"What is the price of the work, Miss Daggett?" inquired Lydia Orr.

"Just hold on a minute; I'm coming to that," said Miss Daggett
firmly. "As I was telling you, this work is a complete library in
itself. A careful perusal of the specimen pages will convince the
most skeptical. Turning to page four hundred and fifty-six, we
read:--"

[Illustration: "Just hold on a minute; I'm coming to that," said Miss
Daggett firmly.]

"I'm sure I should like to buy the book, Miss Daggett."

"You ain't th' only one," said the agent. "Any person of even the
most ordinary intelligence ought to own this work. Turning to page
four hundred and fifty-six, we read: 'Snipeley, Samuel Bangs: lawyer
ligislator _an'_ author; born eighteen hundred fifty-nine, in the
town of--'"

At this moment the door was pushed noiselessly open, and a tall,
spare woman of middle age stood upon the threshold bearing a tray in
her hands. On the tray were set forth silver tea things, flanked by
thin bread and butter and a generous pile of sponge cake.

"You must be tired and thirsty after your drive," said Lydia Orr
hospitably. "You may set the tray here, Martha."

The maid complied.

"Of course I must have that book, Miss Daggett," their hostess went