“The very place we went to,” interrupted Cricket again.
“Yes, and I happened to see the very clerk. The moment I held it out he looked surprised; I told him I wanted it tested,—not merely glanced at. He took it off, and came back, presently, looking very sheepish, and told me, as I said before, that it is a diamond, though not a very valuable one for its size.”
“Why didn’t he look at it more carefully at first?” asked Mrs. Ward.
“He said something about thinking it was a joke that the children were putting up, and—”
“As if we would put up a joke on a perfect stranger!” cried Cricket, indignantly.
“Of course not, pet, but he didn’t know that. It was no excuse for him, though. He should have given it the proper attention. However, we have the ring safe now, after all its adventures, and we’ll advertise it.”
“Papa,” asked Cricket, dimpling suddenly, “if nobody ever claims it, may I have it for my own,—not to sell it, I mean,—but just to wear it when I’m grown-up?”
“Can’t promise. You’d probably pawn it the first time you wanted peanuts,” teased Doctor Ward.
That was several years ago, but the ring, which is still in mamma’s jewel-box, is now called Cricket’s.