t she found three false curls, or puffs of hair, such as
ladies are wearing to-day to increase the abundance of their own, and
these curls were of a rich brownish red. Finally, when she dived into
his trousers pocket, she found twelve acorns carefully wrapped in a
lady's handkerchief, with the initials "T. M. C." embroidered in one
corner.

All these Mrs. Billings hid carefully in her upper bureau drawer and
proceeded to dress. When at length she awakened Mr. Billings, he yawned,
stretched, and then, realizing that getting-up time had arrived, hopped
briskly out of bed.

"You got in late last night," said Mrs. Billings pleasantly.

If she had expected Mr. Billings to cringe and cower she was mistaken.
He continued to dress, quite in his usual manner, as if he had a clear
conscience.

"Indeed I did, Mary," he said. "It was three when I entered the house,
for the clock was just striking."

"Something must have delayed you," suggested Mrs. Billings.

"Otherwise, dear," said Mr. Billings, "I should have been home much
sooner.

"Probably," said Mrs. Billings, suddenly assuming her most sarcastic
tone, as she reached into her bureau drawer and drew out the patent
nursing-bottle, "this had something to do with your being delayed!"

Mr. Billings looked at the nursing-bottle, and then he drew out his
watch and looked at that.

"My dear," he said, "you are right. It did. But I now have just time
to gulp down my coffee and catch my train. To-night, when I return from
town, I will tell you the most remarkable story of that nursing-bottle,
and how it happened to be in my pocket, and in the mean time I beg
you--I most sincerely beg you--to feel no uneasiness."

With this he hurried out of the room, and a few moments later his wife
saw him running for his train.

All day Mrs. Billings was prey to the most disturbing thoughts, and
as soon as dinner was finished that evening she led the way into the
library.

"Now, Rollin?" she said, and without hesitation Mr. Billings began.

I. THE PATENT NURSING-BOTTLE

You have (he said), I know, met Lemuel, the coloured elevator boy in our
office building, and you know what a pleasant, accommodating lad he is.
He is the sort of boy for whom one would gladly do a favour, for he is
always so willing to do favours for others, but I was thinking nothing
of this when I stepped from my office at exactly five o'clock yesterday
evening. I was thinking of nothing but getting home to dinn