thought of Count Bunker.

At that moment the point was settled. With his
old roar of exuberant gusto the Baron announced, in
a voice that drowned even the five ministers--

"Ach, yes, I vill toss ze caber to-morrow! I vill
toss him--so high!" (his napkin flapped upwards).
"How long shall he be? So tall as my castle: Mees
Gallosh, you shall help me? Ach, yes! Mit hands so
fair ze caber vill spring like zis!"

His pudding-spoon, in vivid illustration, skipped
across the table and struck his factor smartly on the
shirt-front.

"Sare, I beg your pardon," he beamed with a
graciousness that charmed Mrs. Gallosh even more
than his spirited conversation--"Ach, do not return it,
please! It is from my castle silver--keep it in memory
of zis happy night!"

The royal generosity of this act almost reconciled
Mrs. Gallosh to the loss of one of her own silver spoons.

"Saved!" sighed Bunker, draining his glass with
a relish he had not felt in any item of the feast
hitherto.

Now that the Baron's courage had returned, no