"Stone, I s'pose. Some o' them dandy jacks, as looks as if they couldn't move in their clothes, once they gets alone, nothing they likes better than throwing stones in the water. If it wasn't that the waves washes 'em up again, they'd have throwed all Saltinville into the sea years ago." Two hours later, after a very successful night's sport, Morton parted from Fisherman Dick at the shore end of the pier, and ran home, while the owner of the lines and the heavy basket sat down on the lid, and rubbed the back of his head. "Yes, I did see his face, as plain as I ever see one, but I warn't going to tell you so, Master Morton, my lad. What did he chuck inter the sea, and what did he chuck it there for?" Fisherman Dick sat thinking for a few minutes, and shaking his head, before saying aloud: "No; it didn't sound like a stone." After which he had another think, and then he got up, shouldered his basket, and went homeward, saying: "I shall have to find out what that there was." Volume One, Chapter XV. MISS CLODE'S LIBRARY. Miss Clode's library and fancy bazaar stood facing the sea--so near, indeed, that on stormy days she was occasionally compelled to have the green shutters up to protect the window-panes from the spray and shingle that were driven across the road. But on fine days it was open to the sunshine, and plenty of cane-seated chairs were ranged about the roomy shop. The back was formed of a glass partition, pretty well covered with books, but not so closely as to hide the whole shop from the occupants of the snug parlour, where little, thin Miss Clode sat one fine morning, like a dried specimen of her niece, Annie Slade, a stout young lady nicknamed Dumpling by the bucks who made the place a sort of social exchange. The shop was well fitted and carpeted. Glass cases, filled with gaily-dyed wools and silks, were on the counter. Glass cases were behind filled with knick-knacks and fancy goods, papier-mache trays and inkstands bright with mother-of-pearl, and ivory and ebony specimens of the turner's art. Look where you would, everything was brightly polished, and every speck of dust had been duly hunted out. In fact, Miss Clode's establishment whispered of prosperity, and suggested that the little eager-eyed maiden lady must be in the circumstances known as comfortable. Business had not been very brisk that morning, but several customers had called to make purchases or to change books, and two of these latter had made purchases as well. In fact, it was rather curious, but when certain of her clients called, and Miss Clode introduced to their notice some special novelty, they always bought it without further consideration. "You are such a clever business woman, auntie," drawled her niece. "I wish I could sell things as fast as you." "Perhaps you will some day, my dear." "Lady Drelincourt bought that little Tunbridge needle-book for half a guinea, didn't she, aunt?"