She bustled off and in no time returned with a tray of china cups, matching flowered pots for coffee and for chocolate, a bowl of sugar, and a plate piled high with cakes. From one corner Becky pulled out a small table which she placed between the two chairs. The tray was safely settled, the fire given a poke and a fresh log before Mistress Boozer removed herself, in her starched dress and apron and her outrageous hat, from her master's study. "Now," said Mr. Wicker, pouring out the steaming drinks, "we shall refresh ourselves and you shall listen, if you will." Chris took a sip of the hot chocolate and a bite of golden cake, deciding that he had never tasted better. This point decided on within himself, he gave his attention to the man across from him. "I told you," Mr. Wicker said, "that I was a shipowner and a merchant. That is true. But these are troubled times. A revolution has had the land in its grasp. Times are bad, and this vast land is now convulsed with the birth throes of democracy. Money is hard to come by, and much needed, for General Washington's troops were farmers called away from their harvesting or sowing. The period of healing, for them and for the land, will be long and costly." He paused to sip his coffee and then put the cup down. "Destruction is so fast, and to construct and build," Mr. Wicker said, staring at the fire, "that is what is slow." He turned to Chris. "Without financial help, without money for the beginning of this new land and this new government that is struggling to be born, this free place and this fine democratic experiment will fail. I know a way to save it, and you have been sent back into the past from our future--my future and yours, and that of the land--to help us and make it real. You will not disappoint me, Christopher?" Mr. Wicker turned burning eyes on Chris's face. "You will help your country get its start?" A wave of excitement such as he had never known surged over Chris and he started to his feet, almost upsetting the table and making the cups rattle on their saucers. "Oh, yes sir! You bet! If I can, I'll help!" Mr. Wicker's face expressed his satisfaction. He rose too and held out his hand. "I knew you would," he said. "It had to be, for it could be no other way. But there is always doubt. Your hand, my boy, for we have work to do together." The two hands, large and small, were firm, one in the other, and Chris felt a new power coming to him from the man whose hand he grasped. "Listen closely," Mr. Wicker said, and Chris drew nearer. "There is a wondrous thing, unique in the world, and which, for the benefit of this growing country, we must obtain. Its possession will mean we can pay for many things--a new city here, tools; building materials. This wonderful object is the Jewel Tree belonging to the Princess of China." Chris waited, listening.