we are satisfied that they belong to you, madam," said the elder salesman, coolly. "I don't feel like taking the responsibility, but will send for my employer, and leave the matter to him to decide." "I hope I won't have long to wait, sir." "I will send at once." "It's a pretty state of things when a lady has her own property kept from her," said Mrs. Simpson, while the elder clerk was at the other end of the store, giving some instructions to a boy. "I don't in the least doubt your claim to the articles, Mrs. Simpson," said the first salesman, obsequiously. "Come, boy, you'd better own up that you have stolen the articles, and the lady will probably let you off this time." "Yes, I will let him off this time," chimed in the lady. "I don't want to send him to prison." "If you can prove that I am a thief, I am willing to go," said Grant, hotly. By this time the elder salesman had come back. "Is your name John Cavanaugh, my boy?" he asked. "No, sir." "Did you ever see this lady before?" "No, sir." The lady threw up her hands in feigned amazement. "I wouldn't have believed the boy would lie so!" she said. "What is your name?" "My name is Grant Thornton. I live in Colebrook, and my father is Rev. John Thornton." "I know there is such a minister there. To whom do these pearls belong?" "To my mother." "A likely story that a country minister's wife should own such valuable pearls," said Mrs. Simpson, in a tone of sarcasm. "How do you account for it?" asked the clerk.