So that’s how it stood when Jimmy lighted off his pony, and two minutes later he was holding the amber heart under his sweetheart’s astonished eyes.

“Good morning, James,” she said.  “You’m early.”

“What’s this?” he asked, wasting no words in politeness.

She was a play-actor to the roots of her being, Cora was, and she started and stared.

“Not another, my dear man, surely?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “Not another.  But what I’d like to know is, where be yours?”

“In your hand, thank God,” she answered, and put out her fingers to take it; but he wasn’t giving it back to her no more.

He commanded her to tell him how it come about that his gift to her—­a sacred heirloom evermore—­come to be on his sister’s neck that morning, and she marvelled at a tale so strange and wondered what the world was coming to.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” she said—­suspicious words in Jimmy’s ear, because, to market or elsewhere, he’d often noted that when a fellow creature begins a tale like that, truth be often the one thing lacking.  But Cora’s story sounded as if there weren’t much wrong, and perhaps another sort of man might have believed her.

“I broke my word and I own it,” she told him.  “I was so proud of the necklace that I couldn’t but wear it, James, for I wanted the holiday people to see it round my neck, and the other girls to see it too.  And, coming home from gathering whortles for a pie for my aunt—­which she dearly loves—­I found to my undying grief as I’d dropped the precious trophy somewhere.  And back along I went and hunted till dusk and dewfall, and drowned myself with tears; and for two whole days I couldn’t gather pluck to tell you the fearful news.  I’ve lost pounds of solid flesh fretting and be so weak as a goose-chick about it; but I was coming to confess my sins to-day.  And now you rise up, like the sun over a cloud, and turn my sorrow into joy, I’m sure.”

“You needn’t think so,” he said, “because there’s a lot more in this than meets the eye, and I doubt you’re lying.”

She stared at that.

“I should hope all’s well that ends well, James,” she answered him, “and no call for no such insult as that.  What was lost be found, such as it is, and I’m very wishful to know where Mary Jane picked it up.”

“She didn’t pick it up at all,” he answered. “’Twas Nicholas Caunter—­his gift to her.”

“What a world!” exclaimed Cora.  “So Nicholas found it!  Or, since you think I’m lying, perhaps you’ll say ’twas me gave it to him, because your sister thought ’twas more than time she had a present off him?”