water, with the assistance of a short bar of wholesome yellow soap.

Though it was still early, his mind had been employed for some hours
past in considering how the second and only difficulty, which now stood
between him and the possession of the Hair Bracelet, might best be
overcome. Having already procured the first requisite for executing his
design, how was he next to profit by what he had gained? Knowing that
the false key would be placed in his hands that evening, how was he to
open Mr. Blyth's bureau without risking discovery by the owner, or by
some other person in the house?

To this important question he had as yet found no better answer than was
involved in the words he had just whispered to himself, while preparing
for his morning ablutions. As for any definite plan, by which to guide
himself; he was desperately resigned to trust for the discovery of it to
the first lucky chance which might be brought about by the events of the
day. "I should like though to have one good look by daylight round that
place they call the Painting Room," thought Mat, plunging his face into
two handsful of hissing soap-suds.

He was still vigorously engaged over the pail of cold water, when a loud
yawn, which died away gradually into a dreary howl, sounded from the
next room, and announced that Zack was awake. In another minute the
young gentleman appeared gloomily, in his night gown, at the folding
doors by which the two rooms communicated. His eyes looked red-rimmed
and blinking, his cheeks mottled and sodden, his hair tangled and dirty.
He had one hand to his forehead, and groaning with the corners of his
mouth lamentably drawn down, exhibited a shocking and salutary picture
of the consequences of excessive conviviality.

"Oh Lord, Mat!" he moaned, "my head's coming in two."

"Souse it in a pail of cold water, and walk off what you can't get rid
of; after that, along with me," suggested his friend.

Zack wisely took this advice. As they left Kirk Street for their
walk, Mat managed that they should shape their course so as to pass
Valentine's house on their way to the fields. As he had anticipated,
young Thorpe proposed to call in for a minute, to see how Mr. Blyth was
after the festivities of the past night, and to ascertain if he still
remained in the same mind about making the drawing of Mat's arms that
evening.

"I suspect you didn't brew the Squaw's Mixture half as weak as you told
us you did," said Zack slily, whe