as a
parent. Her antecedents, therefore, did not qualify her to comprehend
the loathsome enormity of the course she proposed to her companion.

"I can't stay away from home a week, let alone ten days," replied Kate,
who, bad as she was, was shocked at the proposition.

"Yes, you can."

"Where shall I stay?"

"Stay with me."

"Where will you stay?"

"We will go down to New York city."

"To New York city!"

"That's where I intend to go," replied Fanny, coolly.

"You don't mean so, Fan?"

"Yes, I do; and I have meant it all the time."

"But you said we were going to Pennville."

"We are; and when we get there we will take the cars for New York city.
We shall be there before twelve o'clock."

"But what shall we do when we get there?" demanded Kate, who was
absolutely appalled at the magnitude of Fanny's scheme.

"We will have a good time, in the first place. There are plenty of
shops where we can get cakes, and candy, and ice-cream; we can go to
the museum, the theatre, and the circus; we can go to Central Park, and
all the fine places in the city."

"But where should we live?"

"There are hotels enough."

"What should we do at a hotel? Besides, it would take lots of money."

"I've got money enough."

"Five dollars wouldn't pay for our living a week. They ask three or
four dollars a day for living at a hotel."

"I've got more than five dollars," answered Fanny, rather cautiously.

"Have you? How much have you got?"

"I don't know exactly."

"You don't know!" repeated Kate, very confident now in regard to the
means by which the money had been obtained, which, with this added
revelation regarding the amount, she did not believe had been found on
the floor. "You don't know!"

"I haven't counted it."

"Fan, you didn't find that money on the floor!" exclaimed she.

"I found it, anyhow," said Fanny, turning her head away from her
companion.

"Where did you find it?"

"In the drawer, if you must know," replied Fanny, desperately.

CHAPTER VI.

KATE'S DEFECTION.

"Fanny Grant, you stole that money!" said Kate, as though she had made
a great discovery.

It was no discovery at all. She had been reasonably confident that the
five dollars, which Fanny acknowledged to be in her possession, had
been stolen, or, if not actually stolen, that it had been obtained in
a manner entirely at variance even with a very low ideal of common
honesty. She was willing to enjoy the good things which