termined upon, "I can't say I am surprised."

"You are not surprised!" repeated Felicie, slowly. "Why? Do you know
anything about it?"

"Do I know anything about it?" said Harold, coloring. "What do you
mean by that?"

"Because you say you are not surprised. I was surprised, and so was
the old lady and your mother."

"You must be very stupid not to understand what I mean," said Harold,
annoyed.

"Then I am very stupid, for I do not know at all why you are not
surprised."

"I mean that the boy Aunt Eliza employs--that boy Luke has taken the
money."

"Oh, you think the boy, Luke, has taken the money."

"Certainly! Why shouldn't he? He is a poor newsboy. It would be a
great temptation to him. You know he is always shown into Aunt Eliza's
sitting room, and is often there alone."

"That is true."

"And, of course, nothing is more natural than that he should take the
money."

"But the drawer was locked."

"He had some keys in his pocket, very likely. Most boys have keys."

"Oh, most boys have keys. Have you, perhaps, keys, Master Harold?"

"It seems to me you are asking very foolish questions, Felicie. I have
the key of my trunk."

"But do newsboys have trunks? Why should this boy, Luke, have keys? I
do not see."

"Well, I'll go upstairs," said Harold, who was getting tired of the
interview, and rather uneasy at Felicie's remarks and questions.

As Felicie had said, Mrs. Merton discovered her loss almost as soon as
she came home. She had used but a small part of the money he took with
her, and, not caring to carry it about with her, opened the drawer to
replace it in the pocketbook.

To her surprise the pocketbook had disappeared.

Now, the contents of the pocketbook, though a very respectable sum,
were not sufficient to put Mrs. Merton to any inconvenience. Still, no
one likes to lose money, especially if there is reason to believe that
it has been stolen, and Mrs. Merton felt annoyed. She drew out the
drawer to its full extent, and examined it carefully in every part,
but there was no trace of the morocco pocketbook.

She locked the door and went downstairs to her niece.

"What's the matter, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy, seeing, at a
glance, from her aunt's expression, that some thing had happened.

"There is a thief in the house!" said the old lady, abruptly.

"What!"

"There is a thief in the house!"

"What makes you think so?"

"You remember my small work table?"

"Yes."

"I have