"I will have the school-room thoroughly searched," said Miss Ashton; "and whether the locket is found or no, we will at least give Mabel the benefit of the doubt, and treat her as if she were not more guilty than she acknowledges herself to be, unless it is proved that she knows more about it than she says;" and then she rose, and, shaking hands with Mrs. Walton, once more said how sorry she was for the trouble she had been obliged to bring her, and went away. Meanwhile the two children had gone back to Belle's nursery, where that dear little girl set herself to the task of consoling Mabel as well as she might. But this was a difficult matter. So long as she had her own way, Mabel generally cared little whether or not people thought her a naughty girl; but as she was really pretty truthful and upright, she was now half-heartbroken at the idea of being considered dishonest and deceitful. She could not quite acquit herself of the latter, since she had taken advantage of Belle's absence to do that which she would not have done in her presence, and now she was very much ashamed of it; but this seemed to her very different from telling a falsehood, which she plainly saw Miss Ashton, and her mother too, suspected her of doing. She threw herself down on the floor of the nursery in a passion of tears and sobs; and when Belle, sitting down by her, begged her not to cry so, answered,-- "I will, I will: they think I told a story, mamma and Miss Ashton do. I can't bear Miss Ashton,--horrid, old thing! She made mamma think I did. She's awfully ugly: her nose turns up, and I'm glad it does,--good enough for her." "Oh! Mabel," said Belle, "Miss Ashton's nose don't turn up. It turns down about as much as it turns up, I think. I b'lieve it's as good as ours." "I shan't think it is," said Mabel. "I'm going to think it turns up about a million of miles. And, Belle, 'cause everybody thinks I took your locket to keep, and told a wicked story about it, I shall never eat any more breakfast or dinner or supper, but starve myself, so they'll be sorry." Belle was too well used to such threats from Mabel to be very much alarmed at this. Mabel went on, trying to make a deeper impression. "I shan't ever eat any more French sugar-plums," then as the recollection of a tempting box of these delicacies came over her,--"'cept only there are three candied apricots in the box papa brought me last night. I'll eat two of them, and give you the other; and then never eat another thing, 'cause nobody believes me; and it is true,--oh! it is." "I b'lieve you, dear," said Belle. "I don't think you would be so bad to me,--truly I don't." "Don't you?" said Mabel, turning around her flushed, tear-stained face; "then I'll give you two apricots, Belle, and only keep one myself; and then starve myself. You're real good to me, Belle, and nobody else is. You're the only friend I have left in the world," she concluded in a tragic whisper, as she sat up and dried her eyes.