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CHAPTER III

THE AMULET

FEN had been lying for some time with closed eyes when something like a very light kiss on his forehead made him open them instantly, but nothing was to be seen. He sat, tense and expectant, when all at once a little chain of mummy-beads, with

"Well, they 're not ashore to-day," answered Fen. "Father's up for'ard smoking, an' I think Larry went to talk to the engineer, an' Mother 's writing letters, an' Sally 's reading, I think."

"Very good," said Siddereticus, and, putting out his hand, picked up the chain from Fen's lap.

"Please tell me about it," said the little boy. "Is it a magic?"

"Well," replied Siddereticus, "it 's an amulet a sort of talisman, you know. They do different things-you wear them round your neck, and they protect you

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"I S'POSE YOU 'RE THINKING ABOUT THAT OLD DJINN,' SHE

REMARKED"

a small, greenish charm attached to it, dropped quietly into his lap. He looked He looked up with a gasp.

"Siddereticus!" he cried, "please don't be invisible! Oh, I do want to see you!"

The Djinn, tall and impressive, stood beside him. He was clad in a blue robe which fell straight from neck to ankle, and on his head was a crimson fez. Fen gazed at him, speechless and awe-struck. "Now I'm sure you 're a Djinn!" he murmured at length.

"Greeting, Fen Effendi," said Siddereticus, seating himself cross-legged on the deck. "Alone again?"

against evil spirits and sickness and famine and such."

"Does this one do that?" asked Fen, eagerly. "What does the carving mean? It looks like people."

"It is. Two people standing hand in hand,and it protects you from loneliness. It is n't as powerful a charm as some of them are, and it does n't always work; but on the whole, I think it does pretty well."

He hung it about Fen's neck as he spoke, muttering a few words of Arabic. Fen, quite overcome, clasped his hands fervently.

"I sha' n't ever feel lonely with this on," he

said, "I'll feel as if you were there. And oh," he added, "it was you that came in the middle of the water and made such a beautiful song, all for me! And the star was my night-lamp and shined in at me."

"I'm glad it obeyed instructions," said Siddereticus.

"What did it mean, please," asked Fen, holding the amulet, "about the somethings singing in the dawn?"

"The Memnon?" said Siddereticus. "Alas, people say that it happens no more, but I, for one, believe that it does-in solitary dawns, when no living creature is about. But I'll tell you.'

He lit a cigarette, and for a moment watched the blue smoke rising straight upward in the still air. Then he went on:

"Far into the desert, where it is sometimes overflowed by the Nile, stand two great statues, bigger than anything you can imagine, but each one is carven from a single block of stone. Their mighty hands rest on their knees; the wind and the sand have worn away their faces; armies that are passed and gone have shattered the great crowns they used long ago to wear. Silent they sit there, as they have sat for ages, while the water creeps over their feet, and they are reflected in it. But-when the first rays of the sun touch them, and light up their mighty forms, they lift a faint, mystic voice and sing, one high note that dies away as the sun rises-and then they are dumb again till another dawn."

Fen's eyes were wide and shining; he held the amulet with both hands and said not a word.

"So you see," said Siddereticus, "they sing in the dawn, and the storks fly, but I come and sing people to sleep in the dusk."

Just then Sally's voice could be heard, crying, "Oh, Fen!" and the Djinn sprang to his feet. Fen hastily thrust the amulet inside his dressing-gown, as Sally appeared at the head of the companionway. Siddereticus took one step toward her, made a quick pass with his hand, and had

vanished over the side, his blue robe fluttering behind him, all before Sally could close her mouth, which she had opened in astonishment.

"So that's your Djinn, is it?" she said at last. "Well, I must say he 's quite Djinnish-looking enough for anybody."

"You-you drove him away," faltered Fen, his hand pressed over the place where the amulet lay.

"LAN's sakes a-massy, chile!" cried Mammy, as she put Fen to bed that night; "wha' dis hyar heathen foolishness you-all got eroun' yo' naick?" and she put out her hand to it.

Fen shrank away from her with terror in his eyes.

"Don't touch it! Please!" he cried.

"Lemme dess take it offen you, so 's I kin wash you nice," she begged. But Fen's distress was so real, and he clung to the amulet with such frantically repeated appeals, that Mammy was forced to yield.

