And Mr. James Mountjoy promptly coming in at that moment, both sisters appealed to him, and heard in return a very simple statement of the whole affair.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"I did mean to. I thought it so noble in the child. Five girls out of every six would have put the money into their pockets, and said nothing about it. It was very brave in her, too, to tell me how she had been tempted to keep it."
"I know why he did not tell," said the elder sister, looking fondly at her brother. "Five employers out of six would have accepted the money as their right, and the finder have been none the better for it. Our James is not apt to trumpet his own praises."
The young man colored, and said:—
"I think Katie Robertson is an uncommonly fine girl. I was struck by something she said the day she entered the mill. I asked her if she thought she could be a faithful little girl, and she said she was trying to please God everywhere, and she was sure he would help her here. I think she has acted up to that idea ever since. I have watched her from time to time, and I can not find that she has ever been guilty of disobedience to rules, or any kind of underhand behavior. Her work has always been faithfully done, and her example has been of great use in keeping order among the others. Sanderson is enthusiastic in his praises of her bravery and womanly unselfishness. He says she came to his house at the risk of her own life, and helped his poor, tired-out wife take care of the two sick children with as much earnestness, and almost as much skill, as a professional nurse. She stayed there till the aunt from the city came, thus losing five days' work. I offered her the wages for those days when I found it out, but she told me Mr. Sanderson had given her the amount, and she did not want to be paid twice over."
"And this is the girl we have been suspecting of dishonesty!" said Etta.
"We really owe her something to make amends. What a little wretch that
Bertie Sanderson must be! I really think her parents ought to be told
all the circumstances."
All this while a pile of unopened letters, brought by the evening mail, was lying upon the centre-table. The young gentleman turned them over, took possession of several which were directed to himself, and then, handing Etta one which he said was for her, left the room.
"Who can it be from?" said the young lady, eyeing the strangely folded and badly directed epistle, without opening it, as is the manner of so many people.
"I'd see if I were you," said her sister; and seeing that this was good advice, Etta took it, glanced at the signature, and exclaimed:—