“I’ve always till now thought Jimmy an honest man,” continued the organ-grinder, “and even if he had got into my house while I was out, how could he have known I had money, or got it out without leaving marks?” “Ay, how?” groaned the lame man in sympathy. “You see, sur,” pursued the other, “I never had a fire on in my room, for the agreement was I was to get the use of Jimmy’s kitchen and fire for a shilling a week extra, so I had a board made to fit the fire-place, and I had that always fixed in while I was out. I’ll tell ye how I fixed it so as nobody could move it without me knowing. I always pasted a paper over the edges, and the paper had generally a picture on it. If any one had tuck it down when I was out the paper picture must have shown the cracks and tears. Last night when I got home there wasn’t a scratch or tear in the paper—this morning the same; but when I took out the board with my own hands I found that the hole in the chimney was empty, and my bag of gold stole away.” “Stole away!” echoed the lame man, like an obedient chorus, with a doleful shake of the head. “Then I wondered how it was I hadn’t seen Jimmy for three days, for I’d never known him to be away so long before,” continued the organ-grinder. “You see, we have both keys to fit the outer door, and when Jimmy’s away I just look after things for him. He’s a bachelor, and so am I, and likely to keep so if I don’t get back my money. Oh, what will my poor darlin’, Honora, say when she hears of me being robbed!” he moaned, flying off at a tangent again. “She’s waited for me for ten years, and the money was to fulfil a vow I made as a penance to me sowl, for I wance struck my mother, and knocked her senseless, and I vowed before God that if He’d restore her I’d save, and slave, and scrape, and stint myself, and never marry my own devoted girl till I’d bought the little bit of land and the house for the owld paiple to end their days in peace; and another year would have done it. Surely the blessed Lord above us, that heard my vow and helped me to keep it, won’t let me be sent broken-hearted to the grave with this cruel loss?” “You ought to have put the money in the bank,” I said severely. “The interest alone during these years would have amounted to something handsome, and allowed you to fulfil your purpose by this time.” “I couldn’t trust a bank,” he said, with the national prejudice in every word and tone. “When the bank broke I’d have blamed myself for my simplicity and foolishness, but now I blame nobody but the black-hearted thafe. If it’s Jimmy Poulson that’s done it, he’ll never prosper in this world; for it’s not me alone he’s wronged, but the owld paiple, that are less able to bear it, and my sweet colleen, that would lay down her life for me.” “Oh, but Mr M^cGovan will soon run him down,” observed the lame man, hopefully.