"All right," he said heartily; "I have been behind beech hedges myself in my time. But I must say," he went on, "that I generally kept a better watch on the old man!" The Junior Partner blushed red as a rose—a peony rose. "And if that is your meaning," continued Mr. Tennant, "why, get the house built. I daresay there's tocher enough to go with my little lass to pay for the stone and lime." At this moment a whirlwind of primrose-coloured summer lawn, twinkling black stockings, and silver-buckled shoes fell upon the two of them, and reduced the Junior Partner to a state of smiling, vacuous inanity. "Come, come quick!" Celie Tennant cried, with the most charming impetuosity, seizing them each by a hand and dragging them forward towards the brick kitchen. "We have found it—at least Vara has! There's millions of gold—all new sovereigns and things. And I'm to be bridesmaid!" What the Junior Partner made out of this no one can tell; for at the time he was certainly not in the full possession of his senses. But Mr. Tennant was well used to his impetuous daughter's stormy moods, and understood that something which had been lost was at last found. Celie imperiously swept them along with her into the little brick building. "Not so fast, you small pocket hurricane!" cried her father, breathlessly. "At my time of life I really cannot rush along like an American trotter!" They entered the kitchen. Vara was standing at the table at which Cleg used to cut the bacon for the General's breakfast and his own. She was calmly opening tin after tin of Chicago corned beef, cans of which stood in rows round the walls. Each was full to the brim of bright newly minted sovereigns. "It is Cleg's money," cried Celie wildly, "and I found it all myself—or, at least, Vara did, which is the same thing. There were just two tins, one at each end, full of real, common, nasty beef for eating, and the rest are all sovereigns. And I'm to be bridesmaid." And, though a Sunday school teacher of long standing and infinite gravity, the little lady danced a certain reckless breakdown which she had learned in the Knuckle Dusters' Club from Cleaver's boy. "Well, Miss Quicksilver, you had better go and tell him!" said her father; "he is in the tower yonder." Mr. Donald Iverach was starting out of the door to do it himself; but Celie seized him tragically; "Father—Donald—how can you?" she cried more in sorrow than in anger at their stupidity and ignorance. "Of course, let _her_ go!" And Vara went out of the door to seek for Cleg. "Oh, I wish it was me!" Celie said wistfully and ungrammatically, stamping her foot. "It's so splendidly romantic! Donald, why didn't you make it turn out so that I could have come and said to you, 'I have a secret. Hush! You are heir to a hidden treasure!' You never do anything really nice for me!" "Why, because the old man didn't leave it to me," said the Junior Partner.