A Grizzly Bear.—Gossamers.—Strike only on the Box.

After Frank's cuts and bruises were plastered up, the boys turned into their berths and were soon fast asleep. Now the hawks had been placed in a corner at the foot of Jimmy's berth, and crouched together quiet and sullen. The foot of Jimmy's bed was only about six inches from them, and as he turned and twisted in his sleep, he pushed his foot out of the bottom of the bed, exposing his toes within tempting reach of the young hawks' talons. The natural consequence followed. One of the birds seeing this capital chance of avenging himself on his enemies, seized fast hold of Jimmy's big toe with his sharp beak. Jimmy jumped up with a loud yell, and hitting his forehead against the roof of the cabin fell down again on the floor. Frank, hearing a noise, started up not more than half awake, and fell out of his hammock on to the top of Jimmy, whom he seized by the throat. Dick awoke from a dream of Arctic exploration, and cried out,—

"Is that a grizzly bear?"

"Grizzly bear!" said Jimmy, whom Frank had released. "Something ten times worse than a bear has seized my toe and bitten it off, or nearly so, and then I hit my head against the roof, and Frank half choked me. I think it is a great deal too bad."

"You must have been dreaming, Jimmy," said Frank; "there is nothing here that could bite your toe."

"But I can feel that it is bleeding!" answered Jimmy, in a very injured tone of voice.

At that moment a noise in the corner of his berth attracted their attention.

"Oh, it must have been the hawks!" said Dick, and he and Frank went off into fits of laughter, which only grew more boisterous as Jimmy proceeded to light a candle, and bind his toe up with a piece of sticking-plaster, grumbling all the time, and casting savage glances at the offending birds.

The light was put out, and they once more went to bed, Jimmy taking care to tuck his feet well under him. Every now and then a smothered burst of laughter from the other berths told him that his friends were still enjoying the joke, and then, as his toe began to pain him less, his sense of the ludicrous overcame his sense of outraged dignity, and just as Dick and Frank were dropping off to sleep, they were again startled by a peal of laughter from Jimmy.

"Oh dear!" said Frank, "you will be the death of us, Jimmy. Have you only now discovered the joke?"

"Oh, don't make me laugh any more. My sides are aching so," said Dick.

Once more composed, they went to sleep, and awoke early in the morning to find that the gale had spent itself, and that a soft air from the south blew warmly over the land. The sun shone his brightest, and the birds sang their merriest. They had a bathe in the clear river water, and dressed leisurely on the top of their cabin, while the sun, which had not risen very long, threw their shadows, gigantic in size, over the green meadows, which were covered with silvery gossamers—and then they were witnesses of a curious phenomenon. Their shadows had halos of light around them, extending about eighteen inches from each figure, all around it. The strong light from behind them, shining on the wet and gleaming gossamers, was no doubt the cause of this singular appearance. The same sight has been seen when the grass was wet with dew.

"The fields are quite silvery with the gossamer," said Dick. "Is it not pretty!"

"Yes, what a number of spiders there must be to cause such an appearance," answered Frank. "It always puzzles me how those spiders move about—and how is it that on some mornings they appear in such immense quantities, while on the next morning, perhaps, not one will be seen?"

"I think they are always there," replied Dick, "but they are only visible when the dew is falling heavily, and wetting them so that they become visible. In the clear air, too, the sun will dry them so that we shall not be able to see them; but they will be there all the same. Let us gather a bunch of rushes with a lot of them on and examine them."

He did so, and they saw great numbers of tiny spiders gliding about their tiny webs. By and by, as they watched them, the little spiders shot out long silvery threads, which floated out to leeward, and then the spiders let go their hold and launched themselves into the air, and were borne away by the faint south wind.

"Oh, so that is the secret of their wandering, is it? Don't you wish you could send a long floating thread from your stomach, Jimmy, and sail away over the marshes? It would be as good as having wings."

"Don't be so absurd, Frank."

A wherry was being pushed up the stream by its two stalwart boatmen, by the process known in Norfolk as quanting. The men placed their long poles or quants into the river at the bow of the wherry, and, placing their shoulders against them, walked to the stern, propelling the boat along with their feet. By this laborious method, when the wind fails them, do the wherrymen work their craft to their destination. As they passed the yacht, one of them cried out—

"We have got no matches, guv'nor. Can you give us some?"

"Certainly," replied Frank; and diving into the cabin, he returned with a handful. These he handed to the wherryman, who thanked him and passed on. The man stopped quanting and tried to strike a match by rubbing it on the sole of his shoe. It failed to ignite, and he threw it down. Another met with the same fate, and another also. Then he tried striking them on wood, then on iron, then on his rough jacket, but all to no purpose, and they could see him trying one after another, and throwing them down with every symptom of disgust.

"Why, Frank, those matches strike only on the box," said Dick.

"I know that," replied Frank, laughing quietly.

"Oh, that's too bad. Fancy the fellow's disgust!"

They sailed up to the pretty little town of Beccles, where they took in provisions, and Frank bought some more sticking-plaster in case of any further accident. They then had a good dinner at the principal inn, and afterwards called upon a friend, who took them over the large printing-works near the town, where many books published in London are printed. They began with the compositors' room, where, with marvellous rapidity, the workmen were selecting the letters from their respective boxes in the case of type, and arranging them in their proper order. The extraordinary illegibility of some of the MSS. from which the compositors were reading with apparent ease astonished our boys, who could make nothing of them. They then paid a visit to the reader, who has the wearisome and eye-tiring task of reading over and correcting the proofs. When the proofs have been corrected and the "revise" submitted to the author, and his corrections made, the process of stereotyping comes in. The sheet of type is covered with a layer of plaster-of-paris, which takes a perfect impression of the words on the sheet of type. From this plaster-of-paris cast another cast is taken in metal, and this forms the stereotype plate from which the book is printed. The type, which is very valuable, can then be distributed to its proper places, and used again. The stereotype plates are always kept stored in stacks, like bottles in a wine-bin.

Jimmy, being of a mechanical turn of mind, was very much interested in the stereotyping process, and more particularly in the account they received of the way in which many daily papers are printed. The impression is in the first instance taken by means of a soft wet paper of sufficient thickness. This is dried, and the molten metal is poured upon it, and takes a perfect impression, without in any way spoiling the paper mould, or "matrix," which can be used again, while a plaster one cannot. Jimmy asked to be shown some wooden blocks from which wood engravings are printed, and the boys examined them curiously.

They received an invitation to spend the evening at their friend's house, and after returning to the boat to feed the hawks with some "lights" bought at a butcher's shop, they had a very pleasant evening, and slept that night on shore.