"Think it was some kind of infernal machine?" asked Bartley,
getting down on his knees to examine the package.
"MRS. B. Hubbard, heigh?" He cut the heavy hemp string
with his penknife. "We must look into this thing.
I should like to know who's sending packages to Mrs. Hubbard
in my absence." He unfolded the; wrappings of paper,
growing softer and finer inward, and presently pulled
out a handsome square glass jar, through which a crimson
mass showed richly. "The Persis Brand!" he yelled.
"I knew it!"

"Oh, what is it, Bartley?" quavered Marcia. Then,
courageously drawing a little nearer: "Is it some kind
of jam?" she implored. "Jam? No!" roared Bartley.
"It's PAINT! It's mineral paint--Lapham's paint!"

"Paint?" echoed Marcia, as she stood over him while he
stripped their wrappings from the jars which showed
the dark blue, dark green, light brown, dark brown,
and black, with the dark crimson, forming the gamut
of colour of the Lapham paint. "Don't TELL me it's
paint that I can use, Bartley!"

"Well, I shouldn't advise you to use much of it--all
at once," replied her husband. "But it's paint that you
can use in moderation."

Marcia cast her arms round his neck and kissed him.
"O Bartley, I think I'm the happiest girl in the world!