"Contract all fixed up?" asked Nick.

Everything was arranged; had just been settled; in fact, Mr. Sealman had
gone home.

Nick stood still and thought for a moment, looking as sad as if he had
earnestly desired the Model for himself, which was, of course, the
impression conveyed. As he reflected (not so much wondering what he wanted
to do next, as whether the thing he wanted to do would "work") Kate came
down, with a letter in her hand ready to post to Mr. Timothy Moriarty,
White Orchard, Oregon.

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, flitting up to Nick. "P'raps you don't remember
me, but I'm maid to Mrs. May, and 'twas to me you gave that beautiful bag
you said you'd throw out o' window if I didn't take it. Ye don't mind if I
sold it, do ye?"

"Of course not," Nick assured her. "I gave it to you for that."

"I thought so, sir; and I've done fine with it to-day. A gentleman named
Barrymore, who keeps a smart jewellery shop, paid me five hundred dollars.
I'm all in a flutter, sir! Just to think, it's the same as if you'd give
me the money."

"Not a bit of it," said Nick. "Some cow might have swallowed the bag by
this time if you'd let me chuck it out of the car window. Or a goat,
maybe."

"Well, thank you again a thousand times. And what with you, and my lady,