stood examining our presents.

"Why, they're both exactly alike," said Mercer at last. "I say, take
care, or we shall get 'em mixed."

There was no fear of that after the first few minutes, for further
examination showed that they were numbered, and those numbers were
burned into our memories at once.

"Oh, I say," cried Mercer at last, "talk about watches! these are
something like. Why, one of 'em's worth a dozen of old Eely's."

"Don't talk about it!" I said, with a shiver; and after carefully
opening mine so as to gaze at the works, Mercer of course following
suit, the watches were carefully returned to their cases and placed in
our pockets.

"What shall we do now?" asked Mercer; "go and show them to the boys?"

"No; it will only make them disappointed. Let's go down at once to Bob
Hopley's."

"What for?"

"To take this."

Mercer looked at the smaller packet I had for a few moments.

"What is it?" he said.

"A present from my mother for Polly."

"Oh! Why, it must be a watch."

"No," I said; "I think it's a brooch or a pair of earrings."

"Oh, won't she be pleased!"

We walked down to the lodge, where Polly met us at the door, eager to
point to a tin of jam pigs which she had just drawn from the oven.

"I was wishing some of you young gentlemen would come," she said.
"They're red currant and raspberry. You're just in time."

Polly's ideas of our visits to the cottage were always connected with
tuck, and she looked at me wonderingly when I said we had not come for
that.

"There aren't nothing more the matter, is there?" she cried, as she set
down her tin.

I set her mind at rest by taking the packet from my breast.

"Is--is that for me?" she said, with her face flushing with excitement.

"Yes; open it."

I saw her little red, rough hands tremble as she untied the string, and
after removing one or two papers, all of which she carefully smoothed
out flat, she came upon a thin morocco case.

"Oh, it's earrings!" she cried; "and you two have bought 'em for me,
because I--because I--because I--How do you open it? Oh my! It's a
little watch."

"Yes," I said, "a watch."

"Yours, Master Burr junior?" she cried. "Oh, it was good of you to come
and show it to me!"

"No, Polly," I cried, looking at it eagerly. "I told you. It's for
you."

"But--but--it can't be."

"Yes," I said, pointing to a little three-cornered note. "Open that and
see what it says."

Polly's trembling finge