“And what troubles do you mean now, Matty Bell?” said Fortune, as she paid a shilling to the driver, and then tripped lightly into Matty’s little front parlor.

“Why, the death of the poor missus, Heaven bless her memory! and then the master going off to the other end of nobody knows where, and all them blessed little children took from their home and carried—­oh, we needn’t go into that, Fortune—­it’s been a trouble to you, and I see it writ on your face.”

“You are right there, Matty,” said Fortune; “it has been a bitter trouble to me, and there’s more behind, for the lady who took the children had no right to interfere, not having a mother’s heart in her breast, for all that Providence granted her five babes of her own to manage.  What do you think she went and did, Matty?  Why, lost two of our children.”

“Lost two of ’em?  Sakes alive! you don’t say so!” replied Matty.  “Have a cup of tea, Fortune, do; I have it brewing lovely on the hob.”

“No, thank you,” replied Fortune.  “I’m in no mood for tea.”

“Well, then, do go on with your story, for it’s mighty interesting.”

“It’s simple enough,” replied Fortune.  “Two of the children are lost, and now I have traced ’em to a circus in the town.”

“A circus here—­what, Holt’s?” said the woman.

“No less.  Why, Matty; you look queer yourself.  Do you know anything?”

“I know nothing for certain,” said Matty.  “I can only tell you—­but there, perhaps I had better not say—­only will you excuse me for a minute or two, Fortune?”

“I’ll excuse you, Matty, if you are on the trail of the children, but if you aren’t, you had better stay here and let me talk matters over.  You always were a fearful one for gossip, and perhaps you have picked up news.  Yes, I see you have—­you have got something at the back of your head this blessed minute, Matty Bell.”

“That I have,” replied Mrs. Bell.  “But please don’t ask me a word more, only let me get on my bonnet and cloak.”

Mrs. Bell left the room, and quickly returned dressed in her widow’s weeds, for though Bell had been dead for over ten years, his widow was still faithful to his memory; she slipped a thick crepe veil over her face, and went out, looking the very essence of respectability.  She was not more than twenty minutes away, and when she came back she looked much excited.  On each of her smooth, pasty cheeks might even be seen a little flush of color, and her dull blue eyes were brighter than their wont.

“Fortune,” she cried, “as there’s a heaven above me, I’ve found ’em!”

“Bless you, Matty; but where—­where?”

“Why, at no less a place than Jonathan Darling’s.”

“Jonathan Darling?  Who may he be?”

“He’s as honest a fellow, Fortune, as you can find in the whole of Madersley—­he drives a milk cart.  He found the two little dears three mornings ago, wandering about in their circus dresses, and he took ’em home.”