"Well, who'd have thought of finding it in this unexpected way!" "Don't be too sure till you see it," said the widow. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. How would he act when he learned that it had vanished? She gathered up the manuscripts and restored them to the envelope. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. "Oh! that I could live to see it," gasped Jonathan. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. " "Don't touch it, Winny!" screamed Mrs. "As I could wish!" cried Jonathan.
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