in her voice. "I remember it well. It was among the things I
packed up and sent after him. His father had brought it home
from China fifty years ago, and he prized it beyond anything.
They used to say it was worth a lot of money."

"Mother, please leave me alone for a little while," said Rachel,
imploringly. She had caught sight of a little note at the bottom
of the basket, and she felt that she could not read it under her
mother's eyes.

Mrs. Spencer went out with unaccustomed acquiescence, and Rachel
went quickly to the window, where she read her letter by the
fading gleams of twilight. It was very brief, and the writing
was that of a man who holds a pen but seldom.

"My dear little girl," it ran, "I'm sorry I can't go to your
wedding. It was like you to ask me--for I know it was your
doing. I wish I could see you married, but I can't go to the
house I was turned out of. I hope you will be very happy. I
am sending you the shells and teapot you liked so much. Do
you remember that day we had such a good time? I would liked
to have seen you again before you were married, but it can't
be.

"Your loving father,
"DAVID SPENCER."

Rachel resolutely blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. A
fierce desire for her father sprang up in her heart--an insistent
hunger that would not be denied. She MUST see her father; she