"Here is your locket," George said, putting it into her hand. "I saw the boy take it, and have got it from him."
"Oh, papa! papa!" the girl cried. "Here is my locket again."
"Why, where did you get it from?" her father asked in astonishment.
"This boy has just given it to me," she replied. "He says he took it from the boy who stole it."
"Which boy, Nellie? Which is the boy who brought it back?"
The girl looked round, but George was gone.
"Why didn't you stop him, my dear?" her father said. "Of course I should wish to thank and reward him, for the locket was a very valuable one, and the more so to us from its having belonged to your mother. Did you notice the boy, policeman?"
"No, sir, I did not see him at all."
"Was he a poor boy, Nellie?"
"Not a very, very poor boy, father," the girl replied. "At least I don't think so; but I only looked at his face. He didn't speak like a poor boy at all."