Mrs. Saunders and the children ap peared. Grace looked up; the lady advanced towards her.

"Grace," she said, sorrowfully, "how could you do this when we were so kind to you? Had you not enough; and from Miss Jane, too, who taught you your lessons?"

Grace looked up again. The large, silent tear-drops were rolling down Jane's cheek. The eyes of the two little girls met. Grace lost herself. She ran to her, knelt down at her feet, took her hand, kissed it again and again, and sobbed forth

"I didn't, Miss Jane; I didn't, indeed. Don't cry, darlin' Miss Jane; we'll get it back again, maybe; but I didn't take it. Sure I wouldn't stale now, an' sure I wouldn't stale from you."

And Grace knelt at Jane's feet, and wept. The servant-women put their aprons to their eyes.

"I knew she didn't," said the cook. William turned down stairs to cry in the pantry. Jane stooped over the kneeling girl, and holding her hand, cried with her. Mrs. Saunders herself was moved. Her husband was of sterner mould. "Come away, Jane," he said, taking his daughter's hand. Well, Grace," he asked, "if you did not take the money, who did? You were the only one in the school-room yesterday while your mistress was out; and if you did not take it, why did you run away?"

66

Grace wept still in silence, and answered not.

"You know something about the money, I dare say," he continued. "Give it back, and in consideration of your youth I shall let the matter drop; but if you don't restore the money, or tell where it may be found, I must send you to prison."

Grace cried afresh.

"I don't know where it is," she sobbed; "I wish I did."

"If you don't tell something more about it, I must swear informations against you, and send you to Mgaol," again reiterated Mr. Saunders.

There was no answer-a pause. "Grace, will you not say anything?" asked Mrs. Saunders.

"I can't, ma'am; I didn't take it." "But you know, if you want us to believe you, you must tell something more than that."

"Oh, come," said Mr. Saunders, hastily, "I'll ride over to Hamilton's, and get the warrant for her committal."

"Ah, wait," said his wife, "perhaps she'll tell.”

"Oh, ma'am," said Dalton, the policeman, there's no use; she's made up her mind badly, and doesn't know what's for her good. A few nights in the gaol will bring her to her senses; and you know, ma'am, Mr. Saunders need not prosecute if he does not like; and it's a long way to M, so the men ought by right to start now, to be back before night."

"Well, Grace, once more," said Mr. Saunders, "will you tell where you have hid the money?"

She only answered by tears. "Do tell, Grace," said her mistress. "I ca'nt, ma'am; I don't know where it is."

"Oh, that will do," said the gentleman. "Dalton, will you have her sent to Mr. Hamilton's, and I will go over to get the warrant."

And Grace trudged along the weary road to gaol, the long road she never was on before; and a policeman marched on each side of her, with a gun and bayonet. And Grace smiled within herself. She walked on with a lighter step-she felt she did not take it. She felt proud as she thought that she bore another's guilt; and that Katty and Peter would not be left alone, and that her father would have somebody to get his dinner for him.

It was three o'clock when they entered M. She was very tired; and the people looked out at the tall policemen and the little child as they passed along the town. And the boys left their play to follow them; but there was no hooting, not even a laugh; they all pitied. The thoughtless boys felt for the pretty, goldenhaired girl-for her bonnet was forgotten, and her light-brown ringlets Hoated in the wind. And the little girls longed to go up and ask her what she had done. And the good mothers sighed as they thought of one so young in sin.

They came to the large, black-looking gaol, with ugly railing over the huge door; and the bell was rung, and the warrant of committal handed in, and Grace after it, and the wicketdoor shut again. Grace was in gaol.

POOR Kennedy! He got permission from his master to leave work earlier than usual. Another man took his place with the cattle. And he hur

ried home.

"I'll right her," he said, as he went along. “We'll go to Mr. Saunders's. Two hours there, and two back. I'll be back by eight o'clock."

And so he came to the house.
"Where's Grace?" he asked.

The little things could only tell him that two men came for her, and she went with them.

"Was yer mother here ?" he asked. "No, daddy, an' we're very hungry." He hurriedly got something to eat for the little creatures. Surely, he thought, Mr. Saunders sent for Grace. Then telling the children to go to bed when they had eaten their supper, he went out. A neighbour's wife was washing a pot before her door, a little lower down the lane.

"Tell us, Biddy," he asked, "did "did ye see two men goin' to my house the day ?"

"Faix I did, Pether a-hagur, an' I seen them goin' away too."