"Dar, dar, honey!" she said soothingly; "Mammy woan' tech it. Dess you lay a-still, so 's I kin wash you nice."

Fen listened and waited in vain for a song from the river, and went to sleep at last with his face to the star that Siddereticus had appointed as his night-light, and with his hand over the amulet that was to protect him from loneliness.

(To be continued)

CBARNES

"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? EVEN THE REINDEER HAVE BEEN DRAFTED!"

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A Christmas Puzzle

THERE is one thing I 'd like to know
About this jolly "Santa" show.
That chimney story has to be
Fixed up a little bit for me!

Of course a child that 's fairly bright
Can see how he gets down all right,-
That does n't bother me-but then
How does he get back up again?

I asked my grandpa, and he said
He 'd never got that through his head!
"We'll stay right in this room and see
How Santa gets back up," says he.

"That mystery shows up every year;
To-night we 're going to make it clear."
So he sat up to watch and wait;
I snuggled down before the grate.

Next thing I heard, from Grandpa's chair:
"Why, how is this? Well, I declare!"
That room was full of Christmas things,
The kind that Santa always brings!
Grandpa gazed up that chimney hole.
"That Santa chap 's a sly old soul!
We'll have to wait another year
To have that puzzle solved, I fear."

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By T. MORRIS LONGSTRETH

Author of "Mobilizing Molly"

How Molly Hatton, in her far-away Adirondack valley, mobilized her selfreliance and resourcefulness for war service, under the wise guidance of invalided Lieutenant Reed, and the way in which she "made good," was set forth in the August number of ST. NICHOLAS. A second and still more thrilling adventure of "Commander Molly" remains to be told and is here recorded.

A little reputation is a dangerous thing, but Molly, backed by her mother's experience and the rare letters from her adored Captain Reed, now in France, went from good to better during that long and terrible war winter. "Mobilizing Molly," she was now called, from her Uncle Andrew's log cabin, which was deep in the forest, to the last house down the long valley; and as Mobilizing Molly she was frequently in demand, while always her good sense and the captain's military maxims pulled her through. The Red Cross and other war-fund drives, the barnrat nuisance-for many and various things her organizing abilities were utilized; and as army call after army call drained the lonely valley of its man-power, she was more and more looked upon by the villagers as the person who would smilingly ward off disaster-they did n't know how; they just left that to Molly.

But unknown to them, Molly was nursing black treachery in her heart. She did n't think of it as treachery, or she would have been the first to vanquish it and turn it out. She was aware only of the one big desire to go to France and work in a canteen. In the stray magazine and in the occasional Sunday supplement that fell to hand, Molly's hungry eyes devoured the pictures of fascinating lines of poilus being waited upon by charming girls, and she read and re-read the intoxicating details of their days' work. She pictured the beautiful confusion of it all, the happy

fatigue that must be the reward of those lucky girls in distant France, while sheshe must stay and slave in her povertystricken village. She would go. She had decided. Her brothers had gone, both of them, and she would find a way. And in the heat of her resolve she would then look at her mother patiently knittingknitting, or ironing, or even sawing wood; and she knew in her heart that she had no right to desert. And in those forlorn days of late winter a persistent melancholy fastened itself upon her heart. Her mother, realizing how hard the work and loneliness were for her girl, prayed that the mails might bring fresh comfort from the captain. But from across the ocean came nothing, and the icy fear of what might have befallen him added to the secret unhappiness of both women. Never since he had left them had seven weeks elapsed without some word. And to complete the distress of Molly's spirit came the failure of the valley in the Third Loan.

It had been impossible to raise their quota, and Molly, who was regarded as leader of the valley, had felt the failure as a personal disgrace. To be sure, she had fallen short by less than a hundred dollars, but she had fallen short. She had been too proud to write this to the captain, and that caused another stab of the heart whenever she thought of it. Also, she had the sickening feeling that the villagers, her friends, no longer believed that she could do what she undertook; so altogether Molly was a pretty miserable girl on the April morning that she climbed up the ravine to her eagle's eyrie to think the thing out. She was going to decide then and there how to get to the city and how to get to France. For a canteen job she must have; the villagers could get along without her. She had failed them. She would go away and do what she liked.

Winter lingered in the ravine, but when

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