CHAPTER III.

"What did you tell them anything for? I knew you would. A girl can't keep anything dark."

"I didn't tell. They found it out themselves."

"How could they? They would never have known it was broken if you hadn't told, and they would never have known about the currant-bushes."

"They found a little bit of the china that I never saw at all, and I had to tell about the currant-bushes, because Aunt Tom said that I had something under my apron, and saw us go to the currant-bushes. They asked me, and I had to answer. They think I did it. They don't believe me when I say I didn't. It isn't a bit nice not to be believed."

"Then you didn't say anything about--about anybody else?"

"Of _course_ not!"

Theodora and Arthur were again in the garden. It was afternoon now of the day upon which the bowl was broken, and Theodora, after spending several hours in retirement, had been allowed to come out to get the air.

After their return to the house her aunts had tried in vain to extract something from her in regard to the accident. "I did not break the bowl," was all that she could be induced to say. Each aunt tried in turn to vary this reply, but with no success.

Finally, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Miss Middleton said:

"I think, sisters, that the best plan will be to send Theodora to her own room to think over the wicked falsehood which I am afraid she is telling. You will remember that when we were young our parents were of the opinion that solitary confinement was the wisest mode of punishment."

"They occasionally used a slipper," remarked Miss Joanna.

"But I scarcely like to use a slipper with Theodore's child."

"No! no!" cried Miss Dorcas, Miss Melissa, and Miss Thomasine, with one voice.

"So, Theodora, you may go to your room," continued Miss Middleton. "I hope that when you come out you will be ready to confess."

Theodora stood for a moment looking from one to the other of the five faces.

"I sha'n't do any such thing," she said. "I can't confess what I didn't do. If my mother were here she would believe me. If you were to keep me shut up in the room for weeks and weeks, when I came out I should say the same thing. Please excuse me for being disrespectful, but I think, except Aunt Tom, you are very disagreeable aunts, especially Aunt Joanna. I think I would rather live with people that were no relation to me."

So saying, she walked from their presence and went to her own room, and again shut and bolted the door. At dinner-time a tray containing several slices of dry bread and a glass of water was placed outside, and Mary Ann's voice told her that her dinner was waiting. For some time Teddy refused to open, but finally her hunger overcame her pride, and she took the tray into her room, and just as she finished Miss Thomasine came to the door and tapped gently.

"Teddy, my dear," she said, in a low voice, at the key-hole, "let me in--your aunt Tom."

And Teddy again opened the door.

"Oh, my dear, how you have been crying!" said gentle little Miss Thomasine. "I am so grieved about it all. Teddy, if you will only tell us the truth, even now we will forgive you. Tell me quietly how it happened."

"Aunt Tom, I can't make up a story. I didn't break the bowl. Why don't you believe me? There are other people in the world besides me! Why don't you think that some one else did it? Why am I the only person that could have broken it?"

"My dear, you forget that the evidence against you is very strong. When I came down stairs to go with you to the garden you came out of the parlor with the pieces of china in your hand, hidden under your apron. Why did you take the trouble to hide them, or to touch them at all, if you were not the one who broke the bowl?"

Theodora was silent for a few minutes. She stood gazing at her aunt, looking straight from her fearless brown eyes into Miss Thomasine's gentle blue ones.

"That is true," she said at last. "It does seem queer. But, for all that, I didn't break the bowl, Aunt Tom."

"Then can you not tell me who did?"

"No, I can't tell you who did," she said. "But do you believe me now, Aunt Tom?"

"Yes, my dear, I do."

And then Theodora burst into tears, and hid her face in her aunt's lap.

"Oh, I am so glad!" she sobbed. "It was so terrible to feel that no one believed me in this whole house."

After a while Miss Thomasine returned to her sisters, and told them of her change of opinion. Needless to say no one agreed with her, and it required some determination on her part to remain firm in her conviction. It was not so easy to believe her niece guiltless when she was confronted by four somewhat obstinate ladies, as it had been when she was looking into Theodora's fearlessly truthful eyes.

