ike myself. I lost him nine weeks ago."

Elsie gave a little exclamation of dismay. Had the guidance of the
vanished hand led only to a disappointment like this?

"I wish you had told us sooner," said Andrew, trying to suppress his
indignation.

"The weeks have gone by like a whirlwind, and my head's been in a mist
ever since I lost him," Mrs. Penn declared, wiping her eyes.

"Are you sure that your head wasn't in a mist before you lost him?"
asked Mrs. Beaton, with unwonted sternness.

Something in the tone of the questioner led Elsie to examine Mrs. Penn
with closer attention. She was a woman of sixty, who had evidently been
healthy and active in her earlier days, and ought to have been strong
and capable still. But there was a redness of the eyes, and a certain
pink puffiness of the whole countenance which had a suspicious look.

"My health hasn't been good lately," she said, in her whimpering voice.
"No one knows the burden that the boy has been to me, but I couldn't
find it in my heart to part with him."

"If you had written to us, as you promised to do, we would have relieved
you of the burden," Mrs. Beaton replied.

"I've been going to write hundreds of times, only I'm such a bad
letter-writer. And then I've intended to come and see you, but I've put
off coming because things always seemed to prevent me. We stayed at
Brighton three months; I don't like Brighton. I was glad to get nearer
to London."

"Where did you go when you left Brighton?" Andrew inquired.

"We came up to Lee. My niece Maria is married to a market-gardener
there, a Mr. Dennett; he's a most respectable man, and he took quite a
fancy to Jamie. But Maria has no children, and she doesn't care for
boys; they seem to worry her."

"And between you and Maria the poor little fellow was neglected," cried
Mrs. Beaton, in a tremor of anger.

"Don't say so; pray, don't say so; it hurts my feelings dreadfully,"
wailed Mrs. Penn. "I'm sure I paid regularly for him and myself, and he
always had enough to eat. But, as Maria has often said, it's a
troublesome thing to have a child on your hands."

"How did you lose him?" Mrs. Beaton asked. She steadied her voice as
well as she could, but there was an angry light in her kind old eyes.

"I didn't lose him. He lost himself. He must have wandered away
somewhere," said this exasperating woman, beginning to cry again. "We
went to the police, and did all we could to find him, but we never
caught a glim