name And when the pulling-boat had landed him, and the last good-by was spoken, he stood, a solitary figure on the dock end, and looked at the receding boat-load of officers . . . and the gray ship with het grim bristling guns-lifting her lacelike cage masts across the blue sky... as she rode easily between her anchor chains.

A fine ship, the flag-ship! His . . . no

more.

At the hotel his wife. awaiting him, felt the sharp sting of tears as she noted the forlorn droop of his shoulders, but she smiled as he saluted her deferentially. 'I have to report that I am permanently at your service," he said with impressive formality.

"Thank goodness, you've come. John!" she said briskly. "I want you to go to the Pullman office and make a reservation on this evening's train while I telegraph Marian. I couldn't make any final arrangements, because I didn't know when you would get back. And will you get some one to fix the lock on my brown trunk? You'll have to hurry!" she added energetically.

The admiral gasped. "Reservationsfor where?" he asked.

"Silver City, of course! That's the nearest station to the Cliffords' ranch. They have a lovely young horse for you to train-one that no one has ever tried to ride on before. Marian says she'll guarantee that animal to distract your mind from your . . . she says you'll have to keep your mind on the horse. They have a wonderful ranch-with all sorts of wild animals, you know."

"I rather wanted to stay around here until the ship left," ventured the admiral, but his smile deepened. "I've weathered a good deal ... to finally end my career on a bucking bronco! Couldn't Marian and you have picked out a less strenuous counter-irritant for me? Why, Caroline!"

The admiral's wife was crying quietly.

"I won't have you wandering around that pier, looking like a lost soul . . . and grieving about that ship," she sobbed. "I'm sorry you feel badly about it but oh! how glad and thankful I am that . . . at last you've come home!" said the admiral's wife.

NEWCOMER in Japan, unacquainted with Japanese gardens and gardening, often feels that the so-called gardens are scarcely gardens, so different is their character from that to which he is accustomed. That they are not without matters of instant appeal is obvious, for there is scarcely any one who does not find some point for admiration. To one person, the rocks are most beautiful; to another, the waterfall; to yet others, the stone lantern or the well or the arrangement or composition of all these. One who comes studying gardens

will find pleasure in all these, and in the first months of his search will remember one garden for its flaunting azaleas or its dark cryptomeria forest, another for its dancing waterfall or its lake bounded with great beds of iris. And equally with these delights he will remember curious trees, trained, tortured out of their normal mode of growth; arrangements of rocks that are neither geologic nor familiarly artificial; and many incidents-pagodas, lanterns, bridges, fences-which are disconcertingly national in their character. But I am persuaded that if he add garden after garden to his store of memories, these features, pleasant and unpleasant, will be