a story. She is old enough to have some sense, the young gypsy. I have seen too many of these young burglars to be fooled by ’em. It won’t do to encourage ’em.”

“I’ll give you a ‘V’ if you will let her go.”

“Why, Scott,” said Mrs. Wilmer, “are you crazy? Indeed you must do nothing of the kind.”

“By no means,” said the policeman. “She mustn’t be let go to do the same thing without a lesson to teach her what it means.”

The child turned her large black eyes full upon the face of the young man. Every feature of his face was indelibly stamped upon her memory in that one searching glance.

“Come, don’t be looking back so eagerly,” said the officer, “you won’t find anything more that you can get your little brown hands on; you can’t steal the gentleman’s diamond pin if you do look so sharp at it.”

The black eyes flashed indignantly and the long purple-black braid which hung down her back shook as she 3 raised her eyes to the officer’s face, giving her head a proud toss, and with the sauciest pucker of the small red mouth and a scornful ring in her voice, she said:

“I didn’t know he had a diamond pin. I was only looking at his face; it looks so kind, I’m sure I couldn’t steal that, but yours don’t look kind. I guess you like to punish little girls; you look like a great cross bear.”

“Take care, I’ll let you know what I am. I don’t have any notion of being kind to such little imps as you are. There’s a way to take care of little burglars.”

“I ain’t a burglar. I’m just as good as you are, if I am poor. I’d rather steal than be so ugly to little girls.”

They had now reached the sidewalk, where they were met by June Wilmer, a young girl of just ten years of age, who was about to enter the gate. She was rightly named, for she looked like a fresh June rose, with the pink flush on her cheeks, and her blue eyes full of innocent mirth, but the expression changed to one of pity as she looked at the little girl who was being led away like a dumb animal.

“Why, what is the matter?” she asked, “what have you done to be taken away by a policeman, you poor little girl?”

“She was trying to steal your mother’s spoons.”

“Oh, dear, that was wicked, but perhaps she did not know it was, or maybe she was hungry and wanted to sell them for something to eat.”

“Oh, miss, I wouldn’t get up any excuse for her,” said the officer, “she can do well enough at that herself. She stole the spoons, and she must be punished. 4 I’ll warrant she was not a bit hungry, was you now?” he asked, turning to the child.

“No, I wasn’t hungry.”

“There, you hear that, miss.”

“Perhaps,” said June, “if you let her go this time she will not do so again; please do,” and, turning to the little girl she asked:

“Won’t you promise not to steal again if he will?”

“I can’t promise that, ’cause maybe I’ll have to, but, oh, lady, I don’t want to be locked up,” and as she spoke the great black eyes were turned pleadingly toward June’s face. The defiant look faded away, and a mournful expression settled around the full red lips.

“Oh, come along,” said the officer, “you have your game pretty well learned, but you can’t fool me with your nonsense.”

“You can lock me up if you want to,” she said, as the dusky little form was drawn to its full height. “I ain’t afraid of the dark, nohow.”

“June, dear, come here; do not be seen talking to that little thief,” said Mrs. Wilmer, as she stood on the broad veranda.

“Oh, mama,” said June, as she entered the house, “don’t you feel sorry for that poor little girl?”

“Sorry? Why, no; in another moment she would have carried away every spoon on the table, and I am astonished, June, that you should turn champion for the little sinner.”

“She certainly is steeped in crime,” said Scott, “but for all that I pity her.”

“And to think,” added June, “that the policeman 5 will take her to the station and lock her up; won’t it be terrible? I wonder what kind of a place it is anyway.”

“Oh, she will no doubt be shut up until to-morrow, and if no one appears to bail her out she will be sent to the reform school,” said Scott.

“Well, it is no more than she deserves,” said Mrs. Wilmer.

“But just to think,” said June, “of being locked up all night, and perhaps her mama will be waiting for her, and the poor little girl all alone in the dark—but she told the policeman she was not afraid.”

“There is not the least doubt of that,” said Mrs. Wilmer. “It is quite likely she is accustomed to being locked up.”

“I have very pleasant news for you, June,” Mrs. Wilmer said; “I have just received a dispatch by telegraph saying that Irene Mapleton will be here in a few days. Isn’t that nice?”

“I don’t see anything nice about it,” answered June, honestly; “she cannot amuse me any, for she is older yet than brother Scott.”

“But she sings and plays beautifully, and you cannot help loving her. I always enjoy her society; she writes such lovely poetry, too.”

“Well, I can’t see anything very nice about writing poetry. I am sure that will not amuse me at all.”

“Perhaps not, but we must love Irene for Scott’s sake, for you know she will be his wife some time.”

June looked thoughtful a few moments, and then asked, suddenly:

“Mama, why don’t Irene’s mother come with her sometimes? You know she has been here often to stay, and she always comes alone.”

“Did you not know that her mother was dead? Poor Irene is an orphan.”

“I don’t think she is very poor. She dresses splendidly, and she has the most beautiful diamonds and all kinds of jewelry, and the loveliest bonnets; oh, my, I never saw prettier ones, and the dresses, I never saw the end of them.”

“Why, June, what a little extravagant minded child you are; of course I do not mean that Irene is poor in purse. She has all that is necessary to gratify every wish, as regards wealth, but she has no mother, and I think she said her father never took her into society, and of course she lacks sympathy, just as any young girl does who is without parents.”

“Do people always have to love their brothers’ wives, mama?”

“Why, no, but they should love them if they can, and I see no reason why you or anyone else should not love Irene.”

“Well, I’ll try to love her if she is going to marry Scott,” said June, so submissively that it caused Mrs. Wilmer to smile.

“You need not look so solemn over it; I do not think you will have to try very hard.”

Scott, who had taken a seat by the window, and had been a silent listener to the conversation, now addressed his mother, while a slight cloud passed over his brow.

“I am sorry,” he said, “that she is coming just now, 7 for I am afraid I shall find very little time to devote to ladies’ society, and of course she will expect it; and another reason is that she seems such a stranger to me, that I shall be obliged to stand on the most rigid formality and be her escort whether I wish it or not, but perhaps she will think me too much a boy to waste her time with.”

Irene Mapleton was two years older than Scott Wilmer, and through his mother’s influence he had paid her marked attention while she was on a visit to a friend in the beautiful city of Detroit, her home being in San Francisco. Her father, who had invested largely in mining stocks and become wealthy, spared no pains to give Irene means to gratify every wish. June had spoken