ff talking a minute, and let me
speak. I've got something to say to you. Do you really mean to give Mary
that Hair Bracelet?"

"Oho! then you did hear something at the card-table about it, after
all?" said Zack. "Mean? Of course I mean--"

"And you want to put some of my hair in it?"

"To be sure I do! Madonna wouldn't like it without."

"Then you had better make up your mind at once to give her some other
present; for not one morsel of my hair shall you have. There now! what
do you think of that?"

"I don't believe it, my old darling."

"It's true enough, I can tell you. Not a hair of my head shall you
have."

"Why not?"

"Never mind why. I've got my own reasons."

"Very well: if you come to that, I've got my reasons for giving the
bracelet; and I mean to give it. If you won't let any of your hair be
plaited up along with the rest, it's Madonna you will disappoint--not
me."

Mrs. Peckover saw that she must change her tactics, or be defeated.

"Don't you be so dreadful obstinate, Master Zack, and I'll tell you the
reason," she said in an altered tone, leading the way lower down into
the passage. "I don't want you to give her a Hair Bracelet, because I
believe it will bring ill-luck to her--there!"

Zack burst out laughing. "Do you call that a reason? Who ever heard of a
Hair Bracelet being an unlucky gift?"

At this moment, the door of Mrs. Blyth's room opened.

"Anything wrong with the lock?" asked Valentine from above. He was
rather surprised at the time that elapsed without his hearing the
house-door shut.

"All quite right, sir," said Mrs. Peckover; adding in a whisper to
Zack:--"Hush! don't say a word!"

"Don't let him keep you in the cold with his nonsense," said Valentine.

"My nonsense!--" began Zack, indignantly.

"He's going, sir," interrupted Mrs. Peckover. "I shall be upstairs in a
moment."

"Come in, dear, pray! You're letting all the cold air into the room,"
exclaimed the voice of Mrs. Blyth.

The door of the room closed again.

"What _are_ you driving at?" asked Zack, in extreme bewilderment.

"I only want you to give her some other present," said Mrs. Peckover, in
her most persuasive tones. "You may think it all a whim of mine, if you
like--I dare say I'm an old fool; but I don't want you to give her a
Hair Bracelet."

"A whim of yours!!!" repeated Zack, with a look which made Mrs.
Peckover's cheeks redden with rising indignation. "What! a woman at
your time of life subjec