old," observed Mr. Gryce; "every scrap
and half-sheet which could be found. But, before you examine it, look at
this." And he held out a sheet of bluish foolscap, on which were written
some dozen imitations of that time-worn copy, "BE GOOD AND YOU WILL
BE HAPPY"; with an occasional "_Beauty soon fades,"_ and "_Evil
communications corrupt good manners."_

"What do you think of that?"

"Very neat and very legible."

"That is Hannah's latest. The only specimens of her writing to be found.
Not much like some scrawls we have seen, eh?"

"No."

"Mrs. Belden says this girl has known how to write as good as this for
more than a week. Took great pride in it, and was continually talking
about how smart she was." Leaning over, he whispered in my ear, "This
thing you have in your hand must have been scrawled some time ago, if
she did it." Then aloud: "But let us look at the paper she used to write
on."

Dashing open the covers of the boxes on the table, he took out the loose
sheets lying inside, and scattered them out before me. One glance showed
they were all of an utterly different quality from that used in the
confession. "This is all the paper in the house," said he.

"Are you sure of that?" I asked, looking at Mrs. Belden, who stood in
a sort of maze before us. "Wasn't there one stray sheet lying around
somewhere, foolscap or something like that, which she might have got
hold of and used without your knowing it?"

"No, sir; I don't think so. I had only these kinds; besides, Hannah had
a whole pile of paper like this in her room, and wouldn't have been apt
to go hunting round after any stray sheets."

"But you don't know what a girl like that might do. Look at this one,"
said I, showing her the blank side of the confession. "Couldn't a sheet
like this have come from somewhere about the house? Examine it well; the
matter is important."

"I have, and I say, no, I never had a sheet of paper like that in my
house."

Mr. Gryce advanced and took the confession from my hand. As he did so,
he whispered: "What do you think now? Many chances that Hannah got up
this precious document?"

I shook my head, convinced at last; but in another moment turned to him
and whispered back: "But, if Hannah didn't write it, who did? And how
came it to be found where it was?"

"That," said he, "is just what is left for us to learn." And, beginning
again, he put question after question concerning the girl's life in the
house, receiving a