there--and money, the coins and bills being loosely
scattered about, and the papers firmly sealed in an envelope addressed "To
Whom it May Concern."

Dick counted the coins and smoothed out the bills, more puzzled than he
had ever been in his life. He was tempted to open the envelope, but
refrained, not at all sure that he was among those whom it concerned. For
the space of half an hour he stood there, frowning, then he laughed.

"I'll just put it back," he said to himself. "It's not for me to monkey
with Uncle Ebeneezer's purposes."

He buried the box in its old place, and even cut a bit of sod from a
distant part of the orchard to hide the traces of his work. When all was
smooth again, he went back to the barn, swinging the spade carelessly but
no longer whistling.

"The old devil," he muttered, with keen appreciation. "The wise old
devil!"

XIV

Mrs. Dodd's Fifth Fate

_Morning lay fair upon the land, and yet the Lady Elaine was weary. Like a
drooping lily she swayed in her saddle, sick at heart and cast down.
Earnestly her company of gallant knights strove to cheer her, but in vain.
Even the merry quips of the fool in motley, who still rode at her side,
brought no smile to her beautiful face._

_Presently, he became silent, his heart deeply troubled because of her. An
hour passed so, and no word was spoken, then, timidly enough, he ventured
another jest._

_The Lady Elaine turned. "Say no more, fool," she commanded, "but get out
thy writing tablet and compose me a poem. I would fain hear something sad
and tender in place of this endless folly."_

_Le Jongleur bowed. "And the subject, Princess?"_

_Elaine laughed bitterly. "Myself," she cried. "Why not? Myself, Elaine,
and this foolish quest of mine!"_

_Then, for a space, there was silence upon the road, since the fool, with
his writing tablet, had dropped back to the rear of the company, and the
gallant knights, perceiving the mood of their mistress, spoke not._

_At noon, when the white sun trembled at the zenith, Le Jongleur urged his
donkey forward, and presented to Elaine a glorious rose which he had found
blooming at the wayside._

_"The poem is finished, your highness," he breathed, doffing his cap, "but
'tis all unworthy, so I bring thee this rose also, that something in my
offering may of a certainty be sweet."_

_He would have put the scroll into her hand, but she swerved her palfrey
aside. "Read it," she said, impatiently; "I h