CHAPTER VI.

THE QUARREL.

Harry Merroun breathed more freely
after receiving a communication so differ-
ent from what he had anticipated. “Is
that all?” said he. “It really was not
worth the mystery you made about it.”

‘“T made no mystery, Harry. The
mystery was made by yourself.”

“Perhaps so; but,” said he, hesitating-
ly, “you said it might—it might account
for the cherry-stone in my bed last night.”

“Why, Sally might, you know, have
filched a few cherries from the basket,

142