“It is a curious selection,” continued Mr. Banker, “and—oh, what is this?” as something round and glittering fell from the book. “A gold coin,” he commented with some surprise; “yes, a Roman coin, for it bears the head of Cæsar, and I should imagine he turned the coin over as it lay in his palm, that it was of considerable value, as, from what I can decipher between the obliterations, it has a very ancient date. But I do not understand,” he glanced inquiringly, “which is the article that has been selected as the valuable thing, the coin or the Bible? The card on the letter bears the name of Nathalie Page,” turning as he spoke, and looking at the girl, who was staring at him, with mystified, bewildered eye, “A coin!” she finally managed to gasp. “Why, I didn’t see—” “Pleass ’scusa. Mister Banka,” cried Tony’s soft, musical voice at this point, “da coin eet belona to Mees Natta,—she fina eet wan day een a box.” The liquid black eyes of the boy were brilliant with a strange glow of joy. “Oh, no, Tonio, the coin is not Miss Natta’s,” cried Nathalie, a sudden light breaking in upon her bewilderment. “It is your coin. Don’t you remember, I found it in the mustard-box the day you were ill? But it is yours, Tony; you placed it there for Miss Natta to find.” The girl, strangely amused, smiled down at the lad. “You bet my life, Mees Natta, Tonio, no, hees neva hada coin. Eet verra old, da coin, eet com’ f’om a beeg keeng wat liva een da Roma lan’. Ees belonga to Mees Natta,” the boy ended persistently. “Oh, Tony, you are in the wrong,” pleaded the girl, suddenly feeling that she wanted to cry, as she saw that the child was determined to persist in his untruth. “_You know_ it is _your coin_, for Danny found it one day for you when it had dropped from your embroidered vest. Didn’t you, Danny?” And Danny, with a troubled look in his blue eyes,—he, too, wanted Miss Natta to have that prize,—mutely nodded in confirmation of her word. But Tony, with a sudden tightening of his red lips, again protested in a sullen tone, “No, eet ees no Tonio’s coin. Eet belona to Mees Natta.” “Oh, Tony,” exclaimed the girl, as the tears swelled up into her eyes, “you hurt ‘Mees Natta.’ ‘Mees Natta’ rather not have the prize than have Tonio tell what is not so.” Tony’s eyes fell, as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and then, glancing up, still with that stubborn look on his face, and seeing the tears in the girl’s eyes, he dropped his face into the curve of his arm. Not a sound came from him, but the long, convulsive shivers of the slim little body told that the lad was crying. Nathalie turned towards Mr. Banker, distress depicted on her face, as she cried, “Oh, Mr. Banker, I am so sorry, but _I_ selected the Bible.”