"I have always tried to hope not, Maddy," said Louise sadly. "You had better make a change." "Send her away, father? How can I do that? How can I recommend her for another situation?" "Ah! it's a puzzle--it's a puzzle," said Vine irritably. "One of the great difficulties of domestic service. I shall soon begin to think that your Uncle Luke is right after all. He has no troubles, eh, Louise?" She looked up in his face with a peculiar smile, but made no reply. Her father, however, seemed to read her look, and continued, "Ah, well, I dare say you are right, my dear; we can't get away from trouble; and if we don't have one kind we have another. Get more than our share, though, in this house." Louise smiled in his face, and the comical aspect of chagrin displayed resulted in a general laugh. "Is one of the sea-anemones dead?" "Yes, confound it! and it has poisoned the water, so that I am afraid the rest will go." "I think we can get over that trouble," said Louise, laughing. "It will be an excuse for a pleasant ramble with you." "Yes," said Vine dryly, "but we shall not get over the trouble of the thief quite so well. I'm afraid these Perrows are a dishonest family. I'll speak to the girl." "No, father, leave it to me." "Very well, my child; but I think you ought to speak." The old man left the room, the bell was rung, and Liza summoned, when a scene of tears and protestations arose, resulting in a passionate declaration that Liza would tell her mother, that she would not stop in a house where she was going to be suspected, and that she had never taken anybody's money but her own. "This is the third time that I have missed money, Liza, or I would not have spoken. If you took it, confess like a good girl, and we'll forgive you if you promise never to take anything of the kind again." "I can't confess, miss, and won't confess," sobbed the girl. "Mother shall come and speak to you. I wouldn't do such a thing." "Where did you get the money with which you bought the red ribbon and orange kerchief this morning, Liza?" said a voice at the door. All started to see that Aunt Marguerite was there looking on, and apparently the recipient of all that had been said. Liza stood with eyes dilated, and jaw dropped. "Then you've been at my box," she suddenly exclaimed. "All, what a shame!" "At your box, you wretched creature!" said Aunt Marguerite contemptuously. "Do you suppose I should go into your room?" "You've been opening my box," said the girl again, more angrily; "and it's a shame." "I saw her take them up to her room, Louise. My dear, she was buying them under my window, of some pedlar. You had better send her away." Liza did not wait to be sent away from the room, but ran out sobbing, to hurry up-stairs to her bed-chamber, open her box, and see if the brilliant specimens of silken fabric were safe, and then cry over them till they were blotched with her tears.