But Miss Thomasine did not falter, and she finally succeeded in obtaining her sisters' consent to the proposition that their niece should be released from solitary confinement, and allowed to go out into the fresh air.

"For she is not accustomed to it, and I am afraid it will make her ill," urged Miss Thomasine, "and then what would Theodore and sister Gertrude say?"

At hearing which the others relented.

Theodora, upon being liberated, went at once to the garden, and here she found Arthur Hoyt awaiting her. He was leaning over the wall, looking sullenly toward Teddy as she approached.

"I thought you were never coming," he said. "What made you so long?"

"I've been shut up," returned Teddy. "They won't believe I didn't do it--except Aunt Tom. She believes me, but no one else will."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I didn't do it."

"Nothing else?"

"Of _course_ not."

And then ensued the conversation with which this chapter opens.

Arthur Hoyt was eleven years old. He was the fifth member of this large family, Paul, Charlie, Clement, and Raymond being older than he. Paul was nearly eighteen, and it had been an act of great condescension on his part to join in the funeral festivities of the morning; but, in spite of the fact that he was to enter Harvard this fall, he secretly loved an old-fashioned romp with his four brethren, though he would not have confessed it for the world.

The boys were all lions of health and strength, with the exception of Arthur. He had always been delicate, and in consequence had been greatly indulged by his parents. His brothers were in the habit of treating him with more consideration than they showed to one another, looking upon him perhaps as they would have looked upon a sister. When Teddy came to Alden and they first made her acquaintance, they fancied that "all she would be good for," as they expressed it, would be to play quiet games with Arthur, but they soon found out their mistake.

Teddy was as much of a "jolly good fellow" as her name implied. She could run, she could row, she could play ball with the best of them, and the boys had not recovered even yet from their astonishment at this state of affairs. The Misses Middletons' niece as much of a fellow as any of them! And they accordingly received her into their midst on terms of absolute equality.

"I'm glad you didn't say anything about any one else," said Arthur, when he had heard Teddy's assurance that she had told nothing. He looked about apprehensively, as if he feared some one might be hidden in the same currant-bushes which had sheltered the broken bowl. "I'll do something nice for you, Teddy. Would you like to ride my wheel?"

"Arthur! Do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do," said he, magnanimously. "I've never let you before, because I was afraid you'd bang it over the first thing and smash it; but I guess you'll be careful."

It was the dearest wish of Theodora's heart to learn to ride. She had intended to ask her aunts' permission that very day; in fact, she had gone back to the house with Miss Thomasine for that especial purpose; and then had come the fatal discovery about the bowl, and everything else had been forgotten.

This was a fine opportunity to try it, for Arthur was not always in such an amiable mood. Perhaps he never again would offer to lend her his wheel and to teach her. The other boys owned bicycles, to be sure, but it was always hard to find them at liberty. There was usually something of importance to be done, and Theodora had noticed that neither of them seemed anxious to lend his wheel to a beginner. Charlie had offered, though, that morning, and she had lost the rare chance by going into the house to ask permission. She concluded not to let another opportunity slip; so, after giving the matter brief consideration, she joyfully accepted Arthur's overture, with or without her aunts' approval.

"Come over the wall, then," said he. "The best place for you to learn is on our drive. I'll try and find one of the other fellows to help teach you; for of course you'll go tumbling all over everywhere, and we might as well try to save the wheel."

Teddy wondered if no effort was to be made to save her as well as the wheel; but she said nothing, and quickly climbed the wall.

The Misses Middleton meanwhile were discussing the situation.

"I know the child is speaking the truth," said Miss Thomasine, again and again. "Some one else is responsible for the accident. Now let us consider who it can have been."

"Not one of the servants, I am sure," said Miss Middleton. "They have lived with us too long for us not to know that they would confess if they were guilty; and who else has been in the house to-day?"

Miss Melissa suddenly started forward.

"Sister Adaline, you forget! Some one--there have been others! Do you not remember?"

"Others? What others?"

