“La, Mr. Martin Barton,” said his wife, “what became of my letter; I am sure there was some mention made in it of this Camperdown Barton—I stuck a pin in it, Jenny Hart, as you told me, at the very place; and I had no time to finish the letter; in fact I don’t know where I put it. Do you know, Jenny Hart?—it is many years ago.” “Well, let me see—yes, I think I know; it is in the japan box, on the toilet table. And what became of your letter, Mr. Martin Barton?” “Mine, Jenny Hart? that is more than I can tell. I laid it just here; and I stuck a pin in at where I left off, as you told me.” “It must have been pushed aside; or perhaps it was folded up in one of the bundles of stockings. It is gone, certainly. I trust it had nothing of importance in it.” Jenny Hart always placed Martin Barton before the shelves of socks and stockings, as they were the least perplexing articles to sell. “Here is a letter,” said Jasper Merry, “I picked it up the other day, by Mr. Martin Barton’s feet; I think it must have fallen from that bundle of stockings that you sent up to Mrs. Armstrong.” “Let me see,” said Jenny Hart. She took it, and cast her eye over the contents, while Mr. Martin Barton and his wife were plunged in tapes, bobbins, buttons and pins. She quietly put it in her little French pocket, and as quietly walked out of the shop. In five minutes Mr. Norton was with her up in Mrs. Armstrong’s parlour. “Look here,” said Jenny Hart, “just read this letter, Mr. Norton. Only think what luck to find it as we did. Two days later, and all would have been lost to us.” Mr. Norton was indeed surprised, for this letter announced the death of this very cousin, and his two children—this Camperdown Barton; and he had left all the property to his cousin, Martin Barton, on condition that he claimed it before a certain period. If not claimed then, it was to be sold and the money divided among some distant relations. As Martin Barton had not claimed it—how tired I am of always writing his name at full length; but I shall soon have done—the property was to be sold on the following Monday, the very day the term expired. “There is no difficulty, then, Mr. Norton,” said Jenny Hart, “we can claim it yet, can we? Certainly my dear Jenny Hart—he could not have called her Jenny for the world, nor could I—so send Martin Barton to me. Can you tell why he chose to be called Martin Barton?—‘tis so tiresome.” “Why, this very Camperdown Barton was the cause; he was a bad character even when very young, and our Martin Barton kept the two names together, that he might not be taken for his cousin. I only heard all this this morning, for we have been always too busy to talk of such matters. I think that Mrs. Martin Barton is even more particular on this point than he is. But, oh, Mr. Norton, don’t our dear little girls grow finely?”