“Here is the paper, madam,” said the Jew, delivering into Miss Potterson’s hands the original document drawn up by Rokesmith, and signed by Riderhood. “Will you please to read it?”

“But first of all,” said Miss Abbey, “⁠—did you ever taste shrub, child?”

Miss Wren shook her head.

“Should you like to?”

“Should if it’s good,” returned Miss Wren.

“You shall try. And, if you find it good, I’ll mix some for you with hot water. Put your poor little feet on the fender. It’s a cold, cold night, and the fog clings so.” As Miss Abbey helped her to turn her chair, her loosened bonnet dropped on the floor. “Why, what lovely hair!” cried Miss Abbey. “And enough to make wigs for all the dolls in the world. What a quantity!”