er chair from the
breakfast-table with a frown and a pout.

"Never mind," answered her aunt. "Rain before seven, fine before
eleven."

Barbara did not believe in proverbs. She wandered restlessly round the
room, inquiring what was the good of rain in August, and expressing her
discontent with things in general.

"Oh, I say," she exclaimed suddenly, halting in front of the little
glass door of the cupboard, "what do you think has happened? That dear
little china man with the guitar has tumbled over and broken his head
off!"

Helen and the boys crowded round to look. It was certainly the
case--the little china figure lay over on its side, broken in the
manner already described.

"Who can have done it?"

"I expect I must have upset it the other evening when I was showing you
the things," answered Miss Fenleigh. "Never mind, I think I can mend
it. Go and fetch my keys, Bar, and we'll see just what's the matter
with the little gentleman."

"This is funny," she continued, a few minutes later, "the key won't
turn. Dear me! what a silly I am! why, the door isn't locked after
all."

The little image was taken out, and while it was being examined Barbara
picked up the little leather case on which it usually stood. In
another moment she gave vent to an ejaculation of surprise which
startled the remainder of the company, and made them immediately forget
all about the china troubadour.

"Why, aunt, where's the watch?"

Every one looked. It was true enough--the case was empty, and the
watch gone. For a moment there was a dead silence, the company being
too much astonished to speak.

"Stolen!" exclaimed Raymond. "I said it would be some day."

"But when was it taken?--Who could have done it?--Where did they get
in?--How did they know about it?"

These and other questions followed each other in rapid succession. A
robbery at Brenlands! The thing seemed impossible; and yet here was
the empty case to prove it. The watch had disappeared, and no one had
the slightest notion what could have become of it.

"There's something in this lock," said Valentine, who had been peering
into the keyhole. "Lend me your crochet needle, Helen, and I'll get it
out."

With some little difficulty the obstacle was removed, and on
examination proved to be a fragment of a broken key.

"Hallo!" said Raymond, "here's a clue at any rate. Don't lose it; put
it in that little jar on the mantelpiece."

The remainder of the mor