ctor says as 'tis somethink like rheumatic fever as
I has."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," said Susan, not wasting any of her precious moments
in pitying the poor suffering old woman. "What _is_ to be done? I tell
you, Betty, if that basket is found we are all lost."

"But the laurel is very thick, lovey: it ain't likely to be found--it
ain't, indeed."

"I tell you it _is_ likely to be found, you tiresome old woman, and you
really must go for it or send for it. You really must."

Old Betty began to ponder.

"There's Moses," she said, after a pause of anxious thought; "he's a
'cute little chap, and he might go. He lives in the fourth cottage along
the lane. Moses is his name--Moses Moore. I'd give him a pint of cherries
for the job. If you wouldn't mind sending Moses to me, Miss Susan, why,
I'll do my best; only it seems a pity to let anybody into your secrets,
young ladies, but old Betty herself."

"It is a pity," said Susan, "but, under the circumstances, it can't be
helped. What cottage did you say this Moses lived in?"

"The fourth from here, down the lane, lovey--Moses is the lad's name;
he's a freckled boy, with a cast in one eye. You send him up to me,
dearie; but don't mention the cherries, or he'll be after stealing them.
He's a sad rogue, is Moses; but I think I can tempt him with the
cherries."

Susan did not wait to bid poor old Betty "good-bye," but ran out of the
cottage, shutting the door after her, and snatching up two or three ripe
cherries to eat on her way. She was so far fortunate as to find the
redoubtable Moses at home, and to convey him bodily to old Betty's
presence. The queer boy grinned horribly, and looked as wicked as boy
could look; but on the subject of cherries he was undoubtedly
susceptible, and after a good deal of haggling and insisting that the
pint should be a quart, he expressed his willingness to start off at four
o'clock on the following morning, and bring away the basket from under
the laurel-tree.

CHAPTER XXXV.

"YOU ARE WELCOME TO TELL."

Annie continued her walk. The circumstances of the last two months had
combined to do for her what nothing had hitherto effected. When a little
child she had known hardship and privation, she had passed through that
experience which is metaphorically spoken of as "going down hill." As a
baby little Annie had been surrounded by comforts and luxuries, and her
father and mother had lived in a large house, and kept a carriage, and
An