“My dear, pray don’t harp on that loss forever!  It was not ruinous!  There was only nine dollars in it.”

“And if there had been nine hundred, it would have been the same thing!” said the lady.

Her husband laughed, put away his purse, stowed away his parcels, and then, having both hands at liberty, took the reins and set off for home.

As he dashed along the street a poster caught his attention.  He drew up, threw the reins to Mrs. Middleton, jumped out, pulled down the poster, and returned to his seat in the sleigh.

“Here we are, my dear, all right; the pocketbook is found,” he smiled, as he again took possession of the reins.

“Found?” she echoed.

“Yes, by that boy, Worth, you know, who behaved so well in that affair with the Burghes.”

“Oh, yes! and he found the pocketbook?”

“Yes, and advertised it in this way, poor little fellow!”

And Mr. Middleton drove slowly while he read the circular to his wife.

“Well, we can call by the hut as we go home, and you can get out and get it, and you will not forget to reward the poor boy for his honesty.  He might have kept it, you know; for there was nothing in it that could be traced.”

“Very well; I will do as you recommend; but I have a quarrel with the young fellow, for all that,” said Mr. Middleton.

“Upon what ground?” inquired his wife.

“Why, upon the ground of his just having sold the book I gave him last August as a reward of merit.”

“What did he do that for?”

“To get money to buy tops and marbles.”

“It is false!” burst out Claudia, speaking for the first time.

“Claudia!  Claudia!  Claudia!  How dare you charge your uncle with falsehood?” exclaimed Mrs. Middleton, horrified.

“I don’t accuse him, aunt.  He don’t know anything about it!  Somebody has told him falsehoods about poor Ishmael, and he believes it just as he did before,” exclaimed the little lady with flashing eyes.

“Well, then, what did he sell it for, Claudia?” inquired her uncle, smiling.

“I don’t believe he sold it at all!” said Miss Claudia.

Her uncle quietly untied the packet, and placed the book before her, open at the fly-leaf, upon which the names of the donor and the receiver were written.

“Well, then, I believe he must have sold it to get something to eat,” said Ishmael’s obstinate little advocate; “for I heard Mr. Rutherford say that there was a great deal of suffering among the frozen-out working classes this winter.”

“It may be as you say, my dear.  I do not know.”

“Well, uncle, you ought to know, then!  It is the duty of the prosperous to find out the condition of the poor!  When I come into my fortune—­”

“Yes, I know; we have heard all that before; the millennium will be brought about, of course.  But, if I am not mistaken, there is your little protege on the road before us!” said Mr. Middleton, slacking his horse’s speed, as he caught sight of Ishmael.