the sacred shelf devoted
to Tappington's serious literature and moral studies. At first glance
the book of sermons looked suspiciously fresh and new for a volume of
habitual reference, but its leaves were carefully cut, and contained
one or two book-marks. It was only another evidence of that perfect
youth's care and neatness. As he was replacing it he noticed a small
object folded in white paper at the back of the shelf. To put the book
back into its former position it was necessary to take this out. He
did so, but its contents slid from his fingers and the paper to the
floor. To his utter consternation, looking down he saw a pack of
playing-cards strewn at his feet!

He hurriedly picked them up. They were worn and slippery from use, and
exhaled a faint odor of tobacco. Had they been left there by some
temporary visitor unknown to Tappington and his family, or had they
been hastily hidden by a servant? Yet they were of a make and texture
superior to those that a servant would possess; looking at them
carefully, he recognized them to be of a quality used by the
better-class gamblers. Restoring them carefully to their former
position, he was tempted to take out the other volumes, and was
rewarded with the further discovery of a small box of ivory counters,
known as "poker-chips." It was really very extraordinary! It was
quite the cache of some habitual gambler. Herbert smiled grimly at the
irreverent incongruity of the hiding-place selected by its unknown and
mysterious owner, and amused himself by fancying the horror of his
sainted predecessor had he made the discovery. He determined to
replace them, and to put some mark upon the volumes before them in
order to detect any future disturbance of them in his absence.

Ought he not to take Miss Brooks in his confidence? Or should he say
nothing about it at present, and trust to chance to discover the
sacrilegious hider? Could it possibly be Cherry herself, guilty of the
same innocent curiosity that had impelled her to buy the "Ham-fat Man"?
Preposterous! Besides, the cards had been used, and she could not play
poker alone!

He watched the rolling fog extinguish the line of Russian Hill, the
last bit of far perspective from his window. He glanced at his
neighbor's veranda, already dripping with moisture; the windows were
blank; he remembered to have heard the girls giggling in passing down
the side street on their way to church, and had noticed from behin