"Yes, master, at the door," said the boy eagerly. Mrs Shingle took the letter, and opened it, to find a clean, new ten-pound note inside, which she spread out and held to her husband. Dick took it, turned it upside down, over, round and round, and held it up to the light. "It's--it's a duffer, mother," he said at last, with his voice trembling; "it's a flash note, like--like they are at the races. Bank of Elegance." "`For the Governor and Company of the Bank of England,'" read Jessie slowly. "No! Does it say so?" cried Dick excitedly. "Then it's a good one, and it's a mistake. It isn't for me. Give me the envelope." He took it hastily, and read aloud, "Mr Richard Shingle, Shoemaker, Crowder's Buildings, Lower Street, Islington." "That's me, mother," he said, looking from wife to daughter, "ain't it?" "Yes, Dick, it is for you." "Let's look inside. What does it say in the letter?" "Nothing! There, we've only the blank sheet of paper in which the note was wrapped. Yes, on one corner, the words--`For you, Richard Shingle.'" "Then, it's from that Tom Fraser," cried Dick, plucking up; "and I won't take it." "No, father," cried Jessie eagerly; and she trembled, too, as she took the paper. "It is not his writing; and he would have said `_Mr_. Richard Shingle.'" "So he would, my gal," said Dick, nodding. "Then it's from Max; and he's sorry he's been so hard on me--dear old Max! And he wants to be friends again. Blood is thicker than water, after all, mother; and I always said it was. There, I'm as pleased as if it was a hundred from any other man." The tears stood in his eyes, as he looked from one to the other; but to read no sympathy in the countenance of wife and child. "That's five times, you know, the money's come like that," said Dick, "and always when we've been in great trouble. It is from Max, mother; and his roughness is only the way he's got." A faint flush of hope illumined Jessie's face as she tried to believe her father's words; but it died out directly. "Why, mother," cried Dick joyously, "we can clear all off, and have some money to go on with; and- But, I say, if Max sent this, he wouldn't like us to go." "Max did not send it," said Mrs Shingle decidedly. "Eh?" "I am sure of it," she said. "Then you know who did?" "If I knew who sent it, Dick," said the poor woman, laying her hand upon his arm, "you'd have known too." "So I should, mother--so I should," he said quietly, as he nodded his head. "Who could it be, then?" "Some good, true friend, who don't want to be known," said Mrs Shingle.