["GREGORY POLISHED IT ON HIS SLEEVE, AND HELD IT UP AGAIN.">[
"Something else!" he said, briefly.
"Is it—do you think it might be worth something, Mr. Gregory?" asked Mary, rather timidly.
"Yes!" roared Gregory, with a sudden explosion. "I do! I b'lieve them's di'monds, sure as here I sit. Mary Denison, you've struck it this time, or I'm a Dutchman."
He got off his stool in great excitement, and walked up and down the room, still holding the brooch in his hand. Mary looked after him, and her face was very pale. She said one word softly, "Mother!" that was all.
Mary Denison and her mother were poor. Mrs. Denison was far from strong, and they had no easy time of it, for there was little save Mary's wages to feed and clothe the two women and pay their rent. James Gregory knew all this; his pale old face was lighted with emotion, and he stumped up and down the room at a rapid pace.
Suddenly he stopped, and faced the anxious girl, who was following him with bewildered eyes.
"Findin's havin'!" he said, abruptly. "That's paper-mill law. Some folks would tell ye to keep this to yourself, and sell it for what you could get."
Mary's face flushed.
"But you do not tell me that!" she said, quietly.