“Do you want them for Dick?” I asked, Dick being Pamela’s youngest brother.

“For Dick and Alice,” said Pamela.  Alice was her sister, younger still.

“Why shouldn’t I buy them a box of whole ones?”

“That wouldn’t answer the purpose.  They have three large boxes already,” answered Pamela, as a young man appeared in a frock coat, with a silver badge on the right lapel, “For Services Rendered.”  In his hand was a dusty cardboard box, and in the box lay five damaged leaden soldiers, up-to-date soldiers in khaki; two without heads, two armless, one who had lost both legs.

“Those will do splendidly,” said Pamela, and the young man with the silver badge obligingly put the soldiers into my tunic pocket.  It seemed to be understood that they and I had been knocked out in the same campaign.

“Why,” I asked on the way home in the taxi, “did you want the soldiers to be broken?”

“I—­I didn’t,” murmured Pamela, with a sigh.

“Why did Dick?” I persisted.

“The children are so dreadfully realistic now-a-days.  You see, Father objected to his breaking heads and arms off his new ones.  Dick was quite rebellious.  He wanted to know what he was to do for wounded; and Alice was more disappointed still.”

“I should have thought it was too painful a notion for her,” I suggested.

“Oh!” cried Pamela, with a laugh, “Alice is a Red Cross nurse, you know.  She’s made a hospital out of a Noah’s Ark.  She only thinks of healing them.”

“All the King’s horses and all the King’s men cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again,” I said.

“Poor old boy!” whispered Pamela.

“I wonder whether broken soldiers have an interest for you as well,” I remarked ... and Dick and Alice were completely forgotten until they met us clamorously in the hall.

“Did you get any, Pam?” cried Dick.

“Only five,” was the answer, as I took the small paper parcel from my pocket and handed it over.

“Is that all?” demanded Alice.

“There’s one more,” I said.

“Is that for me?” cried Alice; but Pamela shook her head and smiled very nicely as she took my arm.

“No, that’s for me,” she said.

* * * * *

A TRAGEDY OF THE SEA.

The night was a very dark one, for a cold damp fog hung over the Channel.  The few lights we carried reflected in-board only, and, leaning over the rail, it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the dark waters washing below.  Shore-ward I could see nothing, though I knew that a good-sized town lay there.

I had soon had enough of the inclement night.  Keeping my feet with some difficulty upon the wet boards, I groped my way to a door and, pushing it open, entered.

A strange scene met my gaze.  A spruce man in the uniform of a naval officer was seated at a table.  Before him stood a tall well-set-up young seaman.  His dishevelled head was hatless, but otherwise he looked trim, and his garments fitted him better than a seaman’s garments generally do.  On each side of him stood an armed guard.