Debby, graciously. "Where's your orchards,
with sich a color."

"You mean orchids, Debby," laughed Sylvia, who blushed a rosy red.

"It's them things with lady slippers a size too large for your foot I'm
a-thinking of, pet, and small it is enough for glarse boots as the fairy
story do tell. But I'm a-taking up the precious time of billing and
cooing, so I'll shut my mouth and my ears while you let loose your
affections, my sweet ones, if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, me being
as fond of my lovey there as you is your own self."

"No, I can't admit that," said Paul, kissing Sylvia's hand again and
holding it while he talked. "Darling, how good of you to come and see
me."

"It may be for the last time, Paul," said Sylvia, trying to keep back
her tears, "but you'll give me your address, and I'll write."

"Oh, Sylvia, what is it?"

"My father has sold the books and is selling the house. We are going
away. Where to I don't know."

"Tumbucktook would suit him," snapped Debby, suddenly; "he's trying to
get into some rabbit-hole. Why, I don't know."

"I do," said Paul, lying back thoughtfully. He guessed that Aaron was
moving because of the brooch, though why he should do so was a mystery.
"Sylvia," he asked, "did your father see my accident?"

"No, Paul. He was busy in the shop. Bart saw it, but Debby said he
wasn't to tell father."

"Because of the fainting," explained Debby; "the man ain't strong,
though Sampson he may think himself--ah, and Goliath, too, for all I
care. But why ask, Mr. Beecot?"

Paul did not reply to her, but asked Sylvia another question. "Do you
remember that opal brooch I showed you?"

"The serpent. Yes?"

"Well, it's lost."

"Lost, Paul?"

The young man nodded mournfully. "I'm very vexed about it," he said in a
low tone; "my mother wanted it back. I was going to send it that very
day, but when I met with the accident it got lost somehow. It wasn't in
my pocket when my clothes were examined, though I asked for it as soon
as I became conscious. My friend also couldn't tell me."

"Him as caused the smashes," said Deborah, with several sniffs. "A nice
pretty friend, I do say, sir."

"It wasn't his fault, Deborah. Mr. Hay stumbled on a piece of orange
peel and jostled against me. I was taken by surprise, and fell into the
middle of the road just as the motor came along. Mr. Hay was more than
sorry and has come to see me every day with books and fruit and all
manner of things."

"T