her the amount, and she did not want to be paid twice over."

"And this is the girl we have been suspecting of dishonesty!" said Etta.
"We really owe her something to make amends. What a little wretch that
Bertie Sanderson must be! I really think her parents ought to be told
all the circumstances."

All this while a pile of unopened letters, brought by the evening mail,
was lying upon the centre-table. The young gentleman turned them over,
took possession of several which were directed to himself, and then,
handing Etta one which he said was for her, left the room.

"Who can it be from?" said the young lady, eyeing the strangely folded
and badly directed epistle, without opening it, as is the manner of so
many people.

"I'd see if I were you," said her sister; and seeing that this was good
advice, Etta took it, glanced at the signature, and exclaimed:--

"Bertie Sanderson! what a coincidence!"

The letter was as follows:--

NEW YORK, August 15, 18--.

My Dear Miss Etta,--I don't know how to write letters very
well, but I must tell you something that is upon my mind. It is
about Katie Robertson. You remember I told you she was a thief,
and I told all the girls she was dishonest. I didn't _know_
that she was; I only saw her find a fifty-dollar bill among the
rags one day, and put it in her pocket. I didn't know what she did
with it, and I didn't try to find out, because I was jealous and
hated her. She used to tell me it was dishonest to break rules,
and talk, and idle, when one was paid for working, and I felt kind
of glad to think I had found her out in being dishonest too. I
told the girls about it--not all, but just enough to make them
think her a thief, because at first they all seemed to think so
much more of her than they did of me, and I told you just the same
thing when you asked me. I tried to tell father when he used to
praise up Katie Robertson's independence and industry, and wish I
would follow her example. You see, it was all because of her that
he put me in the mill. But somehow I couldn't tell him. I was
afraid.

You see, Miss Etta, I have been a very wicked girl, and when I got
so sick I was afraid to die. I tried to think I hadn't told a lie,
because I _did_ see her find the money, and I _didn't_
know what she had done with it; but I knew I had "borne false
witness," and I hadn't "loved my neighbo