The whining tone in which he spoke was so distasteful to Seth Dumbrick that he averted his eyes from the lovely lad, and presently, when he looked up, he saw that he was alone. At the same time he observed that a pair of boots which he had newly mended was missing. For a moment he thought of pursuing the thief, but he relinquished his intention, and continued his work, with a frown on his face. "Sally," he said, that night, when the shutters were up, "that brother of yours is a bad lot." Sally nodded an emphatic assent. "You're not over-fond of him." "I've got nothink to be fond on him for," was Sally's rejoinder. "But mother she jist worships him, she does." "It would make her sorry to hear that he'd got into any trouble--eh, Sally?" "It'd jist worrit the life out of her--and I'd be sorry, too." "Seen Pharaoh lately?" "No, Daddy," replied Sally nervously. "Pharaoh never said anything to you about your brother, did he?" "No, Daddy Dumbrick, never." "Ah!" proceeded Seth, getting down the Bible from which he was teaching Sally to read. "If Pharaoh was to come to you in a trance, and was to tell you that Ned Chester was going away, and was never coming back again, it'd be as welcome to me as the best week's work I've ever done in my life." But Sally was too shrewd to risk her reputation upon a chance so remote, and with reference to this subject she did not introduce Pharaoh into the conversation for many weeks. During this interval, the Duchess behaved herself in a manner which occasioned her guardian and Sally much anxiety. Sally, running home one day, after having been out with the Duchess for two or three hours, rushed down the cellar, and up again, in terror and distress. "Oh, oh!" she cried beating her hands together. "The Duchess! The Duchess!" "What about her?" cried Seth, starting up in alarm. "She's lost--she's lost! she's been kidnapped by the gipsies! I can't find her nowhere." Seth ran at once into the streets, and Sally ran after him, with the tears running down her dirty face; but although they hunted high and low, and inquired at the police-station for a lost child, they could discover no trace of the Duchess. In a very despondent state of mind, Seth retraced his steps to his stall, Sally walking heart-broken by his side. "It's as bad," he murmured ruefully, "as being a father in reality. Sally, if the Duchess is lost, and we can't find her, we'll emigrate." This offered no consolation to Sally, whose tears flowed more freely at the melancholy tone in which Seth spoke. "I'll spend every penny I've got--it ain't much, Sal--to find her," said Seth. "Perhaps," whispered Sally, with her heart palpitating wildly. "Perhaps she's drownded." The suggestion made Seth shiver, and he and Sally proceeded home in silence. "I'll work no more to-day," he said when he reached the stall; "I'll not sleep to-night without finding her, if she is to be found. Here, take these things downstairs."