Page 238 of 657

"Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at

Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the

January of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my

father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the

breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened

envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the

outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what

he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked

very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon

himself.

"'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.

"My heart had turned to lead. 'It is K. K. K.,' said I.

"He looked inside the envelope. 'So it is,' he cried. 'Here are

the very letters. But what is this written above them?'

"'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his

shoulder.

"'What papers? What sundial?' he asked.