"Stop," cried Horace; "that's not a landscape: it's a skyscape."
"What's that you say? You've interrupted me, and now I'll have to begin again:—
"The new moon was shaking down her silver hair most mournfully, or, in other words, she looked at a distance like a slice of green cheese. I had been giving a few elegant touches to the flower-beds, pulling out the weeds, pig and chick, you know, and—well, suffice it to say, I wended my way across a verdant lawn, not twenty miles from here. I went into a house. It was all papered and pictured. The master of the house offered me no seat, for he was not at home; but I helped myself to a sort of feather-bed chair near a window. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket in this way; a key came out with it, as you see now, and dropped into the chair. It slipped between the stuffed cushion and the back of the chair. I put in my thumb, and drew out—"
"A plum," suggested Horace.
"The key."
The children looked as if they had been trifled with.
"But the key was not all. To my surprise, I also drew out what you now see me holding up to view."
"My ring!" cried Grace, darting forward. "O, Robin, where did you find it?"
"Where I told you, in the Elizabeth chair in the parlor."
[Illustration: "My ring! cried Grace.">[