Suddenly Clara stopped.

“George!”

“Oh, Lord, what is it?”

“Supposin’.”

“Well—­well?”

“Supposin’ they’ve dropped some of it in the path.”

We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there.  We searched the road—­one individual almond dish had fallen.  I took it and hammered it beyond recognition and flung it into the pond.  It was criminal, but I did it.

And then we went into the house and danced some more.  We were happy.

Of course we raised an alarm—­after sufficient time to carefully dress, and fill the lantern with oil.  Other houses too had been robbed before we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their small change.  Our exploit was quite the sensation.  With great difficulty we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair.  The following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a demand for the indemnity.

“You’ll never get the full amount,” said Clara.

“Why not?”

“You never do.  They’ll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to beat us down.”

“Let him come.”

“You’ll see.”

Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by the tips of my fingers.

“Three thousand dollars!” cried Clara, without contrition, “three thousand dollars—­oh, George!”

There it was—­three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt.  Womanlike, all Clara had to say was: 

“Well, was I right about the wedding presents?”

Which remark I had not foreseen.

We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the jewelers.  In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money—­but with what results!  Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of was ours and everything harmonized.

Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a telegram was put in my hand.

“What is it?” said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling our chaste Queen Anne teaset.

“It’s a telegram,” I said, puzzled.

“Open it, then!”

I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company.

“Our detectives have arrested the burglars.  You will be overjoyed to hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!”

THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY

I

The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Chateau de Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper.  The rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones.  The bronzed, haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags.  But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the field of comment.