"Was it really a decent pearl, Max?" pleaded Steve.

"Look for yourselves, boys, and tell me what you think."

As he spoke, Max opened his left hand.

The action allowed a small, milk-white object, much smaller than a pea, to
escape. It rolled upon the board which composed the table; and as the fire
burned brightly, all of the boys could easily examine it.

One by one they picked the tiny white object up and held it at several
angles, to see how the glow of the fire seemed to reflect in faint
prismatic colors from its surface.

"Say, this _is_ a pearl, all right, and a jim-dandy one, too,"
declared Steve, after he had had his turn at handling the discovery, "I
ought to know, because my mother's got a string of the same--left to her
by an old aunt over in England."

"Owen, what d'ye suppose it's worth!" demanded Max, turning on his cousin.

"Well, now, you've got me there, fellows," declared the bookworm. "You
see everything depends on how pure and perfect it happens to be."

"That's a fact," said Steve, thoughtfully, as he feasted his eyes on the
little beauty. "D'ye know, fellows, I've always been fond of pearls. Why,
when I was only a little kid my mother says I used to notice a ring my aunt
wore, and would hang around her all the time, wanting to touch the pretty
little gem. I reckon the old admiration still holds good."