"How solemn and important you look!" he laughed; "what can this mighty secret be? Yes, I see you are panting to tell me—I promise. Now for it." "Then listen," she began mysteriously, "no—first come inside," and she beckoned him to follow her into the drawing-room; then she ran to the different half-doors and peeped furtively around, whilst her cousin waited to hear the important disclosure with an expression of amused toleration. What a little actress she was, darting about from door to door! At last she came up to him, looked him straight in the face, folded her hands, and said in a voice that quivered with triumph: "It was _I_—who cut up Mrs. Dawson's dresses." "What do you say?" gasped her companion, staring incredulously into the small white face. "She wouldn't let me go home with her, if she knew, would she?" and Angel cracked the joints of all her fingers, native style, as if she were letting off a succession of squibs. "You are not in earnest, Angel?—not about the dresses?" he expostulated, with bated breath. "But I am," she retorted sharply; "she never asked mother to see them—and mother cried. So I just took the dirzee's scissors and ran out in the dusk," illustrating the action with her skinny arms, "through your compound; then I crawled into Mrs. Dawson's verandah—I believe the chokedar took me for a dog. No one else was watching—I stole into her room and just cut everything to pieces. Oh, my, it was fun—snipping the feathers, tearing the _crêpe_, and hacking away at the satin. You should have seen the room. I was very sorry for the pretty things—but I had to do it, and all quick, quick as lightning, for of course if Mrs. Dawson had caught me she would have killed me. Then I crept out, and got behind a pillar and away into the shadows, through a hole in the wall, and home." She paused breathless with exultation, and her listener, as he scrutinised the small, ruthless countenance, began to realise that his responsibilities were heavier than he anticipated, and that there was more of the imp than the angel in his little ward. "Why do you look so queer?" she cried suddenly. "I only did it because I loved my mummy; I would do as much for _you_ to-morrow. Why don't you speak?—are you shocked?" "Yes—I should think I was. I am wondering what your mother would have said to this," he demanded sternly. "Oh, mummy would have scolded and pretended to be angry," she answered, with an air of serene conviction, "but in her heart all the time she would be _so_ glad." And as she pronounced this opinion, she nursed her elbows and nodded her head reassuringly. "Well, Angel," said her cousin after a painful silence, "I would not have believed this story from any lips but your own. I can hardly credit what you tell me. I am sorry to find that you are different to what I thought you were, a mischievous, vindictive, cunning child." For an instant the little culprit looked stunned, as if she could not believe her ears.