She'll never-- What's this ?" It was an envelope slipped behind the bookcase, containing a bill from Splicer, the London cricket-bat-maker, dated a year ago.

At the foot the tradesman had written, "Hon.

sir, sorry we could not get bat in time to send home, so forward to you direct to Grandcourt School, by rail." "There we are," said the doctor, putting the document in his pocket.
"This ought to bring mamma in twenty-four hours.

The telegraph office is shut now, but we'll wake Mr Splicer up early, and have mamma under weigh by midday.

Good-night, Railsford--keep the pot boiling, my good fellow--I'll look round early." He was gone, and Railsford with sinking heart set himself to the task before him.