"Now I know all about it, Miss Lee, as you'll see. You bought a gray silk dress of a peddler; the girls all saw it; and you didn't know how you were to pay for it. You got awfully hard up Wednesday for money--twenty-two dollars--and you tried to borrow it of father. He couldn't lend it to you, and, in plain words, you _stole_ it from him. Pity I wasn't a lawyer," added the young man, with a chuckle. [Illustration: "HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH A THING?"] "Mr. Hardman, how _dare_ you say such a thing?" cried Milly, starting from her chair. "Then prove you did not," said the young man. "Where did you get your twenty-two dollars for Widow Robbins?" Mildred drew a long breath. "I can not tell you," she said, quietly. Father and son laughed. "Now do you know, young lady," said the old man, "if you're put into court, you'll have to tell. There'll be no questions asked until that one is answered." Milly could not speak. Terror, weariness, and shame filled her mind. "You may go now," said Mr. Hardman. "I don't say we've finished with this business, but we no longer need your services. There is your weekly salary." And the old man tossed a five-dollar bill before her. Mildred never could remember how she left that room. Her tongue seemed paralyzed. She could not speak; she only thought of getting home, to cry out her misery on Deborah's shoulder. When she went out into the street a heavy snow was falling. The girl's brain seemed to be on fire. She scarcely knew where she was going, and as she walked along she remembered that to-day for the first time her mother was to sit up, and she had agreed with Debby to bring in a bird to roast for her supper. They had meant to make a little celebration of the mother's convalescence, to which Milly thought she could bring a cheerful spirit, since her terrible load of private debt was removed. But now, how was all changed! Mildred stood still in the wild storm, putting her hand to her head, and even trying to remember where she was going. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. She would go to Miss Jenner's, and tell her the whole story. "But not where I got the money," the poor child thought, with a moan. Half driven along by the heavy snow-storm, Milly turned her steps toward Lane Street. There was the beautiful brick house, its trees veiled in white; but, oh! to her delight, Milly saw the curtains of Miss Jenner's room drawn back. She must be better, if not well again. It was a very miserable little figure that appeared at the door when the old servant opened it. Drenched through by the storm, and with lines of pain and fatigue in her face, Milly stood there. She scarcely heard what the servant said as he conducted her down the hall and into the library, where a big wood fire was blazing cheerily, and where Miss Jenner, wrapped in soft shawls, sat, with Alice at her knee.