He retired with his rescued treasures, and Mrs. Brazybone congratulated herself on getting off so easily. She had counted on restoring the gauds before Joe came back from fishing, and had been regretting all the afternoon that she had not taken the brooch as well; now she reflected that “a passel o’ words didn’t do one a might o’ hurt,” and remembered with a thrill of pride how many eyes had been fixed admiringly on the dangling ornaments. She promised herself to be more careful next time; but the next time she opened the cupboard with her door-key, the treasury was empty. CHAPTER XI. DISCOVERY. THE trustee stood on the steps of the Deaf-mute School, and pulled the bell. He had come to see his friend Isla, and his pockets were full of oranges for Jacob. He had grown much attached to the stranger children, and Isla especially had come very near his heart. He was a childless man, and now and then the thought crossed his mind that some day he might take the brother and sister home to his ample house, to be his children, his very own. It would be a silent house, but he was used to that. And he did not like noise. Besides, one never thought of Isla’s silence, her eyes were such eloquent speakers of all lovely and tender things. Wild, sometimes; it seemed to him now and then as if the girl had some trouble, some secret, that was wearing her out. He had tried to talk with her, to learn her history; but all she told in her graceful sign-language was calm and happy, of the lovely island, the care-free life till after her mother’s death, and then the desire to learn speech, which overmastered everything else. But something there was, the trustee felt more and more sure; and whatever the trouble might be, it was increasing. Through the long winter the girl had been quiet; almost apathetic, though her lovely smile never failed to brighten at sight of her friends, never failed to make sunshine for her little Jacob. Now, however, as the spring came on, a restlessness seized her. She wandered from window to window, looking out, scanning the houses across the street, as if she tried to see through and beyond their solid walls. When taken out to walk with the other children, this restlessness became almost uncontrollable. Every leaf, every blade of grass, seemed to draw her as if by magic; she plucked them, cherished them in her hands, took them home to her room. She would stand rapt, watching the birds, till the teacher touched her arm, and motioned her to go on. Then she would fling her arms out, with a gesture of distress, of impatience; but next moment would come the downward look, the pause, and then the sweet, patient smile, and the deprecating hand laid on her friend’s arm.