will not need the advice now. The merchants of Prince Albert reaped an immense profit from the troops. The prices charged were enormtua, even for dry goods. As no one expected the campaign to be so lengthy, few provided themselves with more than a change of nnderclothing, and as none have been served out to the troops the pay of many of the men has been overdrawn in order to provide themselves with clothing. Jackets and trousers had to be bought from the Hudson Bay Uo.'s stores from the men’s private purses. The rough camp life has not left a complete uniform on any of the men. A large parcel of supplies for the Hall- fax Battalion, together with a. number of hospital shirts and other necessaries for the wounded. have been sent from Wyld, Brock & Co.’s establishment, Toronto, by express to Moose J aw. The hospital supplies were contributed b the ladies of St. Anne’s parish, and 0t er supplies were purchased by funds collected in Welkerton, Ont. Private A. G. Scovell, RoyalGrenadiers, who was wounded at Batoche on May 9th, and who has returned to Toronto, des- cribes as follows the way in which he was hurt and Moor killed : “ Our company was extending in skirmishing order, and the men were lying on the ground a few paces distant from one another. The enemy, as far as we could judge, was from 75 to 100 yards distant. I had extended my arm to get a couple of cartridges when I was struck. The bullet passed through the coat sleeve, through my arm, and then struck the coat again. Tom Moor was on my right hand, and the bullet, after disabling me, struck him on the head, and then glanced (if. He lingered until 11 o’clock that night and then ex- pired. I crawled oil" the field and went to the church, where the dressers attended to me; after that I was placed in the hospital tent." As a means of suicide the small veno- mous serpents of Oriental countries have always beenin vogueâ€"the asp of Cleopatra recurring to every one’s memory as a pro- minent example. In certain parts of Ben- gal there is said to be a race of gipsies, one of which for a fee will furnish a em all cobra to any applicant, “ and no questions ask- ed.” A man who desires to commit mur- der procures one of these reptiles and places it within a bamboo just long enough to let the head protrude a trifle at one end and the tall at the other. Armed with this deadly weapon, the murderer creeps softly to his enemy’s tent at the dead of night, cuts a. hole in the wall, and intro- duces the bamboo. The tortured reptile, careless upon whom it wreaks its animos- ity, strikes its fangs into the sleeper, then iswithdrawn, and the assassin steals silent- ly away. Snakes are often employed in tropical countries ssa sort of domestic an- imal. The ship chandlers of Rio de Jan- eiro, for example. have each a boa housed among their bulky goods to act has rat- catcher ; these often become tamed. and are recruited by mensgeries. in which ser- vice they perform another utllity by afford. ing an income to their owners. THE REBELLION The Reptile Assassin.