So on a bright autumn Saturday morning Jim and I set forth from what had been the old hermit's abode. We nailed up the door and the shutters before the window. The few sticks were not worth the moving. The books Mary took to Wrigley Mill. She had been mightily interested in the Greek Testament, though when I read her the Sermon on the Mount in that tongue she pronounced it gibberish and flatly refused to believe that our Lord or any other being had talked such stuff. As Jim and I strode briskly across the moor towards our destination, I bearing the box under my arm, I narrated to my wondering friend the story of the past few days. "An' how mich did th' owd felly leave behind him?" asked Jim, eyeing the box. "Dr. Dean counted the money and made a note of the contents. There's a gold watch and chain, several rings--one of them of curious design and set about with precious stones, a woman's ring from the size of it--I counted nine sapphires and diamonds alternating, and very faintly the initials "J. E." intertwined. There's 'Mizpah' graven on the inner side of it." "That sounds like a Bible name," commented Jim. "Yes," I reminded him--I fear I rather liked to air my learning before Jim, and to be sure I must do something to justify the reputation for scholarship Jim had fastened on me, will I, nill I--"don't you remember 'twas the name Laban gave to the heap he set up to mark his covenant with Jacob, saying, 'The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another.'" "Aw n'er heard tell on it," said Jim. "But if it's in th' Bible aw daresay it's all reight, but it sounds heathenish." "Dr. Dean says the ring is an engagement ring, and thinks it may have been given by Mr. Garside to his wife in his courting days and left behind her when she fled the house." "More fool oo," quoth Jim, "but what can yo' expect from a woman. What abaart th' brass?" "There's over four hundred pounds, what with notes and gold." "And dost ta tell me tha'rt huggin' ovver four hundred pun' at this very minute?" I nodded. "Four hundred pun'! An' tha's th' heir to it if tha doesn't find th' lass?" Again I nodded. "Hast ta said thi prayer sin' tha knew on 't?" Again I nodded. "An' didn't ta pray, as tha nivver prayed afore, that if that lass wint East the Lord 'ud surely turn thi footsteps West?" "I can't say I did." "Weel, if tha hasn't sense for thissen, folk mun ha' sense for thee. Aw'st put thi father up to it, an' if he'll noan tackle th' job aw know one o' th' Methody preichers at will. Four hundred pun'!"