CHAPTER XXXIV.
A PARTING WORD FOR BOY.
Upon the satin seat of a chair in the corner of the drawing-room, lie six white Lima beans, and three small red-spotted apples.

Wild fruit they are, cast by a superannuated crab, spared by the woodman's axe because it stands on the verge of the orchard.

The apple-pickers never look under it for gleanings.

The beans were pulled from a frost-bitten vine in the garden, and shelled with difficulty, the pods being tough, and Boy's fingers tender.

Both trophies secured, they were brought into the house, deposited in the safest place Boy's ingenuity could devise, and, alas! forgotten in the hurry of catching the "twain." There was no room for them in Boy's long-suffering pockets.