to speak of. I gave an old fellow half-a-crown for a handful of these the other day, and he was well pleased. What do you think your brother wants for the lot?"
She was sure she did not know, she said.
"Oh, come now," said Mr. Lester, with just a suggestion of masterful authority. "You've some idea. Out with it."
With downcast eyes, for the subject of money seemed actually to distress her, she admitted hearing Jim remark that from their size they must be sixpences, and that, therefore, they could not be worth less than sixpence each.
"Sixpence each!" exclaimed Mr. Lester appalled. "Sixpence each! Sixpence of itself may not seem very much, my dear, but when you come to consider hundreds of sixpences, why it's a fortune."
"Yes, indeed," agreed the girl, simply, "and as he said they couldn't be worth less than sixpence, he may want a shilling."
Mr. Lester could not restrain a professional gesture of despair. His faith in James Clay's arcadian simplicity had received a shock. All hope of acquiring the treasure at the price of "bad silver" would have to be abandoned. The only grain of satisfaction he could extract from the situation was that in any case the coins, from what he had seen, would be worth an average value of at least five pounds each.
"Here he is," exclaimed Rosie, as a footstep sounded on the path.
The door was thrown open, and a tall, well-made young labourer entered. He clattered his tools down in one corner, tossed his cap on to a chair, nodded unconcernedly to Mr. Lester, and forthwith demanded to know whether his tea was ready.
"I must plead guilty to wasting your charming sister's
