g the lot of you. I don't
want to jaw, but I think you're a set of little bricks, and I must say
so or expire on the sandy spot."

There was a painful silence.

H.O. looked, "There, what did I tell you?" at the rest of us.

Then Alice said, "We others had nothing to do with it. It was Dora's
doing." I suppose she said this because we did not mean to tell Mrs. Bax
anything about it, and if there was any brickiness in the act we wished
Dora to have the consolement of getting the credit of it.

But of course Dora couldn't stand that. She said--

"Oh, Mrs. Bax, it was very wrong of me. It wasn't my own money, and I'd
no business to, but I was so sorry for the little boy and his mother and
his darling baby-brother. The money belonged to some one else."

"Who?" Mrs. Bax asked ere she had time to remember the excellent
Australian rule about not asking questions.

And H.O. blurted out, "It was Miss Sandal's money--every penny," before
we could stop him.

Once again in our career concealment was at an end. The rule about
questions was again unregarded, and the whole thing came out.

It was a long story, and Mrs. Red House came out in the middle, but
nobody could mind her hearing things.

When she knew all, from the plain living to the pedlar who hadn't a
license, Mrs. Bax spoke up like a man, and said several kind things that
I won't write down.

She then went on to say that her sister was not poor and needy at all,
but that she lived plain and thought high just because she liked it!

We were very disappointed as soon as we had got over our hardly
believing any one could--like it, I mean--and then Mrs. Red House said--

"Sir James gave me five pounds for the poor woman, and she sent back
thirty of your shillings. She had spent three and sevenpence, and they
had a lovely supper of boiled pork and greens last night. So now you've
only got that to make up, and you can buy a most splendid present for
Miss Sandal."

It is difficult to choose presents for people who live plain and think
high because they like it. But at last we decided to get books. They
were written by a person called Emerson, and of a dull character, but
the backs were very beautiful, and Miss Sandal was most awfully pleased
with them when she came down to her cottage with her partially repaired
brother, who had fallen off the scaffold when treating a bricklayer to
tracts.

This is the end of the things we did when we were at Lymchurch in Miss
San