Mr. Banker hesitated a moment, and then his sharp eyes softened, as he saw the mute anguish of the little Italian lad and realized his keen disappointment, for he had often commented upon the boy’s affection for the girl. Stepping to his side, he patted him on the head, as he said cheerily: “Never mind, son; don’t cry. Who knows, perhaps ‘Mees Natta’ may win the prize, as you call it, even without the coin. Here, lad, take what belongs to you, and mind you,” he added in a sterner tone, “never again be tempted to tell an untruth, even for ‘Mees Natta.’” With another pat on the bowed head he stepped back beside the table, where he had been standing. “I have gone over these diaries,” said the gentleman, as he picked up one of the three books that lay on the table, “and I find that Miss Cynthia Loretto Stillwell has not passed a day in this house, within the last two months in which she has not searched for the valuable thing. Certainly her diligence should be rewarded,” ended the gentleman, as he bowed ceremoniously to that lady, whose eyes radiated with triumphant joy. “Miss Janet, I find,” his eyes gleamed pleasantly at that winsome young woman, “has been somewhat of a delinquent at times, for there are several entries missing in her diary. But as its reading shows that her heart is a kindly one, as shown by her careful nursing of the young British soldier, I certainly think that she should be well favored. “Miss Nathalie, I am afraid, has not done her duty as faithfully as she might have, in looking for the valuable thing”; he spoke somewhat severely as he peered over his glasses at the girl, whose cheeks flushed, their red deepening, as she caught a gleam of satisfaction emanating from Cynthia’s eyes. “But her negligence has been more than compensated for,”—there was a queer note in the gentleman’s voice, “as this record of two months is so filled with kind acts for others, that— Well, ladies, possibly you have begun to sense that it is not the finding of the valuable thing that is to win out, but the acts it typifies. Each day has been conscientiously noted in Miss Nathalie’s diary, and almost every day bears a record of some good work done for others. I think—well—I am inclined to believe that the young lady—” Mr. Banker paused abruptly, for at this moment a loud knocking sounded on the door. Cynthia, who was standing near it, with a frown on her face, stepped impatiently forward, and with a hasty movement threw it open. On the threshold stood Mrs. Carney, who, the next moment, with her sharp gray eyes peering defiantly out from under the queer poke-bonnet, while the basket on her arm stuck out aggressively, brushed quickly past Cynthia and into the room. But that lady, with two red spots on her cheeks, seized her by the arm, crying, “You can’t come in here now; we have company,” turning the old lady, as she spoke, and roughly shoving her towards the door.