“We can go to it,” said Francisco, “and I hope we shall recover your basketful.” Carlo and his friend went with Rosetta immediately to the yard, near the arsenal, saw the notched piece of wood, and then proceeded to the little wood-market, and searched every heap that lay before the little factors; but no notched bit was to be found, and Rosetta declared that she did not see one stick that looked at all like any of hers. On their part, her companions eagerly untied their faggots to show them to her, and exclaimed, “That they were incapable of taking what did not belong to them; that of all persons they should never have thought of taking anything from the good natured little Rosetta, who was always ready to give to others, and to help them in making up their loads.” Despairing of discovering the thief, Francisco and Carlo left the market. As they were returning home, they were met by the English servant Arthur, who asked Francisco where he had been, and where he was going. As soon as he heard of Rosetta’s lost faggot, and of the bit of wood, notched at one end, of which Rosetta drew the shape with a piece of chalk, which her brother had lent her, Arthur exclaimed, “I have seen such a bit of wood as this within this quarter of an hour; but I cannot recollect where. Stay! this was at the baker’s, I think, where I went for some rolls for my master. It was lying beside his oven.” To the baker’s they all went as fast as possible, and they got there but just in time. The baker had in his hand the bit of wood with which he was that instant going to feed his oven. “Stop, good Mr. Baker!” cried Rosetta, who ran into the baker’s shop first; and as he heard “Stop! stop!” re-echoed by many voices, the baker stopped; and turning to Francisco, Carlo and Arthur, begged, with a countenance of some surprise, to know why they had desired him to stop. The case was easily explained, and the baker told them that he did not buy any wood in the little market that morning; that this faggot he had purchased between the hours of twelve and one from a lad about Francisco’s height, whom he met near the yard of the arsenal. “This is my bit of wood, I am sure; I know it by this notch,” said Rosetta. “Well,” said the baker, “if you will stay here a few minutes, you will probably see the lad who sold it to me. He desired to be paid in bread, and my bread was not quite baked when he was here. I bid him call again in an hour, and I fancy he will be pretty punctual, for he looked desperately hungry.” The baker had scarcely finished speaking when Francisco, who was standing watching at the door, exclaimed, “Here comes Piedro! I hope he is not the boy who sold you the wood, Mr. Baker?” “He is the boy, though,” replied the baker, and Piedro, who now entered the shop, started at the sight of Carlo and Francisco, whom he had never seen since the day of disgrace in the fruit-market.