find hout _who_ put that 'ere trinket in yer pocket."

"Oh Pickles! I don't--I don't think hany one could be so wicked."

"Bless yer, gel! yer hasn't gone about and seen life like me. 'Tis a
wicked world, Cinderella. Some one put that locket in yer pocket; ef it
worn't yerself, it wor another."

"I don't know why hany one should do it," said Sue.

"You leave that to me. The reason is a mystery; the person wot did it is
a mystery; it remains fur this yere child"--giving his breast a great
slap--"to unravel them both. Now, Cinderella, wot kind o' man wor that
'ere Peter Harris wot went wid yer to the shop?"

"He wor a wery rough kind o' man," said Sue, "and he often drank. He wor
in trouble jest then 'bout Connie. Connie is his daughter. She wor away
fur a bit, and had come back, and he wanted to give her a ring, and, as
I telled yer, we went inter the shop to buy her one."

"And had that 'ere Harris much money?"

"He didn't say as he hadn't; he gave a sovereign to pay fur the ring."

"Don't yer think, Cinderella, as it wor _he_ put the locket in your
pocket?"

"Indeed I don't," answered Sue, in great indignation. "He wor a bit
rough, and used to drink a good deal, but I never heerd mortal say as he
worn't as honest a man as ever stepped. Besides, Pickles, he wor a
friend to me, and I wor a friend to Connie, and even ef he wished to do
something so desperate wicked he couldn't, fur I wor at the other side
o' the shop a'most."

"All the same," replied Pickles, shaking his fiery head, "I believe as
he did it. 'Tis a desperate big mystery, but I means to clear it hup, so
you leave it ter me, Cinderella."

CHAPTER XXIV.

MOTHER AND SON.

That night Mrs. Price and her younger son had a conversation.

"I do not want to send her away, Jamie," she said when they had
discoursed with much interest for some time. "She shall and must stay
here for the present; but it cannot go on always, for what would the
poor little brother do? If Cinderella is the bread-winner, and Cinderella
can earn no bread, the poor little fellow will starve."

James Price, _alias_ Pickles, was looking very sober, even thoughtful.

"It tuk a deal o' time to save hup, and 'tis rare and comforting to
reflect on having it--but there's my half-crown," he said.

"Bless you, my laddie! it will help a trifle, but half-a-crown won't
feed the smallest eater for long."

"Then, mother, you know I allow no one ter dictate ter me but you. Wot's