“But, auntie, I’m up and down sure I felt that wallet in my breast-pocket, when we came out of Dorlon’s,” persisted Horace.  “I don’t see how on earth that old woman contrived it; but I can’t help remembering how she kept leaning forward when she talked; and once she hit square against me.  And just about that time I was drawing out my handkerchief to wipe my nose.”

“Yes, he did!  He wiped his nose.  And the woman tookened the money; I saw her do it.”

“There, I told you so!”

“You saw her, Miss Policeman Flyaway?” said Aunt Madge.  “And pray how did she take it?”

“Just so,—­right in her hand.”

“O, you mean the money for the butter-scotch, you little tease!”

“Yes,” replied the child, with a roguish twinkle over the sensation she had made.

“Just like little bits o’ flies,” said Dotty.  “Don’t care how folks feel.  And here’s her brother ready to cry; heart all broken.”

“Needn’t be concerned about my heart, Dot; ’tisn’t broken yet; only cracked.  But how anybody could get at my pocket, without my knowing it, is a mystery to me, unless Granny is a witch.”

“Horace, I pledge you my word Granny is innocent.”

“And I’m sure nobody else could take it, auntie.  The clerks at Dorlon’s had no knowledge of the money; neither had any of the apple or pie merchants along the market.  Things look darker for us, Prue; but I will give you the credit of behaving like a lady.  And one thing is sure—­the moment I get home to Indiana I shall send you back your money.”

“Horace,” said Aunt Madge, “I am very suspicious that you lost your purse in one of those cars, on the Brooklyn side.”

“But, auntie, I tell you there couldn’t anybody get at my pockets without my knowing it!”

“Just as Prudy told you you would, you lost it in that car,” echoed Dotty.  “Don’t you remember what you said, Prudy?”

“That’s right; hit him again,” growled Horace.

“Now, Dotty,” said Prudy, suppressing a great sob in her effort to “behave like a lady,” “what’s the use?  Don’t you suppose Horace feels bad enough without being scolded at?”

“Auntie don’t scold, nor Prudy don’t, ’cause he didn’t mean to lose it,” said Fly, frowning at Dotty, and caressing Horace, with her hands full of evergreens.

“Besides, he has lost more than I have,” continued Prudy.

“Well, a trifle more!  Fifty times as much, say.  I shouldn’t care a fig,—­speaking figuratively,—­only it was all I had to get home with.”

“Don’t fret about that,” said Aunt Madge; “I’ll see that you go home with as full a purse as you brought to my house.”

“O, auntie, how can I thank you?  But you know father never would allow that!”

“I could tell you how to thank me,” thought Mrs. Allen, though she was so kind she would not tell; “you could thank me by saying, ’Auntie, I’ve been a naughty boy.’”