Now, on one of these visits, the doctor’s eye was casually caught by the glint of the coin on the mantelpiece. He clawed it at once, and as he examined it the man’s long, gaunt face lighted from inward with enthusiasm. “Where did you get this?” he cried, his hands shaking with excitement. “A neighbor dug it up in his garden and gave it me. Let it be, can’t you?” said my father, roughly. “Pooh, man! Such things are not given without reason. What was the reason? Stay--tell me the name of the man.” I thought my father paled a little and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I tell you,” he said, hoarsely, “he gave it me.” “And I don’t believe it,” cried the other. “You found it yourself, and where this came from more may be.” My father sprung to his feet. “Get out of my house!” he shouted, “and take your ‘may be’s’ to the foul fiend!” Dr. Crackenthorpe placed his pipe and the coin very gently on the table and walked stiffly to the door. He had almost reached it when my father’s voice, quite changed and soft, stopped him. “Don’t take offense, man. Come and talk it over.” Dr. Crackenthorpe retraced his steps, resumed his chair, and sat staring stonily at my father. “It’s true,” said the latter, dropping his eyes, “every word. It’s true, sir, I tell you.” The doctor never spoke, and my father stole an anxious glance up at him. “Well,” he said, with an effort; “anyhow, it’s a small matter to separate cronies. I don’t know the value of these gimcracks, but as you take pleasure in collecting ’em, I’ll--I’ll--come now, I’ll make you a present of it.” The doctor became human once more, and for a second time clutched the coin radiantly. My father heaved a profound sigh, but he never moved. “Well,” he said, “now you’ve got it, perhaps you’ll state the particular value of that old piece of metal.” “It’s a gold Doric!” cried the doctor; “as rare a----” he checked himself suddenly and went on with a ludicrous affectation of indifference--“rare enough just to make it interesting. No intrinsic value--none whatever.” A little wicked smile twitched up my father’s bearded cheeks. Each man sat forward for some minutes pulling at his pipe; but it was evident the effort of social commonplace was too much for Dr. Crackenthorpe. Presently he rose and said he must be going. He was obviously on thorns until he could secure his treasure in a safe place. For a quarter of an hour after the door had closed behind him, my father sat on gloomily smoking and muttering to himself. Then suddenly he woke to consciousness of our presence and ordered us, savagely, almost madly, off to bed. This explains the doctor’s question of Jason and is a necessary digression. Now to the meadows once more and a little experience that befell there after the intruder’s departure. CHAPTER II. A NIXIE. My brother tired of his fishing for the nonce, and for an hour we lay on our backs in the grass chatting desultorily. “Jason,” said I, suddenly, “what do we live on?”