"One of the class. Bertie Sanderson. She was not at all willing to tell tales on her companion, but I questioned her and found it is as I say. She assures me that all the girls know about it, and that two of them—she did not give their names—saw the theft."
"Why did they not inform about it at once?"
"So I asked her; but she did not seem to know, and also declined giving the names of the two girls. That was a little more honorable than I gave Bertie credit for being."
"A little more deceitful, possibly," said Eunice, who had no high opinion of Bertie Sanderson; "yet, if she were herself one of these girls, she would, I suppose, have been glad to say so. Where do you suppose this child found fifty dollars to steal? Money is not kept loose around the mill, and the girls do not have access to the office. There is something we don't know about this, Etta. The subject ought to be investigated. Have you spoken to James?"
"No, I don't want to prejudice him against Katie, if she should be innocent; but I fear that is hardly possible, after what Bertie said."
"I should be more inclined to suspect Bertie herself. Where do you suppose she got that flashy silk dress she wears?"
"Isn't it horrid! I wonder those girls don't see how vulgar their cheap finery is."
"Perhaps they try to copy their teacher," ventured the elder sister, whose exquisitely neat style of dress was always remarkable for its plainness and simplicity when she came in contact with her Sunday scholars. But Etta was not yet sufficiently humbled to take reproof from that source, and she abruptly left the room. All the same, however, she thought and prayed a great deal upon the subject, and the next Sunday surprised her class by appearing before them without an unnecessary ribbon or ornament.