n the world, it was Morgan. She had heard her father talk of
circumstantial evidence, and how easy it was to draw wrong conclusions.
She was puzzled. One thing was certain, she had seen the ring in his hand.

"Now, if he were really a magician, I might think he had broken the spell
on the ring we found in the Gilpin house," she said to herself.

She must go back and pay the bill; for if she did not, her mother would
have to know the reason, and Belle was not sure it would be wise to tell
her about the discovery. Mrs. Parton acknowledged frankly she couldn't
keep a secret, and Belle was wise enough to see it wouldn't do to spread
the news abroad.

"I wish Rosalind was here," she thought.

When at length she made up her mind to go back, the magician was at work
and greeted her just as usual. Belle wondered if she had not dreamed it
after all. While he went into the next room to make change and receipt the
bill, she looked for the ring she and Rosalind had hung on a nail beside
the door. It was gone. Had any one ever known such a perplexing state of
affairs?

The magician must have wondered what made the usually merry Belle so
grave, for he asked if she was well as he gave her the bill.

As she walked slowly homeward, she noticed a large, dignified gentleman
coming toward her. He did not belong to Friendship, she knew, and she
wondered a little who he might be. He looked down on her benevolently
through his spectacles as he passed, and for a moment seemed about to
speak. Belle quickly forgot him, however, for the ring occupied her
thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. Even the story so
fascinating an hour ago, had lost its charm.

"Does your head ache?" her mother asked, seeing her sitting on the
doorstep, her chin in her hand, her book unopened beside her.

"No, mother; I am just thinking," was Belle's reply.

She was trying to decide whom to tell. "I wish father was at home," she
said to herself.

She went to bed with the matter still undecided, and the first thing she
thought of when she opened her eyes the next day was the ring. A
conversation overheard between her mother and Manda, the cook, added to
her uneasiness.

"Miss Mary, did you know there was a 'tective loafin' round town?"

"A detective? No, I did not. If there is, it won't make any difference to
you and me," answered Mrs. Parton.

"Maybe it don't make no difference to white folks, but looks like they's
always 'spicioning niggers," con