ss of terror, and
exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish,--

"It is the fatal plague spot! I feel it; I know it! I am marked for the
tomb. The sands of my life are fast running out!"

Jack broke into a fresh burst of merriment, so that an observer might,
not without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent danger of
suffocation.

"You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel; I know you will," he gasped out.

"You may order my coffin, Timothy," said Rachel, in a sepulchral tone.
"I sha'n't live twenty-four hours. I've felt it coming on for a week
past. I forgive you for all your ill-treatment. I should like to have
some one go for the doctor, though I know I'm past help. I will go up to
my chamber."

"I think," said the cooper, trying to look sober, "that you will find
the cold-water treatment efficacious in removing the plague-spots, as
you call them."

Rachel turned towards him with a puzzled look. Then, as her eyes rested,
for the first time, upon the handkerchief which she had used, its
appearance at once suggested a clew by which she was enabled to account
for her own.

Somewhat ashamed of the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as the
ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, and did
not make her appearance again till the next morning.

After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's
approaching journey.

"I don't know," said his mother, "but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack
isn't old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake such
a mission."

"Now, mother," expostulated Jack, "you ain't going to side against me,
are you?"

"There is no better plan," said Mr. Crump, quietly, "and I have
sufficient confidence in Jack's shrewdness and intelligence to believe
he may be trusted in this business."

Jack looked gratified by this tribute to his powers and capacity, and
determined to show that he was deserving of his father's favorable
opinion.

The preliminaries were settled, and it was agreed that he should set out
early the next morning. He went to bed with the brightest anticipations,
and with the resolute determination to find Ida if she was anywhere in
Philadelphia.

CHAPTER XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL.

HENRY BOWEN was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned
the farm, on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing
his favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest
success. The foremost rank in his profession w