sebuds while I may, Mr.
Pash," said he, misquoting Herrick's charming line.

"You have plucked a very pretty one," grinned the monkey; "but may I
request the rosebud's attention?"

Sylvia extricated herself from her lover's arm with a heightened color,
and nodded gravely. Seeing it was business, she had to descend from
heaven to earth, but she secretly hoped that this dull little lawyer,
who was a bachelor and had never loved in his dry little life, would
soon go away and leave her alone with Prince Charming. Deborah guessed
these thoughts with the instinct of fidelity, and swooped down on her
young mistress.

"It's the will, poppet," she whispered loudly, "but if it do make your
dear head ache Mr. Beecot will listen."

"I wish Mr. Beecot to listen in any case," said Pash, dryly, "if he is
to marry my young and esteemed client."

"We are engaged with the consent of my poor father," said Sylvia, taking
Paul's hand. "I shall marry no one but Paul."

"And Paul will marry an angel," said that young man, with a tender
squeeze, "although he can't keep her in bread-and-butter."

"Oh, I think there will be plenty of bread-and-butter," said the lawyer.
"Miss Norman, we have found the will if," added Mr. Pash, disdainfully,
"this," he held out the document with a look of contempt, "can be called
a will."

"It's all right, isn't it?" asked Sylvia, anxiously.

"I mean the form and the writing and the paper, young lady. It is a good
will in law, and duly signed and witnessed."

"Me and Bart having written our names, lovey," put in Deborah.

Pash frowned her into silence. "The will," he said, looking at the
writing, "consists of a few lines. It leaves all the property of the
testator to 'my daughter.'"

"Your daughter!" screamed Deborah. "Why, you ain't married."

"I am reading from the will," snapped Pash, coloring, and read again: "I
leave all the real and personal property of which I may die possessed of
to my daughter."

"Sylvia Norman!" cried Deborah, hugging her darling.

"There you are wrong," corrected Pash, folding up the so-called will,
"the name of Sylvia isn't mentioned."

"Does that make any difference?" asked Paul, quietly.

"No. Miss Norman is an only daughter, I believe."

"And an only child," said Deborah, "so that's all right. My pretty, you
will have them jewels and five thousand a year."

"Oh, Paul, what a lot of money!" cried Sylvia, appalled. "Whatever will
we do with it all?"

"Why, ma