ing of putting out a sign, only so few people pass here that it didn't hardly seem worth while."
She opened the gate with another curtsy, and led the astute gentleman through a patch of overgrown garden into a tiny cottage. Nothing could have suited Mr. Lester's purpose better. In ten minutes he had learned that her name was Rosie Clay, and that she and her brother Jim lived there alone; that they had only recently come from another part of the country where work was scarce, and that Jim had for the time got temporary employment on a farm a couple of miles away. So pleasantly was the susceptible gentleman progressing that he was quite annoyed when his business side insisted upon something being done towards the real object of his visit.
On leaving town he had put into his pocket a few silver pennies of the early Edwards, common enough coins but sufficiently like the Saxon pieces to suggest comparison. With a word about payment he now took out a handful of money, and, spreading it on the table before him, carelessly sorted out the silver pennies from among the current coins.
"Oh," exclaimed the girl, with sudden interest, "you've got some of that funny old money too."
"Yes," he admitted, without any sign of the excitement he began to feel. "I'm fond of old things of that sort. Why, have you got any?"
"Jim has," she replied. "He found a whole crockful, digging in the little meadow at the back. Hundreds and hundreds of them. But oh!" she exclaimed with a belated recollection, "I wasn't to say a word to anyone. He would be dreadfully angry."
"Not in the circumstances, I'll be bound, my dear," he reassured her. "Your brother very prudently did not want anyone about here to know, but I'm different. I suppose he don't mind selling them?"
