ble roof we are all now so pleasantly gathered. I will read
it to you."

Mrs. Dodd hastily left the table, muttering indistinctly, and Dick
followed her. Willie slipped from his chair, crawled under the table, and
by stealthily sticking a pin into Uncle Israel's ankle, produced a violent
disturbance, during which the pain-killer was badly spilled. When the air
finally cleared, there was no one in the room but the poet, who sadly
rolled up his manuscript.

"I will read it at breakfast," he thought. "I will give them all the
pleasure of hearing it. Art is for the many, not for the few. I must use
it to elevate humanity to the Ideal."

He went back to his own room to add some final reverent touches to the
masterpiece, and to meditate upon the delicate blonde beauty of Miss St.
Clair.

From Mrs. Dodd, meanwhile, Dick had gathered the pleasing purport of her
voluminous correspondence, and insisted on posting all the letters that
very night, though morning would have done just as well. When he had gone
downhill on his errand of mercy, whistling cheerily as was his wont, Mrs.
Dodd went into her own room and locked the door, immediately beginning a
careful search of the entire apartment.

She scrutinised the walls closely, and rapped softly here and there,
listening intently for a hollow sound. Standing on a chair, she felt all
along the mouldings and window-casings, taking unto herself much dust in
the process. She spent half an hour in the stuffy closet, investigating
the shelves and recesses, then she got down on her rheumatic old knees and
crept laboriously over the carpet, systematically taking it breadth by
breadth, and paying special attention to that section of it which was
under the bed.

"When you've found where anythin' ain't," she said to herself, "you've
gone a long way toward findin' where 't is. It's just like Ebeneezer to
have hid it."

She took down the pictures, which were mainly family portraits, life-size,
presented to the master of the house by devoted relatives, and rapidly
unframed them. In one of them she found a sealed envelope, which she
eagerly tore open. Inside was a personal communication which, though
brief, was very much to the point.

"Dear Cousin Belinda," it read, "I hope you're taking pleasure in your
hunt. I have kept my word to you and in this very room, somewhere, is a
sum of money which represents my estimate of your worth, as nearly as
sordid coin can hope to do. It is all in ca