front-door, and having opened it, was on the point of
crossing the street, when Tommy Dudgeon emerged from the shop, and came
over towards where she stood.

"Good morning, ma-am," he said, halting at a respectful distance. "You are
looking for little miss?"

"Well," snapped Aunt Jemima, "and if I am, what then? Do you know where
she is?"

"No, ma-am; but I saw her go away."

Miss Jemima seized the arm of the little man with an iron grip.

"Man! you saw her go away, and you let her go?"

With difficulty Tommy freed his arm.

"Well, ma-am, perhaps I ought----"

"Of course you ought," rapped out the lady, sharply. "You must be a
gabey."

"No doubt, ma-am. But little miss will come back. She knows her way about.
She will be home to dinner."

Having spoken, Tommy was turning to recross the street.

"Stop, man!"

Tommy stopped and faced around once more.

"Which way did she go?"

"That way, ma-am," replied Tommy, pointing along the street, to Aunt
Jemima's left-hand, and his own right.

The troubled lady instantly marched, in the direction indicated, to the
end of the street; but, finding that five ways branched off therefrom, she
returned baffled to her brother's house, and sought his presence once
more.

"Thomas," she cried, almost fiercely, "the child has certainly run away!"

Still "Cobbler" Horn was not alarmed.

"Well," he said calmly, "never mind, Jemima. She has a habit of going off
by herself. She knows her way about, and will not stray far. She will be
back by dinner-time, no doubt."

Though by no means satisfied, Miss Jemima was fain to accept this view of
the case for the time. With a troubled mind, she resumed her suspended
domestic duties. Unlikely as it might seem, she could not banish the dread
that Marian had actually run away; and, as the morning passed, the fear
grew stronger and stronger in the troubled lady's breast that she would
see her little niece no more. Accordingly when dinner-time arrived, Aunt
Jemima was not surprised that Marian did not appear. The dinner consisted
of Irish stew--Marian's favourite dish. On the stroke of twelve it was
smoking on the table. For the twentieth time the perturbed lady went to
the door, and gazed wistfully up and down the street. Then, with a sigh,
she re-entered the house, and called her brother to dinner.

"Cobbler" Horn, feeling sure that Marian would soon return, had dismissed
the fact of her disappearance from his mind; and when, on com