"Just the same. I think mamma's ailments are fancies, half of them; if
she would rouse herself she would be better. What is in that parcel?"

"You are not to inquire, Miss Barbara. It does not concern you. It only
concerns Mrs. Hare."

"Is it something you have brought for mamma, Archibald?"

"Of course. A countryman's visit to London entails buying presents for
his friends; at least, it used to be so, in the old-fashioned days."

"When people made their wills before starting, and were a fortnight
doing the journey in a wagon," laughed Barbara. "Grandpapa used to tell
us tales of that, when we were children. But is it really something for
mamma?"

"Don't I tell you so? I have brought something for you."

"Oh! What is it?" she uttered, her color rising, and wondering whether
he was in jest or earnest.

"There's an impatient girl! 'What is it?' Wait a moment, and you shall
see what it is."

He put the parcel or roll he was carrying upon a garden chair, and
proceeded to search his pockets. Every pocket was visited, apparently in
vain.

"Barbara, I think it is gone. I must have lost it somehow."