a
observed.

There I could not entirely agree with her. I pointed out that in a
week's time I should probably be applying to her mother for a small
temporary loan. I did not think it an honourable thing to attempt to
influence her mind beforehand by sending a present. I wished her to
approach the question of the loan purely in a business spirit. I added
that I thought we would leave the mushroom to grow for one more day,
and then have it for breakfast. That ultimately was decided upon.

Then Mr. Bungwall's gardener arrived, and said that he was sorry to
disappoint us in any way, and it was not his fault, but the mushroom
was a toadstool.

"This," I said to Eliza, "is something of a blow."

"Perhaps," she said, "Mr. Bungwall's gardener is mistaken."

"I fear not. But, however, I happened to mention about that mushroom to
our head clerk this morning, and he said that he thoroughly understood
mushrooms, and had made a small profit by growing them. To-morrow
morning I will pick that toadstool or mushroom, as the case may be,
take it up to the city, and ask him about it."

Eliza agreed that this would be the best way.

* * * * *

But at breakfast next morning she seemed thoughtful and somewhat
depressed. I asked her what she was thinking about.

"It's like this," she said. "If your head clerk says that our toadstool
is a mushroom, while Mr. Bungwall's gardener says that our mushroom is
a toadstool, we sha'n't like to eat it because of Mr. Bungwall's
gardener, and we sha'n't like to throw it away because of your head
clerk, and I don't see what to do with it."

"You forget, my dear. We have a third opinion. Jane says the mushroom
is a mushroom."

"Jane will say anything."

"Well, we might put her to the test. We might ask her if she'd like to
eat the mushroom herself, and then if she says yes and seems pleased,
why, of course we'd eat it. I'll go and pick it now."

And when I went to do so I found that the mushroom had gone.

* * * * *

Eliza says that Mr. Bungwall's gardener told us it was a toadstool to
keep us from picking it, and then stole it himself, because he knew
that it was a mushroom.

That may be. I should be sorry to believe it, because I have always
found Mr. Bungwall's gardener such a very respectful man. To my mind
there is an air of mystery over the whole affair.

THE PLEASANT SURPRISE

I had got