ere long;
still, I have a perfect conviction of her honesty."

"Very amiable and generous of you to feel so, Kate," said Miss
Stackpole; "perhaps a few years ago, when I was of your age, I should
have thought just the same."

"Kate is twenty next September," said grandmother, who could refrain no
longer. "I never forget anybody's age. It is quite possible that she
will change in the course of twenty-five or thirty years."

We all knew this to be throwing down the gauntlet. Miss Stackpole did
not, however, take it up. She said she intended to lay the
circumstances, exactly as they were, before Mrs. Perkinpine; and if that
lady would allow her, she should pay for the pin. She thought, though,
it might be her duty to talk with Rhoda; perhaps, even at the eleventh
hour, the girl might be induced to give it up.

"I will take it upon me, Lucretia," said grandmother, "to object to your
talking with Rhoda. Even if we have not among us penetration enough to
see that she is honest as daylight, it does not follow that we should be
excusable in doing anything to make that forlorn orphan child less happy
than she is now. You visit about a great deal, Lucretia. I hope, for the
sake of all your friends, that you don't everywhere scatter your
suspicions broadcast as you have done here. I am older than you, as you
will admit, and I have never known any good come of unjust accusations."

After Miss Stackpole went up stairs that night, she folded the black
silk dress she had been wearing to lay it in her trunk; and in doing
that, she found the missing pin on the inside of the waist-lining, just
where she had put it herself. Then she remembered having stuck it there
one morning in a hurry, to prevent any one being tempted with seeing it
lie around.

And Rhoda never knew what an escape she had.

* * * * *

"I do wish there was something for me to do," said Rhoda; "I never was
used to lying abed doing nothing. It most tuckers me out."

"Cannot you read, Rhoda?" I asked.

"Yes, I can read some. I can't read words, but I can tell some of the
letters."

"Have you never gone to school?"

"No; I always had to work. Poor folks have got to work, you know."

"Yes, but that need not prevent your learning to read. I can teach you
myself; I will, if you like."

"I guess your aunt won't calculate to get me to work for her, and then
have me spend my time learning to read. First you know, she'll send me
off