thoughts alone.

"Here, William!" she said, "try and cheer her up a bit, she feels dull about losing her purse."

The young man tried to "cheer her," as he had been directed, but it was not any easy task. He was not the sort of companion Kate had been used to, and could talk of little but music-halls, and theatres, and the last popular song, and singers—things which Kate knew nothing about, and could not interest her just now; so that the afternoon passed slowly away.

They were leaving the Park now, and Bella was declaring that she must have some tea before she went home.

"Well, then, I'll sit down on this seat," said Kate, "and you can come for me when you are ready to go home," and Kate went over to the seat, but was closely followed by the rest.

"Come, come, we can't allow this, you know," said her self-constituted guardian, William; "you are under my charge, and you must come and have some tea."

"Oh, do please leave me alone; I shall feel better here," pleaded Kate.

"Nonsense, Kate, a cup of tea will do you good," said Bella impatiently.

"But you forget I have lost my purse, and have no money to pay for it," replied Kate, a little bitterly.

"But I told you that did not matter," interposed the young man again; "my purse is at your service. I will give it you, if you like—if you will only laugh and chat as you did on board the steamer."

Kate smiled, and thanked him, but declined to accept either purse or tea from him.

"You are almost a stranger to me, and I feel vexed that you should have had to pay for my steamboat ticket," she said.

"Oh, Kate, how rude you are," said Marion, crossly; "there, come along to tea, and I will pay for it, if you will not accept William's kindness."

"I cannot," said Kate; "and I would much rather stay here than go to a tea I cannot pay for."

"Well, you shall pay me back, if you like—if that will satisfy you," said Marion, impatiently; and Kate reluctantly rose from her seat, and followed the rest, who had already turned in the direction of the park gates.

Marion and the rest seemed to enjoy their tea, and laughed and chatted, and tried to rouse Kate into something like merriment too, but Kate felt too anxious and unhappy to laugh at anything—even the poor jokes and witticisms of William although they were made for her special benefit and which afforded her so much amusement when they first started.

"Really, Kate, it is too bad of you to let your loss spoil the fun for everybody," said Marion, reproachfully, as they turned towards the steam-boat pier once more.

"I don't want to spoil your fun, I only want you to leave me alone," said Kate, crossly. And Marion did leave her alone for the rest of the evening, but her self-appointed friend would not. He paid her steamboat fare back, and talked to her assiduously as he had done during the afternoon, but with little better success, and Kate was thankful when the miserable day came to an end, and she was once more in the little bedroom she shared with Marion.

"And do you really mean to say, Kate, that you took out all the money you possessed?" said her cousin, as she began to undress.

"Yes. I know it was very foolish," sighed Kate.

"How much was there altogether?" asked her cousin.

"Nearly six shillings."

"Oh, well, that wasn't much," said Marion, rather contemptuously, "and I daresay you will be able to manage until your mother sends you some more."

"I shall not ask mother—I'll wait until Mrs. Maple pays me my wages."

"Say salary, my dear, that is more genteel," said Marion. "But how are you going to manage for your letters; and you'll want new neck-ribbons, and that bonnet will never last you three months."

"It must, and I shall have to do without neck-ribbons. There, don't bother me to-night," concluded Kate.

"I don't want to bother you, and you are a goose to bother and worry yourself as you do about trifles. Most girls would have forgotten the loss of a paltry purse when they had a nice-looking young man like William so kind to them. You must make it up to him, you know; he will expect it," said Marion.

Kate lifted her head, and looked at her cousin but Marion turned her head aside.

"Make it up to him. What do you mean, Marion? Of course I shall pay the shilling I owe him for my steamboat fare, I told him so when I said 'good-night.'"

"You did! How can you be so rude or so stupid, which is it? Don't you know they like to pay for us, if they can get the chance. I let them do it sometimes; it pleases them, and don't hurt me."

"What, when you have the money in your pocket, and can pay for yourself?" exclaimed Kate, in astonishment.

"Yes; why shouldn't they spend their money if they like it; and besides, I make it up to them," added Marion.

"How do you do that?" asked Kate.

But Marion did not answer. She began to feel half sorry she had told her cousin as much as she had.

"How do you make it up to them?" repeated Kate.

"Oh, don't bother me to-night, I'm tired. Keep your eyes open, and you'll see for yourself," concluded Marion, as she got into bed.

Kate kneeled down, as she always did, for the habit of prayer was too strong to be broken all at once. She felt ashamed and unhappy as she kneeled down, and she wished she could pray as her mother and teacher had often told her—pouring out her whole heart before God. Poor, foolish Kate, she had read often enough those words, "Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, let your requests be made known unto God;" and yet she was afraid to bring this trouble to Him.

Her thoughts were also running on her cousin's last words, and after she got into bed, she said again:

"I wish you would tell me how I can make it up to William—about that shilling, I mean; it will be such a long time for him to wait before I can pay it."

"I should think it would, if you mean to wait until you take your salary," said Marion, impatiently.

"Well, then, tell me what I can do besides. How do you make it up when they pay shillings for you?"

"Keep your eyes open, and you'll see for yourself some day. But you'd better shut them now and go to sleep, or you won't be able to keep them open at the right time," concluded Marion, as she turned round to put an end to the talk.

But after a minute or two, Kate said, "You might tell me when it is the right time to keep them open, Marion."

"Oh, don't bother; go to sleep. Haven't you heard 'there's tricks in every trade'?"

"I don't know; perhaps I have."

"Well, then, keep a sharp look-out, and you'll soon learn the tricks of ours." And Marion was soon fast asleep; but it was a long time before Kate could close her eyes, for conscience was at work again, urging her to tell her mother of her loss, and all that led to it. But Kate was afraid. She could not bear to forfeit her mother's good opinion, and make her anxious. She might even send for her to come home, and Kate did not like the idea of that at all. She was very comfortable in this "old-fashioned place," as everybody called it, and not at all inclined to go back to a quiet country life.

CHAPTER V.

DISCLOSURE.

an you oblige me by putting this bill in the window Miss?" asked a pleasant-looking young woman, who often came into the shop for a loaf or a few buns.

"I daresay we can," said Kate, taking the bill and reading it. It was the announcement of a tea-meeting at a Sunday school in the neighbourhood, and Kate forthwith determined to speak to this young woman when she came in again, and ask her if there was a Bible-class there for elder girls and young women.

"Look here, Marion," she said, holding up