"Everything about her was _so_ characteristic," answered the Curate,
admiringly.

Neither the Curate nor the Stockbroker had the advantage of hearing
what the dear Old Lady said to Tom that afternoon.

"It came off just beautifully, my boy. Not that I blame _them_, mind
you,--how were they to know that it was a ticket which I didn't give
up last year, and that I hadn't even taken a ticket at all to-day? No,
I don't blame them. As for the address, I put the same address that
was on the label of the Curate's bag, only I altered The Rev. CHARLES
MARLINGHURST to Mrs. MARLINGHURST. And the Stockbroker guaranteed that
I should send either the ticket or the money. So he'll have to pay up!
Oh, my word! My gracious word, what a treat!"

The dear Old Lady chuckled contentedly.

Tom also chuckled.

The Stockbroker subsequently relinquished to a great extent his habit
of remarking upon his own marvellous intuition, enabling him to
read character at sight; the Curate preached a capital sermon on the
deceptiveness of man, and when he said man he meant woman.

* * * * *

TO A TOO-ENGAGING MAIDEN.

[Illustration]