heard her sisters talking about a mysterious robbery that had taken place in the store. The proprietors of the store had lost money and a valuable piece of diamond jewelry, and one of the shop-girls had been arrested. She was the only one who had been in the room that day, it was said by the charwoman who was first suspected. The sisters were very indignant over the arrest; they did not believe the girl was guilty.

While listening to this story, Molly understood that her show-room was the private office of the old gentleman and that she knew who had stolen the diamonds. But if she told, it would reveal the secret of her play-room, and she knew her sisters would never let her go there again.

The lonely child felt that she could not give up her only pleasure; so she sat listening but saying nothing, till one of her sisters told about the poor shop-girl, how she was in great distress, and her mother, who was almost helpless, had come to the store to plead with the old gentleman.

This was too much for kind-hearted Molly, and on one of her sisters saying she did not believe the girl stole it, Molly exclaimed, before she thought:—

“She didn’t! the shop-boy took it!”

“How do you know?” demanded her sister in amazement.

“I saw him; I know all about it,” said Molly excitedly.

“You saw it?” said her sister. “What do you mean? How could you see it?”

Surprised as they were, Molly was a truthful child, and she was so earnest that her sisters could not doubt she did know something, though they could not imagine how. A little questioning, however, brought the facts to light, and Molly’s long-treasured secret was out. She showed her sisters how she got on to the roof, and they were forced to believe her.

After talking it over, they decided it was too serious a matter for them to manage, and the next morning, asking to see the store manager, they quietly told him Molly’s story.

He poohed at it, said it was impossible; but upon their insisting, he at last brought them before the old gentleman.

He was struck with their straightforward story, and impossible as it seemed, was resolved to test it. Molly was sent for and told so straight a story of the beautiful lady and the shining jewel, of the bright pennies he gave her, and of other things she had seen, that a visit was made to the attic room.

Molly took her fearful step on to the roof in an easy way that showed it was perfectly familiar, followed by the manager, who was a slight man. She showed him the peep-hole and how she could see everything in the room below, and he returned in almost speechless amazement.

The next thing was to pick out the boy who had done it, and this Molly had to do, though she would not have consented except for her pity for the shop-girl now shut up in jail.

All the boys of the store were made to stand up in line, and Molly was told to pick out the boy. It did not need her word, however, for the guilty boy turned red and white, and at last fell at the feet of the old gentleman and confessed all.

That was a time of triumph for the sisters: first they received—to their amazement—the five hundred dollars reward which had been offered, and then they were given better places in the store at much higher wages, and Molly was adopted by the beautiful lady whose valuable jewels she had been the means of recovering.

The sisters hated to give Molly up, but seeing the great benefit it would be for her, they consented. With the money they bought a tiny home in a country suburb, and came every day to their work on the cars. There they live nicely now, and Molly often goes to see them. They have been advanced to fine positions and are prosperous and happy.

When the story was ended, Kristy drew a long sigh. “That was splendid! was it true? How I should like to see Molly’s play-room.”

“Yes, it is true; but you can never see it,” said her mother, “for the next year the store was built up a story or two higher, and the play-house on the roof was no more.”

“There’s the lunch bell,” said Kristy, “will you tell me some more after lunch?”

“Dear me, Kristy,” said her mother, with a sigh, “you are certainly incorrigible; don’t you ever get tired of stories?”

“Never!” said Kristy emphatically; “I could listen to stories all day and all night too, I guess.”

Mrs. Crawford hesitated; Kristy went on.

“Won’t you tell me stories as long as it rains?”

“Well, yes,” began Mrs. Crawford, who had noted signs of clearing. But Kristy interrupted, shouting, “It’s a bargain! it’s a bargain! you said yes! Now let’s go to lunch; I’m in a hurry to begin the next story.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Crawford, when they returned to the sitting-room after lunch, “if I’m to tell stories all day, you certainly should do something, too; it isn’t fair for me to do all the work.”

“I will,” said Kristy laughing; “I’ll listen.”

“Do you call that work?” asked her mother.

“N—o!” said Kristy, thinking a moment. “Well, I’ll tell you! I’ll get my knitting;” and she ran out of the room and in a minute or two came back with some wool and needles with a very little strip of knitting, all done up in a clean towel. She had set out to knit a carriage-blanket for a baby she was fond of, but she found it slow work, for as soon as she became interested in anything else the knitting was forgotten. Now she took her seat in a low chair and began to knit. “Now begin,” she said, as her mother took up her sewing.

“Did I ever tell you, Kristy, how I learned to knit?”

“No,” said Kristy; “I suppose your mother taught you.”

“She did not. I was taught by my grandmother, my father’s mother, one winter that I spent with her, when my mother was ill.”

“Wasn’t your grandmother very queer?” asked Kristy. “Did she look like that picture in your room?”

“Yes; that’s a good likeness, but she wasn’t exactly queer. She was a very fine woman, but she had decided notions about the way girls should be brought up, and she thought my mother was too easy. So when she had the whole care of me, she set herself to give me some good, wholesome training.”

“Poor little mamma!” said Kristy. “What did she do? It seems so funny to think of you as a little girl being trained!”

“Well, it was not at all funny, I assure you. I thought I was terribly abused, and I used to make plans to run away some night and go home. But every night I was so sleepy that I put it off till another night; and indeed I had a bit of common sense left, and realized that I had no money and did not know the way home, and couldn’t walk so far anyway; though I did run away once”—

“Oh, tell me about that”—cried Kristy, laughing; “you run away! how funny! tell me!”

“I’ll tell you the story of my naughty runaway, but first I must tell you about my grandmother and why I wanted to run away.”