ot any jewelry. You wouldn't dare tell your father what Miss
Dearborn heard, so he'd save up and buy the ring?"

"No; I certainly would not!" and Clara Belle's lips closed tightly and
decisively.

Rebecca sat quietly for a few moments, then she exclaimed jubilantly:
"I know where we could get it! From Mr. Aladdin, and then I needn't tell
him who it's for! He's coming to stay over tomorrow with his aunt, and
I'll ask him to buy a ring for us in Boston. I won't explain anything,
you know; I'll just say I need a wedding ring."

"That would be perfectly lovely," replied Clara Belle, a look of hope
dawning in her eyes; "and we can think afterwards how to get it over to
mother. Perhaps you could send it to father instead, but I wouldn't dare
to do it myself. You won't tell anybody, Rebecca?"

"Cross my heart!" Rebecca exclaimed dramatically; and then with a
reproachful look, "you know I couldn't repeat a sacred secret like
that! Shall we meet next Saturday afternoon, and I tell you what's
happened?--Why, Clara Belle, isn't that Mr. Ladd watering his horse at
the foot of the hill this very minute? It is; and he's driven up from
Milltown stead of coming on the train from Boston to Edgewood. He's all
alone, and I can ride home with him and ask him about the ring right
away!"

Clara Belle kissed Rebecca fervently, and started on her homeward
walk, while Rebecca waited at the top of the long hill, fluttering her
handkerchief as a signal.

"Mr. Aladdin! Mr. Aladdin!" she cried, as the horse and wagon came
nearer.

Adam Ladd drew up quickly at the sound of the eager young voice.

"Well, well; here is Rebecca Rowena fluttering along the highroad like a
red-winged blackbird! Are you going to fly home, or drive with me?"

Rebecca clambered into the carriage, laughing and blushing with delight
at his nonsense and with joy at seeing him again.

"Clara Belle and I were just talking about you this minute, and I'm so
glad you came this way, for there's something very important to ask you
about," she began, rather breathlessly.

"No doubt," laughed Adam Ladd, who had become, in the course of his
acquaintance with Rebecca, a sort of high court of appeals; "I hope the
premium banquet lamp doesn't smoke as it grows older?"

"Now, Mr. Aladdin, you WILL not remember nicely. Mr. Simpson swapped off
the banquet lamp when he was moving the family to Acreville; it's not
the lamp at all, but once, when you were here last time, you said y