y _lost_, not stolen, for that gave ever so much
more chance of finding it.

When all the people had gone, father came in. Mother had still her dress
on, but she was looking very white and tired, and in a moment, like
Maud, he saw there was something the matter.

He was very vexed, dreadfully vexed, only he was too good to scold Anne
_very_ much. And indeed it would have been difficult to do so, she
looked such a miserable creature, her eyes nearly swollen out of her
head with crying. And we were all pretty bad--even Serry, who never
troubles herself much about anything, looked solemn. And as for me, I
just couldn't forgive myself for not having stayed in mother's room and
seen to putting away her jewel-cases, as I generally do.

Father set to work at once. First he made mother stand up in the middle
of the room, and he called Rowley, and he and Rowley and I and Hebe
shook out her train and poked into every little fluthery ruffle--there
was a lot of fustled-up net inside the edge, just the place for the
diamond thing to get caught in, and we made her shake herself and turn
out her pocket and everything. But it was no use. Then--the poor little
thing was nearly dead, she was so tired!--father made her go to take off
her finery, telling Rowley to look over all the dress again when mother
had got out of it. Then he and I went out together to the coach-house,
first telling all the servants of the loss, and making them hunt over
the hall and up and down the stairs; it was really quite exciting,
though it was horrid too, knowing that father and mother were so vexed
and Anne so miserable.

We found the coachman just washing the carriage. We got into it, and
poked into every corner, and shook out the rugs, and just did
everything, even to looking on the front-door steps behind the scraper,
and in the gutter, and shaking out the roll of carpet that had been laid
down. For father is splendid at anything like that; he's so practical,
and I think I take after him. (I don't know but what I'd like best of
all to be a private detective when I grow up. I'll speak to father about
it some day.)

But all was no use, and when we came up to the drawing-room again there
was mums in her crimson teagown, looking _so_ anxious. It went to my
heart to have to shake my head, especially when poor Anne came out of a
corner looking like a dozen ghosts.

Still, we had rather a nice evening after all, though it seems odd. It
was all thanks to fa