The son readily undertook the delicate commission proposed to him. He detached the fragments from the stocking with the utmost care, on the fine point of a penknife; laid the whole gently in a basin of warm water; and presently saw them, to his delight, begin to unfold and expand like flowers. By and by, he began to “teaze them” with very light touches of the ends of a camel’s-hair pencil, and so, by little and little, and by the most delicate use of the warm water, the camel’s-hair pencil, and the penknife, got the various morsels separate before him, and began to piece them together. The first piece laid down was faintly recognisable by a practised eye as a bit of the left-hand bottom corner of a twenty pound note; then came a bit of a five; then of a ten; then more bits of a twenty; then more bits of a five and ten; then, another left-hand bottom corner of a twenty--so there were two twenties!--and so on, until, to the admiration and astonishment of the whole Bank, he noted down the exact amount deposited in the stocking, and the exact notes of which it had been composed. Upon this--as he wished to see and divert himself with the man on his return--he provided himself with a bundle of corresponding new, clean, rustling notes, and awaited his arrival. He came exactly as before, with the same blank staring face, and the same inquiry, “Can you do anything for me, Sir!” “Well,” said our friend, “I don’t know. Maybe I _can_ do something. But I have taken a great deal of pains, and lost a great deal of time, and I want to know what you mean to give me!” “Is it give, Sir? Thin, is there anything I wouldn’t give for my eighty-sivin pound tin, Sir; and it’s murdered I am by ould Phillips.” “Never mind him; there were two twenties, were there not?” “Oh, holy mother, Sir, there was! Two most illigant twenties! and Ted Conner--and Phalim--which Reilly--” He faltered, and stopped as our friend, with much ostentatious rustling of the crisp paper, produced a new twenty, and then the other twenty, and then a ten, and then a five, and so forth. Meanwhile, the man, occasionally murmuring an exclamation of surprise, or a protestation of gratitude, but gradually becoming vague and remote in the latter as the notes re-appeared, looked on, staring, evidently inclined to believe that they were the real lost notes, reproduced in that state by some chemical process. At last they were all told out, and in his pocket, and he still stood staring and muttering, “Oh holy Mother, only to think of it! Sir, it’s bound to you for ever that I am!”--but more vaguely and remotely now than ever. “Well,” said our friend, “what do you propose to give me for this?” After staring and rubbing his chin for some time longer, he replied with the unexpected question: “Do you like bacon?” “Very much,” said our friend. “Thin it’s a side as I’ll bring your honor to-morrow morning, and a bucket of new milk--and ould Phillips--”