“Oh, grandmother!” she almost screamed, bounding to that lady’s side, “as I live, here’s a picture of Theo and George Douglas taken together,” and she held up a handsome casing before the astonished old lady, who, donning her golden spectacles in a twinkling, saw for herself that what Maggie said was true.

“They stole it!” she gasped.  “We are in a den of thieves!  Who knows what they’ll take from my bandbox?” and she was about to leave the room when Maggie, whose quick mind saw farther ahead, bade her stop.

“I may discover something more,” said she, and taking up a handsomely bound volume of Lamb, she turned to the fly-leaf, and read, “Jenny Douglas, from her brother George, Worcester, January 8.”

It was plain to her now; but any mortification she might otherwise have experienced was lost in the one absorbing thought, “What will grandma say?”

“Grandmother,” said she, showing the book, “don’t you remember the mother of that girl called her Betsy Jane Douglas?”

“Yes, yes!” gasped Madam Conway, raising both hands, while an expression of deep, intense anxiety was visible upon her face.

“And don’t you know, too,” continued Maggie, “that George always seemed inclined to say as little as possible of his parents?  Now, in this country it is not unusual for the sons of just such people as these to be among the most wealthy and respectable citizens.”

“Maggie, Maggie!” hoarsely whispered Madam Conway, grasping Maggie’s arm, “do you mean to insinuate—­am I to understand that you believe that odious woman and hideous girl to be the mother and sister of George Douglas?”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” answered Maggie. “’Twas the resemblance between Betsy Jane and George which I observed at first.”

Out of her chair to the floor tumbled Madam Conway, fainting entirely away, while Maggie, stepping to the door, called for help.

“I mistrusted she was awful sick at dinner,” said Mrs. Douglas, taking her hands from the dish-water, and running to the parlor.  “I wish she’d smelt of the camphire, as I wanted her to do.  Does she have such spells often?”

By this time Betsy Jane brought a basin of water, which she dashed in the face of the unconscious woman, who soon began to revive.

“Pennyr’yal tea’ll settle her stomach quicker’n anything else,” said Mrs. Douglas.  “I’ll clap a little right on the stove;” and, helping Madam Conway to the sofa, she left the room.

“There may possibly be a mistake, after all,” thought Maggie.  “I’ll question the girl;” and, turning to Betsy Jane, she said, taking up the book which had before attracted her attention, “Is this ’Jenny Douglas’ intended for you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered the girl, coloring slightly.  “Brother George calls me Jenny, because he thinks Betsy so old-fashioned.”

An audible groan from the sofa, and Maggie continued, “Where does your brother live?”