the magistrate, Elsie was once more brought into court. She had hailed the appearance of her old acquaintance with something approaching delight, for any change was a welcome one from the hard, dreary, monotonous life she had been leading in the wards of the workhouse.

"Do you know anything about Duncan?" she asked, eagerly. "Did they really take him to the hospital? she didn't turn him into the streets, did she? Oh! I have been so frightened about it. They said they didn't know anything about it in there. You know, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," the man said, gravely.

Elsie looked up in his face questioningly. It was very grave. "Is he—is he—dead?" she gasped.

"Not as far as I know," the man replied; "and he did go into the hospital right enough; but he was as near dead as possible when your mother found him there. I don't think it's certain now whether he'll recover."

"Mother found him!" Elsie cried. "Then—then she knows where we are?"

"Yes, she knows," the man replied.

Elsie involuntarily drew a long sigh of relief. It was only afterwards that she began to be worried with doubts as to what her mother would say or do. In that first moment her first instinct was that being found by her mother was the end of all trouble, and that was, no doubt, a true and natural instinct.

But the after feeling of fear and doubt soon came to cloud Elsie's joy at what seemed such good news. How glad she would be once more to be back in the clean, sweet cottage on her native moor. She had thought that life hard, and so wanted to be a little lady, but it was a perfect paradise compared with her present life; and as for care, which is the greatest enemy to happiness that we can have, she had not known what it meant before she ran away. Food and clothes, and warm, comfortable shelter, were all hers without a thought on her part, and yet she had been so discontented and cross and disagreeable to everybody because she had not dainty food and nothing to do. But she had found out what it felt like to be without a home or a friend, with coarse food, and nothing but harsh words; and she had been continually told that that was far more than she deserved, and was given to her only out of charity, for which she ought to be most grateful.

If only Mrs. MacDougall would let her go home and things be the same as before, she would never be discontented or ungrateful any more, but she could hardly believe that she would ever get back again to that old happy life.

And Duncan? He might die! Then it would never be the same again. Dear little Duncan, who did not want to come away, and had always been contented, but would not forsake his sister. But for her he would be well and happy now, whereas everything was dreadful and wretched. It was quite certain it could never come right. If only she had known beforehand? It seemed so easy and so nice. Was it her fault that things had turned out so different? Was she to blame for not knowing?

In this way she tried to find some excuse and consolation where there was indeed little enough, falling back on the idle excuses people so frequently make. How many people ask "Was it my fault that I did not know?" when that was not at all where the fault lay.

At last the court was reached. Elsie was taken into a small room, where she had to wait some time, and had plenty of time for reflection. She grew very nervous and frightened, and began to wonder whether they had sent for her to punish her, whether the white-haired gentleman thought she had told stories, and was going to send her to prison. Yet the officer had seemed kind, and they had promised her that by-and-by she should be allowed to go home. Could she have told a story without knowing it? She tried to think over all she had said. Suddenly it came into her head that perhaps this clever, wise gentleman knew that her name was not MacDougall, but Grosvenor, and would punish her for that. What ought she to have said? She puzzled and puzzled over it till she grew quite stupid and bewildered.

By-and-by the officer who had brought her took her hand and led her forward. As she entered the great room in which she had been once before, she noticed that it was thronged with people. She was presently placed in a small, square, box-like place, reminding her a little of the pews in the kirk. Before her she soon detected the old gentleman who had questioned her, but there were several others seated near him. Turning her head slightly, her eyes fell with fright and dismay on the figures of the "fairy mother" and a man, who was neither Uncle William nor Grandpapa Donaldson, yet reminded her of both.

They were looking at her, and Elsie saw something in their faces that made her tremble. Yet she could not turn her eyes away till the "fairy mother" dropped hers, and with a heavy sigh made a little movement, as if to hide from herself the sight of her ungrateful child.

Then Elsie caught sight of another face: she recognised the man Andrew. There were others whose faces she did not know.

The Bible was handed her, and again she had to repeat the words of the solemn oath. Again the old gentleman leaned forward and asked her if she knew what an oath was, repeating his solemn warning. Then came the question, "What is your name?"

"Please, sir, I don't know," Elsie faltered, bursting into tears.

"The child is just dazed, your honour!" cried a voice from the crowd, which rang strangely in Elsie's ears, but the venturesome individual was silenced immediately.

"You told us the other day," the old gentleman said kindly. "You have only to tell the truth, then you need not be frightened."

"I'm afraid it was a story," Elsie exclaimed. And the "fairy mother" looked round anxiously. "I don't know whether my name is Elsie MacDougall or Elsie Grosvenor, because I am not sure whether Mrs. MacDougall was our mother or whether Aunt Nannie was."

Again a voice cried out something from the crowd, but Elsie did not catch the words. The person was warned that she would be removed if she interrupted again, and the gentleman continued.

"We will take your name as Elsie MacDougall. Is it true that you ran away from your home on a certain Wednesday?"

Elsie replied that she had done so, and then she was asked a great many questions, first about herself, then about the companions she had travelled with, which it would take far too much room to write down. She was terrified almost beyond measure at answering such inquiries with the terrible "fairy mother" standing close by, especially when other gentlemen began to ask her questions too in a sharp way that confused and bewildered her. Every particular of her acquaintance with these people was drawn from her, and a great deal of interest displayed in her account of how she was separated from Duncan, and the description of "Uncle William's" sudden change into "Grandpapa Donaldson."

"Now look well at this person. Have you ever seen him before?" the magistrate asked, pointing to the man standing near Mrs. Donaldson.

Elsie replied that she had not but he seemed to remind her a little of some one she had seen.

One of the gentlemen then held up a black wig, and whiskers, beard, and moustache.

Elsie recognised them at once. "I know what that is like!" she exclaimed, in great astonishment. "He had hair like that when he was Uncle William."

Another wig was then held before Elsie's wondering eyes. This time it was grey, with a small close-cut beard and whiskers, such as the old man in the railway carriage wore.

They were handed in turn to the man standing by Mrs. Donaldson, with a request that he would put them on. This, however, he indignantly refused to do, but Elsie took a steady look, and felt sure that if he had he would have looked exactly like Uncle William and Grandpapa Donaldson.

The next astonishing thing shown her was a light grey coat, the exact counterpart