"Oh, let me get my breath," begged Tavia. "I don't know what she did say,
except she wanted me to write a letter and threaten to expose it--as if I
could do that!"

"Why couldn't you?" asked Nat pointedly.

"Oh, I am just sick of it all," replied Tavia helplessly. "I want to drop
it. I see no good in keeping it up now."

"Well, Tavia," said Nat not unkindly, but with more determination than it
was usual for him to show, "I don't believe in letting money go as easily
as all that, and if there is any possibility of us recovering it, it is
'up to us' to try. You know I am no 'knocker,' but I would rather have my
'tenner' than that slip of baby-blue paper."

Tavia did not answer. She was beginning to feel the consequences of her
error. She never could stand being thus obligated to Nat--and she a guest
at his house! Her humiliation was crushing. Nat had never spoken to her
that way before.

The ride home was made with little conversation. Tavia was planning; Nat
was evidently thinking very seriously about something--something he could
not care to discuss.

All the Christmas preparations had lost interest for Tavia now, and when,
that afternoon, Dorothy and Mrs. White went on with their work of love,
she sat up in her own room writing and re-writing a letter. Finally it
read:

"DEAR OLD MUMSEY: I hope you have received your pin,