“No matter,” said the poor woman, putting her hand to her head. “Some day she may wish to change the colour of her hair to auburn-red, which is easily done with a little bleach and a little dye, and should she do so these may come handy;” and with that she slipped something soft and fluffy into my hand and fled into the night. When I looked, I saw in my hand the very curls you hold there. My first impulse was to drop them in the street, but I remembered that the poor woman had not given them to me, but to you, and that it was my duty to bring them home to you, so I slipped them into my pocket.     

       When Mr. Billings had ended this recital of what had happened to him his wife said:     

       “Huh!”      

       At the same time she tossed the curls into the grate, where they shrivelled up, burst into blue smoke, and shortly disappeared in ashes.     

       “That is a very likely story,” she said, “but it does not explain how this came to be in your pocket.”      

       Saying this she drew from her basket the handkerchief and handed it to Mr. Billings.     

       “Hah!” he exclaimed. For a moment he turned the rolled-up handkerchief over and over, and then he cautiously opened it. At the sight of the twelve acorns he seemed somewhat surprised, and when the initials “T. M. C.” on the corner of the handkerchief caught his eye he blushed.     

       “You are blushing—you are disturbed,” said Mrs. Billings severely.     

       “I am,” said Mr. Billings, suddenly recovering himself; “and no wonder.”      

       “And no wonder, indeed!” said Mrs Billings. “Perhaps, then, you can tell me how those acorns and that handkerchief came to be in your pocket.”      

       “I can,” said Mr. Billings, “and I will.”      

       “You had better,” said Mrs. Billings.     

       III. THE TWELVE ACORNS AND THE LADY'S HANDKERCHIEF     

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