"Hum," said the old gentleman, pulling down the white waistcoat that had the big gilt buttons on it, "what did you say the name was—Fryingpansky?"

"No, no," said Bobbie, earnestly. "I'll write it down for you. It doesn't really look at all like that except when you say it. Have you a bit of pencil and the back of an envelope?" she asked.

The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case and a beautiful, sweet-smelling, green Russia leather note-book and opened it at a new page.

"Here," he said, "write here."

She wrote down, "Szezcpansky," and said:—

"That's how you write it. You call it Shepansky."

The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and fitted them on his nose. When he had read the name, he looked quite different.

"That man? Bless my soul!" he said. "Why, I've read his book! It's translated into every European language. A fine book—a noble book. And so your Mother took him in—like the good Samaritan. Well, well. I'll tell you what, youngsters—your Mother must be a very good woman."