kep' a diarrhea."

"A diary, Davy," said Nelly.

"Have it as you like, _Vauch_, and don't burn your little fingers,"
said Davy; and then he opened the letter, and with many interjections
proceeded to read it.

"'Dear Captain. How can I ask you to forgive me for the trick I have
played upon you? '(Forgive, is it?)' I have never had an appointment
with the Manx lady; I have never had an intention of carrying her off
from her husband; I have never seen her in church, and the story I have
told you has been a lie from beginning to end.'"

Davy lifted his head and laughed.

"Another match, Willie," he cried. And while the boy was striking a
fresh one Davy stamped out the burning end that Nelly dropped on to
the grass, and said: "A lie! Well, it was an' it wasn't. A sort of a
scriptural parable, eh?"

"Go on, Davy," said Nelly, impatiently, and Davy began again:

"'You know the object of that trick by this time' (Wouldn't trust), 'but
you have been the victim of another' (Holy sailor!), 'to which I must
also confess. In the gambling by which I won a large part of your money'
(True for you!) 'I was not playing for my own hand. It was for one who
wished to save you from yourself.' (Lord a massy!) 'That person was your
wife' (Goodness me!), 'and all my earnings belong to her.' (Good thing,
too!) 'They are deposited at Dumbell's in her name' (Right!), 'and---'"

"There--that will do," said Nelly, nervously.

"'And I send you the bank-book, together with the dock bonds,... which
you transferred for Mrs. Quiggin's benefit... to the name... of her
friend...'"

Davy's lusty voice died off to a whisper.

"What is that?" said Nelly, eagerly.

"Nothin'," said Davy, very thick about the throat; and he rammed the
letter into his breeches' pocket and grabbed at his hat. As he did so,
a paper slipped to the ground. Nelly caught it up and held it on the
breezy side of the flickering match.

It was a note from Jenny Crow: "'You dear old goosy; your jealous little
heart found out who the Manx sailor was, but your wise little poll never
once suspected that Mr. Lovibond could be anything to anybody, although
I must have told you twenty times in the old days of the sweetheart from
whom I parted. Good thing, too. Glad you were so stupid, my dear, for
by helping you to make up your quarrel we have contrived to patch up our
own. Good-by! What lovely stories I told you! And how you liked them!
We have borrowed your husband's berths for