"Surely you remember!"

"Melissa, do be more explicit, I beg of you!" cried Miss Joanna. "It is so easy to say what you mean, if you would only try it. Who else has been in the house?"

"Dear Joanna, you are so abrupt! Dorcas, you remember?"

But Miss Dorcas had discovered a mistake in her knitting, and was busy counting.

"Four, five, six, seven," she said aloud, to show them that she could not speak.

"I am astonished that you have the heart to knit, when the Middleton bowl is broken, Dorcas!" exclaimed Miss Joanna. "Melissa, kindly tell us what you mean."

But her sister's manner was apt to frighten the faltering Melissa, and she was now looking for her salts.

"I think I know whom Melissa means," said Miss Thomasine, suddenly. "Two or three of the Hoyt boys accompanied Theodora when she came with the cat."

Miss Melissa nodded. There was not a sound for a moment, the new idea presented by this recollection was so astounding.

"Do you think--" began Miss Joanna, and then stopped, for once unable to finish her speech.

"It might be," whispered Miss Middleton.

"It seems really--but then--perhaps--" murmured Miss Melissa.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. I should not be surprised," said Miss Dorcas, laying down her needles at last.

"I am sure that it was not Theodora," repeated Miss Thomasine, more earnestly than ever.

"There were several boys in the house," continued Miss Joanna, "and I should not be at all surprised. Adaline, suppose we order the carriage at once and drive to Mrs. Hoyt's. What do you think of it?"

"Quite right, Joanna. You and I will go, and Thomasine."

And they at once made ready for the call.

Although it was but a short distance to their neighbor's house, it did not occur to the ladies to walk. They took a certain amount of exercise on their own place every morning and afternoon, but a call would have been shorn of half of its formality did they not go in their carriage, and the Misses Middleton were nothing if not formal.

They had left their own domain, and were being driven slowly along the bit of road which lay between their gates and those of their neighbor, when, with a rapid whiz, a bicycle flew past them, followed by another and another.

"It is a custom which is very alarming," remarked Miss Middleton.

"There seemed to be a girl on one of them," said Miss Joanna. "So very unladylike!"

Miss Thomasine said nothing, but she leaned out of the carriage and looked after the rapidly receding figures. She was quite certain that she recognized that short scarlet skirt and that flying brown hair, but she dared not name her fears.

Presently the carriage drew up at Mrs. Hoyt's front steps. There were no boys to be seen but Arthur, who disconsolately leaned over the piazza railing. Teddy had ridden away on his wheel, accompanied by two of his brothers, and there was nothing for him to do but to await their return. When he saw the approach of the Misses Middleton he turned and fled.

"I wonder where Theodora is?" remarked Miss Middleton. "I hoped to find her with Arthur--such a nice, quiet little boy. Where can she be?"

And still Miss Thomasine held her peace.

Mrs. Hoyt was at home, and the ladies were ushered into the parlor.

"Sister, you must be the one to speak," said Miss Joanna to Miss Middleton, "and I will help you when it is necessary." And neither of her hearers doubted that she would.

It was difficult to open the subject; for Mrs. Hoyt, filled with trepidation at being caught unawares by her stately neighbors, talked with nervous haste. The parlor was in sad confusion, having lately been the scene of a bear-fight, carried on by several of her boys. She herself had not yet dressed for the afternoon, and she was wondering if the Misses Middleton would discover the fact. Fortunately her gingham gown was well made and clean; still, it was a gingham, and it was afternoon, and Mrs. Hoyt had lived long enough in Alden to know Alden ideas.

But the Misses Middleton did not notice. They were trying to find a means of stemming the tide of Mrs. Hoyt's conversation.

"We have come on a matter of importance," said Miss Middleton at last. "I think, Joanna, we may call it important?" looking at her sister.

"Very important," said she, with emphasis.

"Very important," echoed Miss Thomasine, more mildly, plucking nervously at the folds of her camel's-hair shawl.

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Hoyt. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem troubled about something. I hope nothing has happened?"

