as looking on life with a more optimistic
view.

I verily believe the child could have absorbed the entire contents of
the bottle, but I had impressed upon the mother that she was to give the
child only sufficient to sustain life, not to suffice it until it was
grown to manhood or womanhood, and when the bottle was half-emptied the
mother returned it to me. How much time all this occupied I do not know,
but the child took the milk with extreme slowness. I may say that it
took the milk drop by drop. A great deal of time must have elapsed.

But when the mother had returned the patent nursing-bottle to me and saw
how impatient I was to be gone, she still retained her hold upon my arm.

"Sir," she said, "you have undoubtedly saved the life of my child, and
I only regret that I cannot repay you for all it means to me. But I
cannot. Stay!" she cried, when I was about to pull my arm away. "Has
your wife auburn-red hair?"

"No," I said, "she has not, her hair is a most beautiful black."

"No matter," said the poor woman, putting her hand to her head. "Some
day she may wish to change the colour of her hair to auburn-red, which
is easily done with a little bleach and a little dye, and should she do
so these may come handy;" and with that she slipped something soft and
fluffy into my hand and fled into the night. When I looked, I saw in my
hand the very curls you hold there. My first impulse was to drop them in
the street, but I remembered that the poor woman had not given them to
me, but to you, and that it was my duty to bring them home to you, so I
slipped them into my pocket.

When Mr. Billings had ended this recital of what had happened to him his
wife said:

"Huh!"

At the same time she tossed the curls into the grate, where they
shrivelled up, burst into blue smoke, and shortly disappeared in ashes.

"That is a very likely story," she said, "but it does not explain how
this came to be in your pocket."

Saying this she drew from her basket the handkerchief and handed it to
Mr. Billings.

"Hah!" he exclaimed. For a moment he turned the rolled-up handkerchief
over and over, and then he cautiously opened it. At the sight of the
twelve acorns he seemed somewhat surprised, and when the initials "T. M.
C." on the corner of the handkerchief caught his eye he blushed.

"You are blushing--you are disturbed," said Mrs. Billings severely.

"I am," said Mr. Billings, suddenly recovering himself; "and no wonder."

"A