Your affectionate son DAVID DOUGLAS MERRIFIELD. “Oh! this was the letter David insisted on sealing before I put it into mine!” exclaimed Miss Fosbrook, as soon as she had made out the words. “We have been in great trouble at the loss; but we agreed not to write to you, because you had so much on your mind.” “Is Bessie in fault?” “No, no; none of us believe it; but I am very anxious that you should make an investigation, for the maids suspect her, and have made the younger children do so.” “And who is Toby?” “Toby is only a jug—called Toby Fillpot, I believe—shaped like a man.” “I know!” put in Mr. John Merrifield, laughing. “Don’t you remember him, Harry? We had the like in our time.” “Well?” interrogated the Captain. “Just after you left home,” said Christabel, as shortly and clearly as she could, “the children agreed to save their allowance to buy a pig for Hannah Higgins. They showed great perseverance in their object; and by the third week they had about seven shillings in this jug, which, to my grief and shame, I let them keep in the glass cupboard, not locked, but one door bolted, the other buttoned. On Friday morning, the 11th, I know the cup was full of coppers and silver, for I took it down to add something to it. On the next Monday morning the money was gone, all but one farthing.” “Can you guess who took it?” “I should prefer saying nothing till you have examined the children and servants for yourself.” “Right!” said the Captain. “Very well.—I am sorry to treat you to a court-martial, John, but I must hold one after tea.” Christabel pitied the children for having to speak before this formidable uncle; but there could be no help for it, since no other sitting-room was habitable, and there were torrents of rain out-of-doors.