"She has come back again. This is she. Don't you see that it is she?" asked the lady called Clara earnestly.

"My poor sister," said the younger lady compa.s.sionately, "you are mistaken. This is not your little Mary. Where did you find her?

To whom does she belong?"

Emma had listened to this conversation with interest, feeling that it concerned her. She answered the question herself.

"I belong to Ben," she said.

"Where is Ben?" asked the younger lady.

"He is at the big stone chimney. He was going up to the top. He left me with her."

"You mean the monument, don't you, my dear child?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is this true, Clara?"

"Yes," the elder sister admitted.

The younger lady looked perplexed.

"You did wrong, Clara, to take the little girl from her brother. He will feel very anxious about her.

"She said she would buy me some candy," said Emma.

"Could I see my child, and not claim her?" said Clara.

"I am not your child. What makes her say I am her child?"

"My dear," said the younger lady gently, "my poor sister lost her little girl not long since. She has not been well since. When she saw you to-day she thought you were her little Mary."

"I want to go back to Ben. What will Ben say?"

"Certainly, you must go back to your brother. Come, my child, we will try to find him."

Emma went down-stairs with her new friend. Clara did not attempt to hinder her, but seated herself with an air of dependency in an armchair, and buried her face in her hands.

"I am afraid Ben has gone away," said Emma.

"It is very perplexing," said the young lady to herself. "We will go out and try to find your brother. If we cannot, you can tell me where your home is and I will take you there."

"I don't know exactly where it is," said Emma; "I have never been there. I came from New York. I am going to board with Ben's aunt."

"And you don't know where she lives? You don't know the name of the town."

Emma shook her head.

"My poor sister has done great mischief," said the young lady gravely.

"I must do my best to remedy it."

They went out into the street together.

Meanwhile, Ben, in great trouble of mind, remained in the neighborhood of the monument for ten minutes or more.

"Perhaps the lady has taken Emma on a little walk," he thought.

"Perhaps she thought I wouldn't be down so soon."

Ben felt that it was very inconsiderate, but he would not at first believe that there was anything really wrong. But when ten minutes has pa.s.sed he became alarmed, and began to blame himself.

"Aunt was right," he thought. "I wasn't fit to be trusted with the care of a little girl. What shall I say to Mr. Manning? What shall I do?"

He looked about him in despairing bewilderment. Streets radiated from the monument in several different directions. Which should he take? If he took any, there was not more than one chance in four that it would prove the right one.

He was still standing there when the gentleman who had gone up with him descended.

"Where is the little girl?" he asked.

Ben explained his trouble.

"Don't be alarmed, my boy," said the gentleman, in a tone of sympathy; "I will help you. Sooner or later we shall hear of the child."

"What shall I do?" asked Ben.

"It is possible the child may be brought back. I will remain here to receive her if she comes, and you may go and search for her. Come back in about half-an-hour."

Ben started on his quest, and with feverish haste he explored street after street, but in vain. With sad heart he retraced his steps to the monument. What was his joy to find Emma returned, and in charge of the gentleman he had left behind and another lady.

An explanation was given, to which Ben paid little attention, such was his joy at the recovery of his young charge.

"What time is it, sir?" he inquired of his companion.

"Five minutes to five."

"Then we are too late for the train," exclaimed Ben, in dismay.

Chapter XVIII

The Envelope

"What train?" asked the gentleman.

"The five-o'clock train to Milltown."

"Is that the last train?"