, Grandpa, now go to s'eepy-s'eep,
'Cause you're awful tired.
And Johnnie wants t' see what Mrs. Kukor
Is goin' to s'prise him about----"

Grandpa dozing, Johnnie did not pause to eat the cold potato and bread
spread with the grease of bacon trimmings which made his usual noon
meal. Curiosity dulled his hunger. Gently he tapped upon that convenient
pipe--once, then twice, then once again.

As he leaned at the window to wait, his small nose curled in a grin.
There was no movement up above. He half suspected a joke. But he had got
off easy with Big Tom. Also, the housework was done, and in fine style.
Except for a little violet-making--not too much--more than a whole
half-day still lay ahead of him. And what an automobile trip he could
take with Mr. Astor! Idly he followed the changing contours of a cloud
in an otherwise empty sky.

Then of a sudden something came dropping between him and the cloud. He
started back. It was a shallow basket, suspended from each of its four
corners by a string. As it lowered inch by inch, he stood up in the rope
coils; and what he saw in it fairly took his breath. For there on the
bottom of the basket was--a book!

"Gee!" he gasped.

He brought the basket to a safe landing. Then, forgetting that some one
was at the other end of the four strings, he slipped to the floor,
turned on the water in the sink, and, like a Moslem holy man who is
about to touch his Koran, washed both grimy hands.

To look at, it was not much of a book. In the first place, it had not
the length, width or thickness of the telephone directory, while its
corners were fully as dog-eared. Yet he took it from the basket with
something like reverence. It had one cloth cover--the back. This was
wine-red, and shiny. The front one had been torn out of its binding.
However, this seemed to him no flaw. Also, there were several
pictures--in colors! And as he looked the volume over still more
closely, he made a wonderful discovery: on the front page was written a
name--_J. J. Hunter_.

It was a man's book!

"Oh, my goodness!" he whispered. "Oh, Mrs. Kukor!"

The basket danced inquiringly, tipped, and began to heave upward. A
voice began to whisper to him, coming down along those four strings: "I
finds him by a secont-hant store-mans. I gets him almost for notink. He
wass olt, und very fine. Haf you open him? Reat, Chonnie!"

He opened the book at the first page; and knew how different this on