s a small tin case or canister, of oblong shape, and measured
some four inches by two. It was perhaps two inches in depth. On the
cover was a label, and on the label the legend--

"WAPSHOTTS' PATENT COMPRESSED TEA."

"_Beware of Imitations._"

The lid was lightly soldered, and the canister remarkably heavy.

Mr. Fogo pulled out his pocket-knife, sat down on the edge of the
packing-case, and began to open his prize.

He had broken one blade in trying to unfasten the solder, and was
beginning with the second, when it occurred to him to cut through the
soft metal of the canister. In a few minutes he had worked a
considerable hole in the lid.

"Very curious tea this," remarked Mr. Fogo. "It's a deal more like
putty--or Californian honey."

The light in the cabin was faint; he determined to carry the canister
on deck and examine it in the sunlight.

He picked his way up the ladder, and was just emerging from the
hatch, when the sudden glare of the sun caused him to blink and then
sneeze. He caught his toe on the last step, stumbled, dropped his
prize, and fell forward on to the deck. The canister struck the
step, jolted twice, plunged to the bottom with a smart thud--

There was a flash of jagged flame, a loud roar, a heave and crash
of riven timbers--and the old hull had passed from decay to
annihilation.

This would seem a convenient moment for regulating our watches, which
have gained considerably, and putting back the hands to half-past
ten, at which hour the bells of St. Symphorian's, Troy, began to
summon the town to worship.

A few minutes later the town sallied forth in pairs and decorous
excitement. It was dying to see Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys' costume, and
marched churchwards in haste. But to-day it halted for the most part
at the church-porch, and went no further.

Who first whispered the news is disputed. It is conjectured that
Mrs. Tripp, whose cow supplied "The Bower" with milk, learnt the
facts from the buttoned youth when she paid her professional call at
7.30 a.m.; but none knew for certain. I might here paint Mrs. Tripp
full of tongues, and dress her up as "Rumour," after the best epic
models; but in saying that she had the usual number of lips and
hands, that her parents were respectable, and that she never shrieked
from a lofty tower in her life, I only do her the barest justice.

This much is sure--that among the knot of loungers at the church-ga