It was an all-day matter. Mrs. Ramsey bravely held her place in the shop, gazed at by curious eyes, but she calmly waited the return of her carriage with her husband.

That gentleman’s appearance with two officers rather took down Mrs. Hawkins, and although she still persisted in claiming Maggie, after a long parley and a visit to the office of a lawyer, the matter was finally settled, and Maggie was borne triumphantly away, and handed over to Miss Barnes.

“If there ever was a good woman whom riches cannot spoil it is Mrs. Ramsey,” said the teacher, when she heard Maggie’s account of her day. “You ought to thank God for such a friend, Maggie.”

Thus Maggie was established in her new home. She felt the restraint, it must be admitted, and was not by any means a model child, for the life she had been living had not been one that helped her to much goodness; but she had very strong affections and a grateful heart; therefore, to remind her that Mrs. Ramsey or Edna would be disappointed in her, if she were naughty, was the surest means of bringing penitence for a fault, a means which does not always work as well with children brought up in a purer atmosphere.

Edna had occasion to learn more of Maggie, as she was allowed a weekly visit to the Home to see her little friend. One day Maggie confessed to her that she was far from perfect, and told, with tears in her eyes, of obstinate faults. “But I will be good. I’ll try harder’n ever,” promised the child, “for Miss Barnes told me I didn’t love you nor Mrs. Ramsey when I behave bad, for if I did I’d want to show you. Do you care when I’m bad?” she asked, wistfully.

“Of course I do,” replied Edna. “What had you been doing to make Miss Barnes say that?”

Maggie was silent for a moment. “There’s a little girl here with long curls she’s awful pretty, an’ every one says she’ll get ’dopted some day ‘cause she’s so pretty an’ one day she kicked me under the bench when some ladies was here, an’ an’ I pinched her, an’ the ladies saw me, an’ made a fuss about it, so Miss Barnes sent me out of the room.”

“Did you tell on her?” asked Edna.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I like you for that,” she replied, sympathizing with the not telling, for her loyal little heart forbade her to tell on Louis many a time when he had done some little mean trick.

Therefore on this evening of her visit to Maggie, her mind was full of such things. “I wouldn’t let a poor little Friendlesser be better than I am,” she said to herself, “and I’ll be twice as nice to Louis now.” In consequence she was quite disturbed when she missed her cousin from the supper table that evening.

“Why, where is Louis?” she asked.

“He is in his room,” replied Aunt Elizabeth, in a tone which forbade further questioning. Edna glanced at her uncle; he, too, looked stern and unyielding, and no chance was given the little girl that evening to find out the cause of Louis’ banishment. She had become very fond of her cousin, although she did not always quite approve of him. He was a gentle, affectionate boy, easily influenced, and being an only child, had been allowed his own way, so that he was very much spoiled. He was, nevertheless, a very agreeable companion for a little girl, for he did not disdain to play with dolls at times, and would dress up and play “lady” when nothing more exciting was suggested. He was very fond of keeping shop, a drug store he usually preferred to have it; this probably on account of the very small pair of scales among his toys. He served Edna and the dolls a certain delectable drink made by filling with sugar and water, bottles in which remained a few drops of vanilla extract; these bottles Ellen bestowed upon the children, and they considered the mixture they prepared something very delicious. The rest of the stock consisted chiefly of sand, slate-pencil dust, dried beans, and bits of broken twigs. Many a happy hour did the two children spend playing together; therefore, when Edna felt that some stern decree had been passed upon Louis, her little tender heart felt it deeply.

At breakfast time no Louis appeared, nor did he take his place in school that day. To his school-fellows’ question, “What is the matter with Louis?” Edna was obliged to answer, “I don’t know.”

After dinner, which seemed a more solemn affair than usual, the little girl could stand it no longer. To her questions Ellen could give no satisfactory answers, so, watching an opportunity, when Uncle Justus was taking his afternoon nap and when Aunt Elizabeth had gone to some meeting, Edna stole up to the storeroom, whose window was diagonally opposite to that of Louis’ room. After a moment’s hesitation she tapped on the window; there was no response from Louis’ room. Then Edna decided to write a note and slip it under his door. This she managed to do. “I am going to the storeroom, open your window,” was what she wrote, and the note served its purpose, for when the storeroom window was raised there stood Louis before his window.

“O, Louis,” cried Edna. “Can’t you get out?”

“No,” was the reply.

“O, dear, I wish you could. I have such a lot to tell you. What are you shut up for? What did you do?”

Louis looked sullen. “I didn’t do anything.”

“O!” said Edna. “Are you sure? Then why did they shut you up?”

“Just for hatefulness,” replied Louis. “I wasn’t doing a thing.”

This seemed a dreadful state of affairs, and Edna hardly knew what to think. “I wish I could let you out,” she said, sympathetically, “but I can’t.”

Louis stood with downcast eyes, hammering with his knife upon the sill.

