one or two
questions about the circumstances under which my--Miss Owen came into your
charge when a child?"

"By no means, sir!" The startling nature of the question caused no
hesitation in the reply. Indeed, though startled, these good people were
not so very much surprised. They had not, perhaps, been actually expecting
that this would prove to be the subject on which they had been summoned to
confer. But, ever since their adopted daughter had entered the household
of this man, whose own little daughter had been lost, just about the time
that she must have left her home, both Mr. and Mrs. Burton had secretly
thought that perhaps, as the result, she would find her own parent, and
they would lose their child. Perhaps it was on account of the vagueness
of this thought, or because of the painful anticipations to which it gave
rise, or for both these reasons, that the good couple had made no mention
to each other of its presence in their respective minds. They glanced at
one another now; and, by some subtle influence, each became aware that the
other's mind had been occupied by this disturbing thought.

"You will believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I have good reasons for the
questions I am going to ask?"

"We are sure of that, sir," responded Mr. Burton.

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Burton.

"Well, can you tell me in what year, and at what time of the year, you
found the child?"

"It was on the 2nd of June, 18--" said Mrs. Burton, promptly.

"Cobbler" Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances. It was the very year in
which, on that bright May morning, little Marian had vanished, like a
flash of departing sunshine, from their lives.

"About what age would you suppose the child to have been at the time?"

"She told us her age," said Mr. Burton.

"Yes," pursued his wife, "she was a very indistinct talker, and her age
was almost the only thing we could actually make out. She said she was
five; and that was about what she looked."

"Do you think, now," continued "Cobbler" Horn, with another glance at his
sister, "that you could give us anything like a description of the child?"

"My wife can do that very well," said Mr. Burton. "She has often told Miss
Owen what she looked like when we found her crying in the road."

"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "I remember exactly what she was like. She had
black hair--as she has now, and her eyes were very dark; her skin was even
browner than it is now, being so dirty; and she had very