e," said Mr Pamphlett thoughtfully. "Hendy shall make out the
receipt. But this doesn't include costs of the ejectment order, you
know."

"I'll bring 'em to-morrow, if you'll let me know the amount."

"Hendy shall give you a note of it. . . No--to be fair, the
ejectment order still stands against you. I have power to turn you
out to-morrow."

"But you won't!"

"If you use that tone with me, my man, I certainly will. If you take
your receipt and clear out, I may relent so far as to give you a
short grace."

When Nicky-Nan had taken his leave, Mr Pamphlett picked up the spade
guinea and considered it curiously. It had a beautifully sharp
impression, and might have been minted yesterday. He thought it
would go very well on his watch-chain.

Then he opened the paper again, sought out the paragraph headed "Rise
in Prices," and read it through, pausing now and again to pencil a
note or two on the back of an envelope.

On his way homeward in the dinner-hour he called at Mrs Pengelly's
shop and gave that good woman an order for groceries. The size of it
almost caused her to faint. It ran into double figures in pounds
sterling.

"Business _as_ usual!" repeated Mr Pamphlett to himself complacently,
as he pursued his way up the hill.

CHAPTER IX.

THE BROKEN PANE

During his interview with Mr Pamphlett, Nicky-Nan had been in a fever
to get back to his parlour. It had no lock to the door, and goodness
knew what the Penhaligon children might not be up to in these holiday
times. Also he could not rid his mind of a terror that his wealth
might prove, after all, to be fairy gold, and vanish in air.

It was a relief in a way to find that Mr Pamphlett, after ringing
each coin on his table, had accepted the seven pieces for currency.
But this business of the spade-guinea raised a new scare to agitate
him.

In a confused way he remembered that in building the coins into piles
he had found some of them to be broader than others, so that their
edges overlapped, and that for symmetry he had sorted these broader
pieces out and stacked them apart. Of the last ten he had made a
mixed pile,--four broad coins at the base, six narrower ones above;
and from this he had taken, purely by chance, the seven topmost to
pay his debt--that is to say, six sovereigns and one guinea-piece.
Luck had stood his friend. A pretty business, had he gone to the
banker with seven of those old-fashioned guineas!

Mr Hendy had ha