port
against her fright. She was only conscious of utter humiliation, and an
abject desire to beg off on any terms.

"What do you go round stealin' folks's melons for, young woman? Don't
yer folks bring yer up better 'n that? It's a dodrotted shame to 'em, ef
they don't. What did ye want with the melons? Don't they give yer enough
to eat ter home, hey?"

"We were going to have some supper, sir," she replied, in a scared,
breathless tone, with a little hope of propitiating him by being
extremely civil and explicit in her replies.

"Who was havin' supper to this time er night?" he snorted incredulously.

"We girls," was the faint reply.

"What gals?"

Had she got to tell where she came from and be identified? She couldn't,
she wouldn't. But again came that dreadful shake, and the words faltered
out:--

"Over at the Seminary, sir."

"Whew! so ye 're one er them, are ye? What's yer name?"

Cold dew stood on the poor girl's forehead. She was silent. He might
kill her, but she would n't disgrace her father's name.

"What's yer name?" he repeated, with another shake.

She was still silent, though limp as a rag in his grasp.

"Wal," said he sharply, after waiting a half minute to see if she would
answer, "I guess ye'll be more confidin' like to the jedge when he
inquiries in the mornin'. A night in the lock-up makes folks wonderful
civil. Now I'll jest trouble ye to come along to the police office," and
he walked her along by the arm toward the house.

As the horrible degradation to which she was exposed flashed upon Lina,
the last remnant of her self-control gave way, and, hanging back with
all her might against his hand, she burst into sobs.

"Oh, don't, don't! It will kill me. I'll tell you my name. It's Lina
Maynard. My father is a rich merchant in New York, Broadway, No. 743. He
will give you anything, if you let me go. Anything you want. Oh, please
don't! Oh, don't! I could n't! I could n't!"

In this terror-stricken, wild-eyed girl, her face streaming with tears,
and every lineament convulsed with abject dread, there was little enough
to remind Arthur Steele of the queenly maiden who had favored him with
a glance of negligent curiosity that afternoon. He stopped marching her
along and said reflectively:--

"Lina Maynard, hey! Then you must be the gal that's down on Amy Steele
and would n't ask her to the party to-morrow. Say, ain't yer the one?"

Lina was too much bewildered by the sudden change of t