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About midnight, when all was still, Aunt Faith, who had not been asleep, thought she heard a slight sound; she listened, and distinguished faint sobs coming from Gem's room, as though the child had her head buried in the pillows. Throwing on a wrapper, she hurried thither, and found her little niece with flushed cheeks and tearful eyes, tossing uneasily on her bed.

My first move was to set down, in orderly fashion, the list of the gem's attributes.

Gem looked at Bessie and Sibyl, and then without a word, she sat down in her little chair and began to cry bitterly. Aunt Faith could not answer Tom, the sound of Gem's violent weeping, and Sibyl's sobs, seemed to choke the words on her lips. "I don't believe a word of it!" cried Tom indignantly. "Hugh can swim better than any one in Westerton, and he's as strong as a lion!

But again, why in the first place should Burke have informed the Burmese of the supposed gem's hiding-place? And how could it have been the replica instead of the real stone?

This taunt aroused Gem's failing courage, she stole down the stairs and slipped back the bolt, regaining her room with the speed of a little pussy cat. She heard nothing more for some time, and was almost asleep when another tap on the blinds aroused her. "We want more candles," whispered Tom; "I can't find 'em. Of course you know where they are. Hurry up!"

First of all, this magnificent gem's known history hinted at no religious association whatever, as its name might seem to imply. In more than one journal I have seen it seriously affirmed that at one time it was a property of that celebrated pope, Alexander VI, Rodrigo Borgia, father of Caesar and Lucrezia thus investing it with an antiquity and romance which the facts did not warrant.

Kennedy's Translation of the Poems of Cynewulf. Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, I vol., translated by Giles in Bohn's Antiquarian Library. Snell's The Age of Alfred. Gem's An Anglo-Saxon Abbot: AElfric of Eynsham. The student who is not familiar with the original Anglo-Saxon should read the translations specified below: Scopic Poetry.

"Oh Hugh, I am real sorry you are going," said Gem suddenly, dropping her knife and fork as though the idea had only just become a reality to her. "I shall hate to see your empty chair in the morning when I come down to breakfast; I know I shall." There was an ominous tremor in Gem's voice as she spoke.

Everybody, of course, still remembers the sudden rivalry between these two American citizens, which sprang up in June of that year, for the gem's possession.

The word "battle" stimulated the B. B.'s, who were lying about on the grass, worn out with their efforts to arrange a programme. "Bunker Hill forever!" said one, tossing up his hat. Tom said nothing; he was not going to be carried away by any of Gem's nonsense, not he!