"Grace was with them, was she?" "Yer daughter, ye mane," said the woman, coldly; "'haith she was."

"What is id ye mane at all, Biddy achora ?"

"They was polismen that was wid yer daughter, Pether agra," answered the woman, raising herself up, and standing before him.

"Polis!" he shrieked, "polis!" and ran off. "Och, she's taken, the innocent cratur;" and he ran. "They wouldn't believe her. Bud where am I runnin' to?"

He turned back to the woman. "Was it the Escar polis was in id ?” he asked.

"Jist thim," was the answer. "An' what time, Biddy honey?" "Jist about eleven o'clock this mornin'."

"Oh, she's in gaol by this," he said, as he turned away. "I'll clear her, though, to her mistress, the kind lady ; I'll prove her innocent, the darlint. I'll have the other wan taken." And on he sped to Escar.

Oh, he could not walk-he ran. There's Mr. Worrell's-on to the bog road; there's his old house. He

stops to breathe. in prison. On again-on, on, over the bog road. He did not feel the cold wind and the spitting rain beating against his face-Grace was in prison. He heeds not the sharp, rough stones he trips against in his haste-Grace is in prison. On, on, still. Here's the bridge, and the end of the bog road. On up the hill to the barrack. He rushes in.

He thinks of Grace

"What made ye take Grace?" he asked, hardly able to speak from want of breath.

"Who are ye at all?" asked the sergeant, standing up.

"Ye took her presner to-day, didn't yez?" he asked.

"Took who prisoner?" "Grace Kennedy, that was livin' at Mrs. Saunders's."

"Yes, we did; these two men are just after leaving her in the gaol."

"Oh my God iv Heaven!"-sitting down, and covering his face with his hands-and then he started up-" she didn't take it 'twas her mother; her mother forced it from her. Go 'rest her, I tell yez. Put her in gaol-my wife, Katty Kennedy. Take her up, and let the innocent darlint go."

"The man's mad," said the police. "I'm not mad. I tell yez it was Katty Kennedy took the money for dhrink, and ye'll find her now in Philipstown, or Hollywood, or somewhere, dhrunk,"

"I think we'll have to arrest you, too," said the sergeant, as you know

66

so much about the matter."

"Och, 'rest me if yez like; but let me go up to the good lady, Mrs. Saunders, and clear Grace."

"Oh, I'll take you there myself. Come along."

He told his story by the way-and they were brought into the hall; and the policeman told the servant that he had learned something more about the money.

Mr. Saunders was at dinner; but he and all the family came out.

"Och, ma'am, ye sent her to gaol," commenced Kennedy, in a piteous tone "och, ye sent her to gaol, an' she innocent. The poor child. She never took it, ma'am dear; she never took it."

"What is all this?" asked Mr. Saunders. " Dalton, who is this man?"

"The girl's father, sir, at whose house the men found her this morning.

"My good man," said Mrs. Saunders, approaching Kennedy, "do you really mean to say that she is inno.

cent?"

"I do, me lady. God knows she is. It was her mother took the money; and the darlint thought how she'd be punished if she told; so she would'nt peach, an' is gone to prison herself, instead. That's the only raison I can think of for her not tellin' at onst, as she told me this mornin'."

"What did she tell you?"

"Why, yer ladyship, she said she was in the room, an' the young lady's workbox was open; an' Grace, the cratur' was lookin' for a needle, or somethin' in it; an' her mother came in by the window, and took the money out of the child's hand by force; an' Grace follyed her, and overtook her, and wanted to hould her; but the mother turned and struck her down, and darted off. Thin Grace got up, and follyed on, but lost her, and came to my house, wet and cowld, to thry if she was there. An' that's the story ma'am ; an' I had to go to my work this mornin', and I saw she was loath to come back here by herself; so I told her to wait 'till evenin' an' I'd go wid her; an' I got leave from my masther to quit work early, and whin I came to the cabin she was gone. The polis had her, and then I ran on here, an' now she's in gaol."

And poor Kennedy's voice faltered through his tale, and at the end he fairly cried.

"Ah, John, you were too hasty. If I had spoken to her myself, she would have told me, I am sure," whispered his lady, sorrowfully.

"There is one point in your story that I do not understand," said Mr. Saunders, addressing the man. "You say that the woman forced the money out of the child's hand. Now, how came it in her hand?"

"Ah! the cratur took it up to look at it, I suppose, yer honour.'

"Jane, my love, was not your money in the purse?"

"Yes, papa, in a corner of the workbox."

