“Oh, she’s a sly one,” and Mr. Nathan rubbed his head harder than before. “She has taken us all in—and that includes myself, and inclines me still more to the belief that this is not her first offence; and also to the opinion that she should be promptly dealt with.” “At the same time I hope,” urged Mrs. Blossom, “that you will do nothing hastily. Imprisonment is a terrible thing for a young girl like Rose, and might blast her whole life. Time makes many things clear, and it is always better to err on the side of mercy than of justice.” “Certainly, certainly. And I do not know,” lowering his voice so it might not reach Rose, “that I should really send her to jail; but the law—” and he waved his hand with his most magisterial air, “the law must be a terror to evil-doers. If not, what is law good for? We might as well not have any, and my social as well as my official position demands that I enforce it.” “And she deserves to be well punished, if ever any one did.” Miss Eudora gave an indignant shake to her curls as she spoke. “And I was just thinking of giving her the blue cashmere I had when I went to Albany. Jane is always complaining of what she calls my ‘shilly-shally’ ways, and finding fault with my lack of decision, and I feel that at whatever cost to myself I must be firm in this. Though nobody knows what a shock it has been to my nerves.” “Besides,” triumphantly added Mr. Nathan Fifield, who felt that he was on the defensive before Mrs. Blossom, and holding up as he spoke an old-fashioned, richly chased gold locket, “here is further evidence. While Rose was gone Eudora made an examination of her effects and this is what she found concealed in a pincushion. Now I leave it to you if it looks reasonable that a child in her position would have a valuable trinket like that; or if she had, would keep it hidden?” When they entered the house Mrs. Blossom had told Rose to stay in another room, but through the partly opened door she caught a glimpse of the locket as it swung from Mr. Nathan’s fingers. “That is mine!” she cried, darting in. “My very own, and it was my mother’s. What right have you with it, I should like to know? And why isn’t it stealing for you to go and take my things?” “Hush, Rose!” Mrs. Blossom reproved. And then her faith in Rose a little shaken in spite of herself, “If the locket is yours, as you say, why did you never tell us about it? And why did you hide it so?” “Why, I never once thought of it,” she answered, looking frankly up at Mrs. Blossom. “I don’t think the locket is pretty at all, it is so queer and old-fashioned, and I don’t even know whose picture is inside. All the reason I care for it is because it was my mother’s. And I sewed it up in that pincushion, which one of the teachers at the Refuge gave me, because I was afraid if Mrs. Hagood saw the locket she might take it away from me.”