"How dare you accuse me of such a thing?" said Carrie, flaring up in apparently most righteous indignation--- in reality she was enjoying herself immensely. She had made up her mind not to tell Elma the truth at present. By and by she would tell, after she had well frightened her sister, but certainly not yet. "I know nothing whatever about it," she said, caring little for the lie which she was telling. "I am sorry you have lost it; but how did you get it?" Elma was silent, shutting up her lips tightly. The dinner-gong sounded, and the girls went down to their midday meal. Carrie soon perceived that Elma was in real trouble. With all her low, idle, careless, and unprincipled ways, at the bottom of her heart she was fond of her sister. She made up her mind to visit Sam Raynes that evening and get him to return the money. "Poor old Elma," she said to herself. "I don't want to be too hard on her. It is not the fun I expected when she looks at me with such miserable eyes. It would certainly not do for her to get talking to Maggie." "You leave the matter to me. I may have a clue," she said, when dinner was over. "But rest assured on one point, Maggie has nothing to do with it, nor has mother." Here Carrie ran upstairs, to put on her things preparatory to returning to her pupils. Elma was now alone. The hour was three o'clock. At half-past four she was to meet Gwin Harley and the rest of the Tug-of-War girls. In the meantime she knew she could not possibly have any peace of mind until the seven sovereigns were discovered. Mrs. Lewis had gone up as usual to her room to lie down. She had a headache and was in very low spirits. Elma glanced at her once or twice and determined not to worry her; but Maggie she considered her lawful prey. She had given Carrie no promise, and felt sure that Maggie and Carrie between them were at the bottom of the mystery. She determined to go into the kitchen and terrify Maggie into confession. That young woman was busy giving sundry touches to the charming toque with which she intended to electrify her young man on the following Sunday. "Maggie," said Elma, "I wish to speak to you." "Oh lor! miss, how you startled me," cried Maggie. She jumped up as she spoke, dropping Kitty's violets to the floor. They were so natural, so beautiful, so exactly like the real flowers, that more than one girl had remarked upon them, and among these had been Elma. As they lay on the by-no-means-too-clean kitchen floor, she stooped now to pick them up. "Where did you get these?" she asked in a sharp voice. "Oh, Miss Helma, they're mine, and you have no right to 'em," was the quick reply. "Where did you get them, Maggie? You're a bad girl; you must have stolen them." "I steal 'em! I like that," said Maggie, turning first crimson and then very white. "They was give to me by the young Irish lady." "By Miss Malone, Miss Kitty Malone?" "Yes, miss; the prettiest young lady I ever clapped eyes on; she give 'em to me herself."