"So, you see, my man, that your daughter must first have taken the money out of the purse into her own hand, before it could be forced from it."

"Ah, sir, I'm not sure what she did; but wan thing I'm sartin of, that she nivir thought of takin' the money, an' nivir did."

"Don't you think, sir, it would be advisable to detain this man," asked the policeman.

66

Why, there is no evidence whatever against him, Dalton, even by any accidental admission of his own. I don't see how you can keep him."

"Oh! don't go for to keep me, gintlemen, for the love iv heaven, or I'll lose my place; and Mr. Rawson's a good man, an' I'll get lave from him to come to-morrow; but who'd foddher the cows in the mornin' if I'm away. I'll do all I can for yez, to get the colleen out o' gaol, but don't keep me. There's two little wans at home, and maybe its the house they have set a-fire. Don't keep me. Sure, I wouldn't have come to the polis at all, if I had any hand in it. An' I'll find Katty, too, I'll go bail."

66

"Well, sir," said Dalton, "I think I had better take him up to Mr. Hamilton's, and get a warrant for the apprehension of the woman he speaks of, in his testimony in the case."

And they went to the magistrate's -the husband to give evidence against the wife, to save the child.

"Can we not get Grace out of prison now, dear?" asked Mrs. Saunders to her husband, as they returned to the dinner-table.

Why, I dont know; she has been certainly to blame, according to her father's account, in going to the workbox at all, and then taking the money out. I wish you would see her, my love, and try if her version corresponds with what her father says. You have no objection to visit the gaol?"

66

Oh, not the least," answered the lady; "only too happy, if I can be of any service to poor Grace, who I really hope is innocent. Can we not get her out?

"I would not like to withdraw my informations, having sworn to them, particularly as the mother has not yet been taken; and the girl may be the guilty party, after all. But if you think well of her tale to-morrow, I may endeavour to get her out on bail; but you know, Ellen, it would be out of the question her coming here, as long as the shadow of a doubt rested on her."

"Where could we put her?" said his wife, half to herself.

"Let her go home, can't she?-the fittest place for her."

"Oh, John, how can you say that -home-to that wretched hovel in the bog!"-for Mrs. Saunders was not aware of Kennedy's change of residence. "And what good has she learned in this home, that we should send her there?"

"The old schoolmistress wants a servant, I think," whispered Jane.

"Thank you, darling, for the hint; yes, that will just do," said her mother. "She can stay at the school, and attend to her lessons, till she can come back here with a character unstained." Next day Mrs. Saunders, with her husband, drove to the gaol.

They were shown into the master's parlour, and he himself soon appeared. "Mr. Denny," said the gentleman, "we would be glad to see a little prisoner that was brought to you yesterday."

"I know, sir, a little light-haired child, about twelve years old — her name was Grace-Grace

ders.

Kennedy," suggested Mr. Saun

"Exactly, sir-Kennedy-charged with robbing her mistress. Well, sir, she is in the house here. My wife, on seeing her, took quite a fancy to her. She was tired, poor thing, and hungry, when she came in, and she was taken down to the kitchen to eat something, and there she so won on my wife, good woman, that she declared she would not send her among the other prisoners, but would keep her herself to assist in the house. Poor little thing, she is very unhappy."

"Poor child," said Mrs. Saunders, "I should be glad to speak to her, alone, Mr. Denny, if it were perfectly convenient."

"Oh, certainly, ma'am, if you will step up to the drawing-room."

"I will walk round the prison with you, if you will allow me, Mr. Denny," interrupted Mr. Saunders, "and the little girl can come in here."

66

Very well, sir, exactly," and they both left the room. "Will you wait here, sir, for a moment, 'till I call her?"

Poor Grace came up at the summons that some one wanted to speak to her.

And she entered the room, and there was her mistress. She jumped forward with delight, but stopped and

crimsoned she recollected where she was, and she looked down.

"Grace," said her mistress, "come here and sit down beside me. Now, Grace, why did you not tell me yesterday, what your father has told about the money; you would not have come here, then, perhaps?" And the soft, gentle tone went to her heart, and she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry father told," she said, at length.

"Why should you be sorry, if he told the truth?"

"Sure I did'nt tell a lie, ma'am dear?"

"I'm not saying you did; but you kept back part of the truth, and that was nearly as bad."

"Was that as bad? but sure-"
"But sure, what?"

"Is'nt there a great punishment for robbin', ma'am?"

"I believe the punishment is heavy; but what has that to say to it?"

