saw for
herself that what Maggie said was true.

"They stole it!" she gasped. "We are in a den of thieves! Who knows
what they'll take from my bandbox?" and she was about to leave the
room when Maggie, whose quick mind saw farther ahead, bade her stop.

"I may discover something more," said she, and taking up a handsomely
bound volume of Lamb, she turned to the fly-leaf, and read, "Jenny
Douglas, from her brother George, Worcester, January 8."

It was plain to her now; but any mortification she might otherwise
have experienced was lost in the one absorbing thought, "What will
grandma say?"

"Grandmother," said she, showing the book, "don't you remember the
mother of that girl called her Betsy Jane Douglas?"

"Yes, yes!" gasped Madam Conway, raising both hands, while an
expression of deep, intense anxiety was visible upon her face.

"And don't you know, too," continued Maggie, "that George always
seemed inclined to say as little as possible of his parents? Now, in
this country it is not unusual for the sons of just such people as
these to be among the most wealthy and respectable citizens."

"Maggie, Maggie!" hoarsely whispered Madam Conway, grasping Maggie's
arm, "do you mean to insinuate--am I to understand that you believe
that odious woman and hideous girl to be the mother and sister of
George Douglas?"

"I haven't a doubt of it," answered Maggie. "'Twas the resemblance
between Betsy Jane and George which I observed at first."

Out of her chair to the floor tumbled Madam Conway, fainting entirely
away, while Maggie, stepping to the door, called for help.

"I mistrusted she was awful sick at dinner," said Mrs. Douglas, taking
her hands from the dish-water, and running to the parlor. "I wish
she'd smelt of the camphire, as I wanted her to do. Does she have such
spells often?"

By this time Betsy Jane brought a basin of water, which she dashed in
the face of the unconscious woman, who soon began to revive.

"Pennyr'yal tea'll settle her stomach quicker'n anything else," said
Mrs. Douglas. "I'll clap a little right on the stove;" and, helping
Madam Conway to the sofa, she left the room.

"There may possibly be a mistake, after all," thought Maggie. "I'll
question the girl;" and, turning to Betsy Jane, she said, taking up
the book which had before attracted her attention, "Is this 'Jenny
Douglas' intended for you?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered the girl, coloring slightly. "Brother George
calls me Jenny, beca