y her tears and
smiled a real child's smile of pure pleasure. "Look, Angus!" she
exclaimed, holding out her treasure to her brother, "the lost is
found. Do you mind the day Mither gave it me, and how she bade me have
a care, for that I was a heedless lass and like to lose it?"

"Ay, I mind it," answered her brother, a flush of gratified pride and
affection mounting to his high cheekbones. "How can we thank these
kind folks?"

"How indeed!" echoed Nora. "Oh, how good it is to have it back!" she
exclaimed, fondling the brooch as though it had life and could feel.
"But where did you find it, and why--Ah! I see," she added, as she
turned it in her hand--"you dear, good folks--and here it was only
this morning I thought the Lord had clean forgot 't was my birthday."

I wish I could recall on paper the little foreign accent of the Scotch
girl which seemed to add so much to the charm of her simple speech.
Her big drooping eyes were wet with tears, and the little homesick
note in her voice made an irresistible appeal to the hearts of those
who heard it,--at least it did to mine, and I sneaked away behind the
lid of the grand piano, which was open, to get out my pocket
handkerchief, for I did not choose to make a spectacle of myself, and
I don't know how to cry prettily, like Nora Costello. My nose gets
red, and my eyes look as if I were addicted to the use of intoxicating
liquors.

When I emerged from behind the screen of the piano, I saw Philip Brady
standing over Nora Costello, and looking down at her in a way that
made my heart jump. She is a sweet girl, and a good girl, and a
beautiful girl; but really this wouldn't do at all. Fancy Cousin
John's son going round with a drum, keeping company with a
tambourine. Shades of Dr. Charming forbid! Now why couldn't it have
been Mr. Flint? That would have been poetic justice. Conversion of an
atheist--marriage on the platform in presence of the Army. She is too
good for him; but still I would have given my blessing--but here
everything is snarled up and getting worse all the time.

The surprises of the evening were not over yet, for the most
remarkable remains to tell. While we were all sitting at table
(Winifred did look startlingly handsome under the pink candle-shades)
the bell rang, and a messenger boy appeared.

Could he not leave the package? Professor Anstice asked, when he had
signed the ticket the boy took out of his hat, where for some
inscrutable reason New York me