hard leather daguerreotype case, as being too clumsy to carry about in
her pocket, and in its place had made a sort of pocket-book of red
morocco which was a sufficient protection for the glass, in her
careful keeping.

She had never liked the picture so well as she did to-day, for she
thought of it now for the first time, not as a work of art, but as a
likeness, and imperfect as it was, even from that point of view, it
gave her very great pleasure to look at it. Yes, decidedly, she must
always have it by her hereafter; and she slipped it into her pocket
while she made herself ready for tea.

But supposing she should have her pocket picked! A pickpocket, she
reflected, might, in the hastiness which must always characterise his
operations, mistake the little leather case for a purse, and then--how
should she ever get the precious miniature back again? "Not that he
would want to keep it," she said to herself, as she took it out once
more for a parting look,--"unless he should lose his heart to that
ear!"--and she regarded the tiny pink object with pardonable pride.
But with the best intentions in the world, how would he be able to
restore it? She must put her address in the case; that would be a
simple matter.

An hour later, the family were gathered about the great round table in
the pleasant sitting-room, pursuing their various avocations by the
light of an excellent argand burner. Mr. Burtwell was reading his
evening paper, imparting occasional choice bits to his wife and his
eldest daughter, Julia, who were dealing with a heap of mending. The
two younger children were playing lotto, while Ned was having a
hand-to-hand tussle with his Cicero, a foeman likely to prove worthy
of his steel.

Madge had taken out a sheet of paper, with a view to inscribing her
address upon it. The mere act of doing so had called up to her mind so
vivid an impression of the thief for whose information it was
destined, that she suddenly felt impelled to address to him a few
words of admonition. With an agreeable sense of the absurdity of her
performance, she began a letter to this figment of her imagination,
and this is what she wrote:

* * * * *

"DEAR PICKPOCKET,

"For, as I shall never leave this miniature about anywhere, you must
be a pickpocket if it falls into your hands. To begin with, then; it
is not a good miniature at all, and there is no use in your trying to
sell it. In fact, i