o overwhelmed with surprise and
mortification that he could with difficulty collect his senses enough
to know what to do. Just then a gentleman entered, and said to an
officer near:

"I was surprised to hear you had caught the rascal so speedily. Where
is the scoundrel? What does he say?"

"That it was all a _mistake!_" answered the officer, with a very
significant smile. "There he is," pointing to Fred.

"Of course--the villain! And if I had been so unfortunate as not to
have had a watch to hand over, he would have murdered and robbed me of
what I might have of any value. The murderous rascal!--Ah! how are
you, Loring? You here!" advancing and shaking Fred's hand cordially,
and continuing, "Show me that cut-throat! Which is he?"

The expression on Fred's countenance may possibly be imagined, but I
cannot describe it. And when, in answer to the call, "Prisoner, stand
up," he arose, his friend's--the plaintiff's--surprise was stupendous
for a moment; and then breaking into a hearty chuckle, he exclaimed:

"Of course _now_ I know it was a mistake."

The dignity of the place was forgotten by all then, and never was such
a shout of laughter heard before within those walls. But Fred could
not join in it, to save him. He had too lately stood in the place of
an individual bearing quite too many opprobrious epithets, to feel
very light-hearted.

He returned home to relieve Nellie's mind, telling her it was all
settled--she need have now no more anxiety about it. But he never told
her how it was settled. One thing, however, she noticed--he was not so
fond of his revolver's companionship as he used to be. And once she
heard him say:

"If the law was more strenuous with regard to the carrying of
concealed weapons, there would be fewer criminal indictments."

THE GHOST

Peeping through the leaves of the vine-covered bower, and watching
eagerly the path through the woods, was a beautiful little maiden. An
anxious look was in her deep blue eyes, as pressing her hands over her
heart, as if to stop its heavy beating, she said:

"Oh, why does he not come? How long a time! If he had good news, I
know he would come quicker. Oh, I have not a mite of hope!"

The pretty lips quivered then, and she stepped back, and sank on the
mossy seat.

A moment after a sound, slight as the dropping of leaves, caught her
ear. She sprang up, and for an instant a bright light shone in her
eyes, but quickly died away, as the slow, he