“Are you sure you haven’t done anything?” persisted Edna.

“Of course I haven’t. They just want to show their power over me, and I am half starved, I haven’t had anything but bread and water.”

Edna’s eyes filled. “I wish I had something nice to give you to eat,” she said, in distress.

“I wish you had,” replied Louis.

“O, I hear some one,” cried Edna, suddenly, and she shut down the window, hastily.

But the footsteps proved to be only those of Ellen going through the hall. Edna, nevertheless, did not dare to venture into the storeroom again at once, for Uncle Justus was apt any minute to awaken, and thinking to divert Louis by playing with Moggins in the yard, the little girl went out and tried to display the cat to the boy at the window above, but he stood watching her with such an unsmiling face that Edna was overcome with pity.

“I suppose he is almost starved,” she said, to herself. “It isn’t likely Ellen would dare to give me anything for him. I wish I had some pennies, but I have given them all to auntie for the fair.” She stood pondering over the subject when her eye caught sight of a covered dish standing on a bench by the kitchen door. Edna lifted the cover and saw that the dish was full of baked apples which had been placed there to cool for supper. Without stopping to think, she picked up two of the apples by their stems and thrust them into her little clean handkerchief which, still unfolded, had been lying in her pocket.

Holding the four corners of the handkerchief together, she ran upstairs to the storeroom. She had heard Uncle Justus go out for a walk, and she knew that Aunt Elizabeth would not return till dark.

In response to the raising of the window Louis’ window also opened. “I have something for you,” said Edna, hastily; “but I don’t know how to get it to you. It’s in my handkerchief. Wait a minute.” She had an idea, for presently out of the window came a rod, on the end of which was tied the handkerchief of baked apples. Exercising much care, Edna managed to direct the pole which was the handle of the window brush to Louis’ window and the apples were taken in. Then Edna drew back the stick, set it up in its place, and ran up to her room to think about it.

She did not feel comfortable over the matter. Only a short time ago her aunt and uncle had been kinder to her than she had reason to expect they could be, and now to find them so harsh to Louis seemed a contradiction. Perhaps he had been naughty and deserved the punishment. She remembered with regret that Louis did not always speak the truth; once or twice he had screened himself by blaming her for something of which she was innocent. At all events she had no right to take the apples. Why, they didn’t belong to her! Of course, they didn’t. She wouldn’t eat any for supper, and in that way she could replace them. Edna was very fond of baked apples, and the sacrifice decided upon, she felt more comfortable.

So, at supper she did refuse the apples, an unusual proceeding which caused her aunt to look at her so sharply that Edna felt those penetrating eyes were seeing straight into her very heart, and she colored up, taking a very long, slow drink of water to hide her embarrassment.

She was very quiet all during the evening, meekly holding some worsted for her aunt, then taking a very dull book, and trying to read it. But she was very glad when bedtime came.

Usually it was a very few minutes after her head touched the pillow that she was asleep; but this night slumber did not easily come, and the pillow was very damp under the rosy cheek which lay upon it. “O, dear!” sighed the conscience-stricken child. “It didn’t do a bit of good to go without the apples; I can’t go to sleep, and it’s been nearly all night since I came up stairs. O, dear, what shall I do?”

The moments became harder and harder to bear, and, finally, with but one thought in her mind, she slipped out of bed and down stairs. It was not very late, although it seemed so to the child. Uncle Justus and Aunt Elizabeth were still in the sitting-room. They were surprised by the appearance of a little form standing in the doorway.

“Why, Edna, what are you doing here in your night clothes?” exclaimed Aunt Elizabeth. “Are you ill?”

“No,” replied Edna, below her breath, while the lump in her throat seemed to grow bigger and bigger.

After the first glance Uncle Justus’s eyes did not turn from the newspaper he was reading.

“What is the matter, then?” asked Aunt Elizabeth, with a piercing look. “You are not ill.”

“No, I’m not ill, Aunt Elizabeth,” replied the child. “I’m wicked. I’ve stoled.”

“What do you mean? What was it you took?” asked Aunt Elizabeth.

“Two baked apples.”

“And that is why you refused them at supper. When did you eat them?”

“I didn’t eat them,” replied Edna, hesitatingly. “O, please, auntie, I won’t eat any the next time either. Please shut me up, and feed me on bread and water, like Louis.”

“Did you take the apples for Louis?” suddenly asked Uncle Justus.

Edna gave an assenting nod, while she looked up with appealing eyes.

“How did you get them to him?”

“Through the window, on the end of a stick.”

A little queer look came into Uncle Justus’s face.

“You will take cold standing there,” said Aunt Elizabeth, returning to her work. “Go back to bed.”

“Won’t you please shut me up and let Louis out?” said Edna. “I’ll stay two days, one for him and one for me.”

“Go to bed,” commanded Aunt Elizabeth, “We’ll settle it to-morrow.”