And as they came to the foot of it, she saw it was a broad bright road, sloping up and away into the sky, and at the far, far end of it she could see wee shining things dancing about.

“Now,” said the Fish, “here you are, and yon’s the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold on fast.  I’ll warrant you find the stair easier at home than by such a way; ‘t was ne’er meant for lassies’ feet to travel;” and off he splashed through the water.

So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne’er a step higher did she get:  the light was before her and around her, and the water behind her, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the dark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell.

But she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, till at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank down—­down—­down.

And bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting, weeping and wailing, by the bedside at home all alone.

News!

MR. G. Ha!  Steward, how are you, my old boy?  How do things go on at home?

STEWARD.  Bad enough, your honour; the magpie’s dead!

MR. G. Poor mag! so he’s gone.  How came he to die?

STEWARD.  Over-ate himself, Sir.

MR. G. Did he indeed? a greedy dog.  Why, what did he get that he liked so well?

STEWARD.  Horseflesh; he died of eating horseflesh.

MR. G. How came he to get so much horseflesh?

STEWARD.  All your father’s horses, Sir.

MR. G. What! are they dead too?

STEWARD.  Ay, Sir; they died of over-work.

MR. G. And why were they over-worked?

STEWARD.  To carry water, Sir.

MR. G. To carry water, and what were they carrying water for?

STEWARD.  Sure, Sir, to put out the fire.

MR. G. Fire! what fire?

STEWARD.  Your father’s house is burned down to the ground.

MR. G. My father’s house burnt down! and how came it to be on fire?

STEWARD.  I think, Sir, it must have been the torches.

MR G. Torches! what torches?

STEWARD.  At your mother’s funeral.

MR. G. My mother dead?

STEWARD.  Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it.

MR. G. After what?

STEWARD.  The loss of your father.

MR. G. My father gone too?

STEWARD.  Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.

MR. G. Heard of what?

STEWARD.  The bad news, an’ it please your honour.

MR. G. What? more miseries, more bad news!

STEWARD.  Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost and you’re not worth a shilling in the world.  I make bold, Sir, to come and wait on you about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news.