“You see,” said Ned Wyngate, “the Chinese naturally take to this kind o’ business.  Why, you can’t take up a china plate or saucer but you see ’em pictured there working at jobs like this, and they kin live on green things and rice that cost nothin’, and chickens.  You’ll keep chickens, of course.”

Jackson thought that his hands would be full enough with the garden, but he meekly assented.

“I’ll get a pair—­you only want two to begin with,” continued Wyngate cheerfully, “and in a month or two you’ve got all you want, and eggs enough for market.  On second thoughts, I don’t know whether you hadn’t better begin with eggs first.  That is, you borry some eggs from one man and a hen from another.  Then you set ’em, and when the chickens are hatched out you just return the hen to the second man, and the eggs, when your chickens begin to lay, to the first man, and you’ve got your chickens for nothing—­and there you are.”

This ingenious proposition, which was delivered on the last slope of the domain, where the partners were lying exhausted from their work, was broken in upon by the appearance of a small boy, barefooted, sunburnt, and tow-headed, who, after a moment’s hurried scrutiny of the group, threw a letter with unerring precision into the lap of Jackson Wells, and then fled precipitately.  Jackson instinctively suspected he was connected with the outrage on his fence and gate-post, but as he had avoided telling his partners of the incident, fearing to increase their belligerent attitude, he felt now an awkward consciousness mingled with his indignation as he broke the seal and read as follows:—­

Sir,—­This is to inform you that although you have got hold of the property by underhanded and sneaking ways, you ain’t no right to touch or lay your vile hands on the Cherokee Rose alongside the house, nor on the Giant of Battles, nor on the Maiden’s Pride by the gate—­the same being the property of Miss Jocelinda Wells, and planted by her, under the penalty of the Law.  And if you, or any of your gang of ruffians, touches it or them, or any thereof, or don’t deliver it up when called for in good order, you will be persecuted by them.

Avenger.

It is to be feared that Jackson would have suppressed this also, but the keen eyes of his partners, excited by the abruptness of the messenger, were upon him.  He smiled feebly, and laid the letter before them.  But he was unprepared for their exaggerated indignation, and with difficulty restrained them from dashing off in the direction of the vanished herald.  “And what could you do?” he said.  “The boy’s only a messenger.”

“I’ll get at that d——­d skunk Brown, who’s back of him,” said Dexter Rice.

“And what then?” persisted Jackson, with a certain show of independence.  “If this stuff belongs to the girl, I’m not certain I shan’t give them up without any fuss.  Lord!  I want nothing but what the old man left me—­and certainly nothing of hers.”