The woman, a Mrs. Collins, a new customer, handed her twenty-five dollars, saying that she would pay the rest at another time; and the girl, from stupidity, carelessness, or bashfulness, allowed her to retain the bill. Mrs. Sharp sent her back for it, but the woman refused to give it up, and, to the astonishment and dismay of the poor child, stoutly asserted that she had paid the whole. And now Mrs. Sharp accused Annie of retaining the missing sum, and with much anger and indignation declared that she would send her to prison unless she made good the loss within an hour. “Oh, Miss Kemper,” sobbed the girl in conclusion, “I haven’t a dollar or a friend in the world! and if I lose my character what will become of me? Nobody’ll trust me, and I can’t get work, and I’ll just have to starve.” “I’m very sorry for you,” said Floy; “but trust in the Lord, and He will help you; and if you are innocent, He will bring it to light some day.” “If I am innocent! oh, Miss Floy,” sobbed the girl, “you don’t think me a thief, do you?” “No, Annie, I don’t, if that’s any comfort to you, poor child!” “I’m glad of that!” Annie said, a gleam of pleasure flitting over her tear-swollen face, then burst out again, “But oh, what shall I do? Oh, if I only had five dollars! Miss Floy, can you lend it to me? I’ll pay it back some day, and never, never forget to ask God to bless you for your kindness.” “I would if I could, Annie, but I haven’t half that sum,” Floy was beginning to say, when a sudden recollection stopped her. In the old pocket-book found upon Mr. Kemper’s person after his death, and kept by her as a sacred relic, she had safely stowed away the golden half-eagle he had given her but a few moments before the awful accident that had made her an almost penniless orphan. For herself she would not have spent it unless reduced to the last extremity of want; but her noble, generous heart could not withstand Annie’s appeal. “Wait here a moment; I will see,” she said in tremulous tones, and hurried from the room. Up to her own she ran, locked herself in, opened her trunk, and, diving to the bottom, drew forth the old, worn, faded pocket-book. For a moment she held it lovingly in her hand, hot tears rushing to her eyes as she thought of that terrible scene enacted scarce a year ago. But the present was no time for the indulgence of grief. She undid the clasp and looked for the treasure she had come to seek. Where was it? with fingers and eyes she examined each division, yet without success. Had she been robbed? A sudden pang shot through her heart at the thought. But oh no, that could not be! The lining was much torn, and the coin had doubtless slipped in between it and the outside. She ran her fingers in and felt it there, and--something else: a memorandum or bill probably. She pulled at it, tore the lining a little more, and finally drew out a bit of folded paper that looked like a leaf torn from a note-book.