Father got bold of me, and the next moment I was sobbing as if my heart would break. They were all in a puzzle at first. Mother thought I was taken sick, and Mrs. Withers brought out a bottle of smelling-salts. Father seemed to understand better, for I heard him say,— "Something is worrying the child." "It's Mary's going," mother answered. "She hasn't been right ever since." "Well, but that wouldn't make her cry like this, all in a moment," says father. "What is it, Kitty? Eh, dear? Don't you feel well?—or anything gone wrong?" "Come, cheer up, Kitty," Mr. Armstrong said. "You'll see Mary again soon, I don't doubt. Come, where is the pretty watch you were going to show us?" I suppose he thought that would take my thoughts off my trouble, whatever it was. "Yes, where's the watch, Kitty?" says father. I managed to get out— "It—it—isn't there!" and cried harder than before. The crying wasn't put on; for I did feel it to be dreadful that I should deceive them all like this. "Not there! You don't mean to say the watch is gone!" father exclaimed. "Kitty, you must tell us plainly. Is the watch gone? Cannot you find it?" Mr. Armstrong asked gravely. "No," I sobbed. "Where did you look? In the place where you always keep it? Anywhere else?" father asked. "I know where Kitty keeps it. I'll go and look," mother said. She was gone some minutes, and they put more questions, while I hid my face, and said as little as I possibly could. Father seemed very troubled, and so did Mr. Armstrong. It would be a grievous thing, Mr. Armstrong said, if such a theft had taken place. He could not help hoping that I had merely mislaid the watch. "That don't seem likely either," father said. "Kitty wouldn't let the watch lie about anywhere." "When did you have it out last, Kitty?" Mr. Armstrong asked. I could say truly that I had held it in my hands a few days ago. But when Mr. Armstrong questioned whether I was quite sure I had put it safely back, I burst into fresh crying, and couldn't answer him. Then mother came back, looking downright pale with worry. "No," she said; "the watch isn't in its right place, nor anywhere else that I can see. We'll have a turn-out of every corner, before I go to bed to-night. But I'm very much afraid—" and she stopped. "Though who could be the thief I haven't a notion." CHAPTER VII. THE SEARCH. MOTHER was as good as her word. She didn't leave a corner of the house unsearched. There wasn't a cupboard, nor a drawer, nor a box that she didn't empty. But of course it was no good.