"If I told, she'd suffer, ma'am," said Grace, with tearful eye, looking up to her mistress.

"Who is she?' Come, go on, Grace; tell me everything. I know all, but I want to hear it from yourself. You were going to take the money yourself, were you not?"

"Oh no, ma'am-indeed, indeed, no. I thought at first that a little sixpence would not be missed, and the divil put that in my head; but I thought then that God was lookin' at me, as you an' Miss Jane often told me, and I put the bad thought away.” "How came you to touch the money at all, Grace?"

"My needle broke, ma'am, an' I knew you'd be angry with me; and I saw Miss Jane's work-box, and tried was it open-I know I did very wrong -and it was; and I found the needlebook in the bottom, and took one. An' thin I saw the little bag, an' took out the money, an' had it in my hand, whin mother came to the glass door— oh, I got such a fright, ma'am-an' she came in an' coaxed herself over to me, and made a snatch at the money, and ran away. I followed her, and caught her just in the shrubbery, and she turned and hit me here, ma'am" (and there was the mark on her temple), "an' I fell; and whin I got up I ran on to father's, thinkin' she was there, but she was'nt. Thin I felt that you'd think that I took it, an' father

"Indeed it is, ma'am. And her mistress read in the watery blue eye the bright glance of truth.

"Well, Grace, in the first place, it was awkward of you to break your needle; but there was no sin in that; it became sin when you went to take one of Miss Jane's, which was not your's-it was then the sin of stealing; for, as far as the sin goes, it is as great wrong before God to take a needle belonging to another as a pound. You stole a needle, and as you were engaged in the theft your curiosity was excited, and you were very near stealing money also. Your mother came, and actually took the money, the consequence, I may say, of your theft; for if you had not opened the work-box to steal the needle you would not have seen the money-you would not then have had it in your hand when your mother came to the window-and she would not have been tempted to take it. You have partly atoned for your fault in being sorry for it. But do not think the wrong consisted in going to Miss Jane's work-box, and opening it; that was certainly very wrong, idle curiosity; but the sin was in opening it to steal. Do you understand all I have said?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," replied Grace, sobbing, "I did steal the needle-I'm very sorry-an' I must stay here with mother; but ma'am, dear, did she give back the money?"

"She has not been heard of yet at all. But would you like to come away from this, if I could get you out?"

"Oh, ma'am dear, you're so good an' kind to poor me;" and Grace cried

on.

"I must go now," said Mrs. Saunders, rising. "You had better go down stairs again."

"Amn't I to go with you, ma'am?" "No, Grace, I must speak to Mr. Saunders about it; perhaps to-morrow or the day after you will come out. But, Grace, though I believe that you did not take the money, there are others who think you did; so until your mother is taken and tried you

shall stay at the school and learn your lessons. And if you are let out of this, you must promise not to run away or hide yourself anywhere."

"Oh, that I will, ma'am." And Mrs. Saunders held out her hand, and Grace took it in both her's, and looked as if she would have liked to kiss her mistress.

"Good bye, Grace," said her mistress, as they parted outside the door. "Good bye, ma'am," said Grace, courtesy ing.

And Mrs. Saunders spoke to her husband, and he arranged with Mr. Hamilton, and the little girl in two days was let out on bail. And Mrs. Denny was very sorry to lose her; the blue-eyed child had won a little spot in the good woman's heart.

But were not they glad at Fairport? Poor Jane was wild with joy-the connecting link of gratitude between her and her humble pupil was not broken; and Charles was very happy too.

And William, the butler, shut himself up in the pantry for a whole hour, and the cook afterwards declared that she heard him crying and "thanking God."

And Catherine did nothing but laugh; and the cook said she knew it all along," and that "she'd go and bring her back, the cratur'." And she did go. She told her mistress that she had important business in M, it couldn't be put off; "an' wouldn't the master lend the ass's cart, an' thin she could bring home poor Grace." And her mistress smiled, and said she might go. And William suddenly recollected that he had but a single good boot or shoe in the world, and asked leave to drive the cart.

And they came to the gaol; and there was her father standing at the gate. He heard from the Escar police that she was coming out, and he came to bring her home. Mr. Rawson gave him the day - another man "foddhered" the cattle. "His darlinthe knew he'd clear her." And out she came; she had her bonnet now; and her father hugged her, and William and the cook kissed her, and the four got on the cart-Grace between the two servants-and her father sitting behind, with his legs hanging down. And on went the donkey full trotWilliam could manage him well-on they went through the town; and the little boys recognised the golden-haired