But though the old year died and the new one took its place, no sign of better fortune could Mrs. Wilkins or Dick see. Stranger must be disposed of—that seemed certain beyond a doubt; and if no one could be induced to offer him a home, why then he would have to be killed. It would be terrible indeed to part with so faithful a friend.
One evening at the end of January, little Dick was walking homeward through the village by his mother's side, when a large, square piece of paper, placed in a conspicuous position in the post-office window, attracted his attention, and he paused abruptly, saying,—
"Wait half a minute, mother; I want to read this notice."
Mrs. Wilkins stopped at once, and together they approached the window, whereupon Dick read aloud:—
"LOST, in this neighbourhood (probably a month
or six weeks ago), a small carved ivory match-box.
Finder will receive TEN SHILLINGS REWARD
by returning same to Colonel Flamank, Leigh Grange."
"Dick, Dick, my little boy, what's the matter with you? Are you ill?" demanded Mrs. Wilkins; for the small face at her side had grown suddenly as pale as death, and the child had clutched convulsively at her arm.
"Ill?—No! No! No!" was the emphatic reply. "I'm well enough; only I can scarce believe 'tis true!"
"What's true, Dick? I don't know what 'tis you're talking of."
"Why, the box, to be sure—the little carved ivory match-box that the colonel's offering ten shillings reward for. See!" drawing it from his pocket, where he had thrust it in disgust weeks and weeks ago. "Here it is! Now we can claim the reward, pay dear old Stranger's tax, and keep him; besides having a whole half-crown to spend as we're minded to afterwards."
"O Dick, how wonderful! How like a miracle!" ejaculated the woman, with a sob of thankfulness. "But are you sure there's no mistake? Are you sure that that's the right box?"