Pen started on her errand. She was glad to be out, but when she reached the place where the peaches were, she stood for a long time in contemplation. Then she suddenly roused herself. "I haven't a bit of strength; I don't know how I can do it," she thought. She went in and picked some peaches, without giving much thought to the fact that they were not ripe, and she was presently aware that old Archer was standing over her. Archer was rather a terrible personage; he began to scold Pen. How dare she take his peaches? and she had not taken the ripe ones. Here were ten lovely peaches absolutely destroyed, good for nothing. "You can't have 'em," he said. "I'll lay 'em in the sun. Maybe they'll ripen. It's a sinful shame to have a tree with its fruit torn off in this fashion. Why, Miss Pen, haven't you got any sense at all? Don't you know by this time when a peach is ripe and when it isn't? Miss Clara'll be in a fine tantrum when she sees these sort of things. Here, give me yer basket, you stand by me, and I'll select 'em." Pen did not seem to care. Archer made a careful choice. He picked seven or eight peaches, then chose some nectarines, then some apricots, and then some grapes; the basket was packed, and he was proud of its appearance when he handed it to Pen. She went back to the house. Clara was in the hall, her face was scarlet. "What a time you've been," she said. "I do declare you've been away three-quarters of an hour. But oh, that fruit does look good. Put it there in the hall; I'll tell James to cover it over. Pen, what do you think has happened?" "What?" asked Pen faintly. "Why, father went to his room, as usual, to get his purse to pay the men, and he found a sovereign short. He's in a thundering rage. Who in the world can have taken it? He has made up his mind that it is Betty, that new under-housemaid. She's not been with us a month yet. He says he'll dismiss her; nothing will induce him to keep her unless she confesses." "Has he--has he--accused her?" asked Pen. "Of course, he has; he went to her and spoke to her, and she's crying fit to break her heart, but I suppose all the same she has done it. There, there, Pen, it's no affair of yours. Father would be fit to kill anybody who did such a mean thing. Fancy going to his room and taking a sovereign out of his drawer." "He--he wouldn't be likely to forgive very easily?" said Pen. "Forgive! I wouldn't like to be in Betty's shoes." Penelope went slowly upstairs. "Now do hurry; the carriage will be at the door in twenty minutes. And, Pen, do change your dress. We may meet smart people going to Whitby, we may indeed." Pen turned an angle in the staircase. She walked more and more slowly. Clara's words kept echoing in her brain. "Father would half kill anybody who had done this. She wouldn't like to be in Betty's shoes." Pen went straight into Jim's room. When she had shut the door, she said aloud: