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But no stone appeared. Like most of his genus he was superstitious, and repeated to himself the cabalistic formula: "Losin's seekin's, findin's keepin's" presumed to be of great efficacy in such cases with religious fervor. He had laboriously reached the end of the veranda when he noticed the open window of Louise's room, and stopped as a perfunctory duty to look in.
"I dropped it just now." "Findin's keepin's, I believe," said the big boy. "Nonsense," I said. "Give me my knife." "'Ow many blades it got?" "Three." "And what sort of 'andle?" "Bone." "Got a corkscrew like?" "Yes." "Ah! This ain't your knife no'ow. See?" He made no offer to show it to me. My breath went. "Look here!" I said. "I saw that kid pick it up. It IS my knife."
Well, it blowed like ev'rythin' this afternoon as I was goin' towards Price's, an' that string of shoes just whirled around like a kite-tail, an' at last the bottom pair flew off into the street. An' I picked 'em up." "Findin's is keepin's," said Mrs. Kimper. "Give me them shoes, my boy," said the ex-convict. "You're goin' to take 'em away from me?
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