There was a slight noise at the back of the room at this juncture, and Miss Middleton, who was about to speak, stopped abruptly.

"It is only Arthur, probably," said his mother. "Arthur dear, come speak to the Miss Middletons."

But no Arthur was forth-coming, so Miss Middleton began again.

"We have met with a great loss. You have heard of--in fact, I know you have seen--the Middleton bowl."

"I should think so! My dear Miss Middleton, you don't mean to say that anything has happened to that? Oh, how shocking! Is it broken, or has it been stolen?"

"It is broken. It would almost have been better had it been stolen. Do you not agree with me, Joanna?"

"I do," said Miss Joanna. Miss Thomasine did not speak.

"For there is a great mystery connected with it," continued the speaker. "We cannot discover who broke it."

"Could it have been one of the servants?" asked Mrs. Hoyt, eagerly. "Oh, that beautiful bowl! so valuable! so exquisite! It must have been one of the servants."

"It was not," snapped Miss Joanna. "They have lived with us from fifteen to thirty years, and they were all in another part of the house when it happened. It was some one else."

"We thought at first that it must have been our niece, Theodora," continued Miss Middleton. "There were certain circumstances which led us to suspect her very strongly; but she declares that she did not do it, and our sister Thomasine is inclined to believe her."

"I am quite sure that Theodora did not break the bowl," said Miss Thomasine, quietly but firmly.

"Then who could have done it?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.

There was a profound silence in the room, while the three sisters looked at one another. Twice Miss Middleton essayed to speak, but her voice failed her, and she coughed instead. Miss Thomasine pulled off her gloves, quite unconscious that she was committing such a breach of etiquette. Miss Joanna at length recovered her usual courage.

"We think, Mrs. Hoyt," said she, clearly, and with emphasis, nodding her head in time to her words, and causing her spectacles to flash ominously--"we think that it may have been one of your sons."

Mrs. Hoyt was speechless, and she grew very pale.

"What makes you think so?" she asked at length. Even Miss Joanna quailed before the light that was in her eyes.

"Because," she faltered--"because some of them were in our house this morning."

"Miss Middleton, I think I can safely say that if one of my boys were responsible for such a misfortune, he would be enough of a gentleman to acknowledge it and to apologize. However, I will question them in your presence--that is, if they can be found. Ah, there they come now, up the drive, and Teddy is with them. They have been teaching her to ride the bicycle."

She left the room as she spoke. The Misses Middleton looked at one another.

"Our niece on a bicycle!" murmured Miss Middleton.

"I believe it was she whom we met," exclaimed Miss Joanna. "I believe also that she, and she alone, broke the bowl. This only goes to prove it."

"How does it prove it, Joanna?" asked Miss Thomasine; but Miss Joanna merely glared at her through the gleaming spectacles.

Clement and Raymond came quickly into the house in response to their mother's call, followed closely by Theodora, who was fully prepared to find her aunts in the parlor, for she had seen the waiting carriage. The boys took off their caps, and politely shook hands with each of the ladies. Their manners were good, as even their natural enemies, the Misses Middleton, had always been forced to admit.

"Which of you were at Miss Middleton's house to-day?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.

"Clem, and I, and Arthur," said Raymond.

"Where is Arthur now?"

"He's round here somewhere. We left him here when we went off with Ted. She was on his wheel; and, mother, she rides as well as a fellow. She went right straight off instanter."

The three Misses Middleton groaned audibly, while their niece flushed with pleasure at this hearty praise. Mrs. Hoyt did not pause, however.

"I am afraid Arthur is hiding somewhere. I am quite sure he is in the room. Please look for him, as he has not the civility to come when his mother calls him."

Raymond and Clem made a dash for the back of the room, where they at once discovered the missing Arthur, and dragged him from his retreat. He came forward, banging his head and looking the picture of misery. His mother glanced at him reproachfully, upon seeing which Arthur looked more miserable still.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A LOYAL TRAITOR.

A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.

BY JAMES BARNES.