case of identification occurred. A bag of sovereigns was found with no
name on it. A claimant appeared, but he could tell of no mark to prove
that he was the rightful owner. Of course it could not be given up, and
it appeared as if the unfortunate man (who was indeed the owner) must
relinquish his claim, when in a happy moment his wife remembered that
she had put a brass `token' into the bag with the gold. The bag was
searched, the token was found, and the gold was immediately handed to
them."

"Molly, my dear," said Rooney Machowl at this point, "you make a note o'
that; an' if ever you have to do with bags o' goold, just putt a brass
token or two into 'em."

"Ah! Shut up, Rooney," said Mrs Machowl, in a voice so sweet that the
contrast between it and her language caused Edgar and Joe to laugh.

"Well, then," continued Edgar, "in many other curious ways gold was
identified and delivered to its owners: thus, in one case, an incomplete
seal, bearing part of the legs of a griffin, was found on a bag of two
thousand sovereigns, and the owner, showing the seal with which he had
stamped it, established his claim. Of course in all cases where bars of
gold were found with the owners' names stamped on them, the property was
at once handed over; but after all was done that could be done by means
of the most painstaking inquiry, an immense amount of gold necessarily
remained unclaimed."

"And I s'pose if it wasn't for us divers," said Maxwell, "the whole
consarn would have remained a dead loss to mankind."

"True for ye," responded Rooney; "it's not often ye come out wid such a
blaze of wisdom as that, David! It must be the puppy as has stirred ye
up, boy, or, mayhap, the baccy!"

"Take care _you_ don't stir me up, lad, else it may be worse for you,"
growled Maxwell.

"Och! I'm safe," returned the Irishman, carelessly; "I'd putt Molly
betwain us, an' sure ye'd have to come over her dead body before ye'd
git at me.--It wasn't you, was it, David," continued Rooney, with sudden
earnestness, "that got knocked over by a blast at the works in Ringwall
harbour two or three years ago?"

"No, it warn't me," responded Maxwell; "it was long Tom Skinclip. He
was too tall for a diver--he was. They say he stood six futt four in
his socks; moreover he was as thin as a shadow from a bad gas-lamp. He
was workin' one day down in the 'arbour, layin' stones at the
foundations of the noo breakwater, when they set off a blast abou