"Stealing!" echoed Mrs. Clifford.
"What in this world can you mean, Polly Whiting?" said Aunt Louise, laughing nervously; for she was a very lively young lady, and laughed a great deal. Miss Whiting thought this was no time for jokes. Her mouth twitched downward as if there were strings at the corners. Mrs. Clifford had turned very pale.
"Poll," said she, "do speak, and tell me what you have heard? It is all a mystery to me."
"You don't say so," said Miss Whiting, looking relieved. "Well, I didn't more than half believe it myself; but the story is going that your Horace stole his Aunt Louise's breastpin, and sold it to a peddler for a rusty gun."
Miss Louise laughed merrily this time.
"I did lose my pearl brooch," said she, "but Prudy found it yesterday in an old glass candlestick."
"What an absurd report!" said Mrs. Clifford, quite annoyed. "I hope the children are not to be suspected every time their Aunt Louise misses anything!"
"They said you had decided to take Horace to the Reform School," added Miss Whiting, "but your friends begged you to leave him at Augusta in somebody's house locked up, with bread and water to eat."
"Now tell me where you heard all this," said Aunt Louise.
"Why, Mrs. Grant told me that Mrs. Small said that Mrs. Gordon told her. I hope you'll excuse me for speaking of it: but I thought you ought to know."