ying to pass (which, as Roly persisted in leaping
joyously from side to side of the narrow stair, was difficult); "you
shall show me another time. I'm in a hurry, my boy, I've got an
appointment."

"Roly's got something better than that," observed the child.

Mr. Bultitude, in spite of his terror, was too much afraid of hurting
him by brushing roughly past to attempt such a thing, so he tried
diplomacy. "Well, what has Roly found--a cracker?"

"No, no, better than a cwacker--you guess."

"I can't guess," said Paul; "never mind, I don't want to know."

"Well then," said Roly, "there." And he slowly unclosed a fat little
fist, and in it Paul saw, with a revulsion of feeling that turned him
dizzy and faint, the priceless talisman itself, the identical Garuda
Stone, with part of the frail gilt ring still attached to it.

The fastening had probably given way during Master Dick's uproarious
revels in the drawing-room, and Roly must have picked it up on the
carpet shortly afterwards.

"Isn't it a pitty sing?" said Roly, insisting that his treasure should
be duly admired.

"A very pretty thing," said his father, hoarse and panting; "but it's
mine, Roly, it's mine!"

And he tried to snatch it, but Roly closed his fist over it and pouted,
"It isn't yours," he said, "it's Roly's. Roly found it."

Paul's fears rose again; would he be wrecked in port after all? His ear,
unnaturally strained, caught the sound of the front door being opened,
he heard the Doctor's deep voice booming faintly below, then the noise
of persons ascending.

"Roly shall have it, then," he said perfidiously, "if he will say after
me what I tell him. Say, 'I wish Papa and Brother Dick back as they were
before,' Roly."

"Ith it a game?" asked Roly, his face clearing and evidently delighted
with his eccentric brother Dick, who had run all the way home from
school to play games with him on the staircase.

"No--yes!" cried Paul, "it's a very funny game; only do what I tell you.
Now say, 'I wish Papa and Brother Dick back again as they were before.'
I'll give you a sugar-plum if you say it nicely."

"What sort of sugar-plum?" demanded Roly, who inherited business
instincts.

"Any sort you like best!" almost shrieked Paul; "oh, do get on!"

"Lots of sugar-plums, then. 'I with'--I forget what you told me--oh, 'I
with Papa and----' there'th thomebody tummin' upsthairs!" he broke off
suddenly; "it'h nurth tummin' to put me to bed. I don't want to go