at
the guilty girls with faces of mute amazement and inquiry which almost
upset Hildegarde's composure.

"It's true, Cousin Wealthy!" she said quickly. "We meant to tell you--in
a little while, when you would not be worried. We thought the house was
deserted, and I went and looked in at the window. And--it looked so
wretched, we thought we might--"

"There was only an onion and three crackers," murmured Rose, in
deprecating parenthesis.

"We thought we might leave part of our luncheon, for Martha had given us
such a quantity; and just when we had finished, we saw a face at the
window--oh, such a dreadful old face!--and we ran away, and forgot the
basket. So you see, Martha," she added, "it was partly your fault, for
giving us so much luncheon."

"I see!" said Martha, chuckling, and apparently much amused.

But Miss Wealthy looked really frightened. "My _dear_ girls," she said,
"it was a _very_ imprudent thing to do. Why, Galusha Pennypacker is half
insane, people think. A dreadful old miser, who lives in filth and
wretchedness, while he has plenty of money hidden away,--at least people
say he has. Why, it terrifies me to think of your going into that
hovel."

"Oh! Cousin Wealthy," said Hildegarde, soothingly, "he couldn't have
hurt us, poor old thing! if he had tried. He looks at least a hundred
years old. And of course we didn't know he was a miser. But surely it
will do no harm for him to have a good dinner for once, and Martha's
turnovers ought really to have a civilizing effect upon him. Who knows?
Perhaps it may make him remember nicer ways, and he may try to do
better."

Miss Wealthy was partly reconciled by this view of the case; but she
declared that Rose must go to bed at once, as she must be quite
exhausted.

At this moment Martha, who was still holding the basket, gave an
exclamation of surprise. "Why," she said, "there's things in this! Did
you leave these in the basket, Miss Hilda?"

"I? No!" cried Hildegarde, wondering. "I left nothing at all in it.
What is there?"

All clustered eagerly round Martha, who with provoking deliberation took
out two small parcels which lay in the bottom of the basket, and looked
them carefully over before opening them. They were wrapped in dirty
scraps of brown paper.

"Oh! there is writing on them!" cried Hildegarde. "Martha dear, _do_
tell us what it says!"

Martha studied the inscriptions for some minutes, and then read aloud:
"'The fly-away gal' and 'the