word Mr. Doolittle said--every word. And I've been pretty nigh all over
the town, and was jest thinkin' o' startin' up thar to the Browns, when
I see ye."

Ichabod mopped his face and head with his handkerchief.

Trudy stood still, in a dazed condition, which allowed her neither to
move nor speak; but Mrs. Scott, who had listened with close attention,
though finding it hard to understand a tale which, for her, had begun in
the middle, asked, with practical interest:

"And what is the name of the coal merchant in whose hands this money is
placed?"

"Angus Pritchard," replied Ichabod, nodding his head several times.

He drew the letter from his pocket.

"Here 'tis, down to the bottom. Angus Pritchard, that's what 'tis."

"Angus Pritchard!" Mrs. Scott repeated, in a voice of utter amazement;
and Rosalie stood now as stock still as Trudy. "Angus Pritchard is my
husband's uncle--yes, and a coal merchant in New York. And he is at the
Bellevue Hotel at this moment!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]