“Bless my soul!” he cried, holding it to the light. “What’s this?”
“That?” said Allerton, leaning forward. “Oh, that is the watermark of my initials, ‘A.R.’ The drawing paper was especially made for me, as a Christmas present.”
A silence fell upon the little group. Mr. Ferguson, Phœbe, Phil and Cousin Judith eyed one another by turns, and in every eye gleamed the certainty that Jonathan Eliot’s fortune was saved to the Darings.
“When did you receive such a fine present, Allerton?” asked Phil, his voice trembling in spite of his efforts to control it.
“At the last holiday season,” answered the boy readily.
The old lawyer turned a delighted face to the eager group.
“Your grandfather has been paralyzed three years!” he exclaimed.
“Tell me,” said Phœbe to Allerton, “did you ever give Miss Halliday any of your paper?”
He took time to think; then his face brightened and he replied:
“Only one sheet. She begged me for it one day when she brought the eggs.”