“Good,” said Becker; “Fritz and Jack are not visible, therefore we may easily guess who fired that shot.”

“Particularly,” added Wolston, “as this is the first of January.  Last night I observed an unusual amount of going backwards and forwards, so, I suppose, nobody need be much at a loss to solve the mystery.”

“Aye,” sighed Willis, “New Year’s Day brings pleasing recollections to many, but sad ones to those who are far away from their own homes.”

Shortly after, the absentees arrived, each mounted on his favorite ostrich.

“Mrs. Wolston,” said Fritz, spreading out a fine leopard’s skin, “be good enough to accept this, with the compliments of the season.”

“Mr. Wolston,” said Jack, at the same time, “here is the outer covering of a panther, who, stifling with heat, commissioned me to present you with his overcoat.”

“I am very proud of your gift, Master Fritz,” said Mrs. Wolston; “it is really very handsome.”

“It may, perhaps, be useful at all events, madam,” said Fritz; “for, in the absence of universal pills and such things, it is a capital preventative of coughs and colds.”

“You have been over the way again, then?” inquired Willis.

“Yes; but, as you see, we adopted a more efficacious mode of operations than the one you suggested.”

“Ah,” replied Willis, drily, “you did not light a fire this time to frighten the brutes away, and go to sleep when it went out!”

Sophia then presented Willis with a handsome tobacco pouch, on which the words, “From Susan,” were embroidered.

“Bless your dear little heart!” said the sailor, whilst a tear sparkled in the corner of his eye, “you make me almost think I am in Old England again.”

“What is the matter?” inquired Mrs. Wolston, as Mary came running in.

“Oh, such a miracle, mamma! my parrot commenced talking this morning.”

“And what did it say, child?”

Here Mary blushed and hesitated; Mrs. Wolston glanced at Fritz, and thought it might be as well not to inquire any further.

“Perhaps somebody has changed it,” suggested Jack.

“Not very likely that a strange parrot could pronounce my own name.”

“Well, perhaps your own has been learning to spell for a long time, and has just succeeded in getting into words of two or more syllables.  These creatures abound in sell-esteem; and yours, perhaps, would not speak till it could speak well.”

“Odd, that it should pitch upon New Year’s morning to say all sorts of pretty things.  They do not carry an almanack in their pockets, do they?”

“Well,” remarked Willis, “parrots do say and do odd things.  I heard of one that once frightened away a burglar, by screaming out, ’The Campbells are coming;’ so, Miss Wolston, perhaps yours does keep a log.”

“By counting its knuckles,” suggested Jack.

“Counting one’s knuckles is an ingenious, but rather a clumsy substitute for the calendar,” remarked Wolston.