when the performance came to an end fortune suggested to uncle william that he should go to the best hotel in the place, and give iris and apollo some tea. iris was loath to leave fortune's side, but fortune bent down and whispered to her to obey.

"i am on the trail," she said, "and i don't want to be interrupted. i don't mind telling you, iris, that the tea is all an excuse. you get your uncle to take you to the hotel, and keep him there until i join him. now, go off this minute, like a good girl."

iris looked into fortune's small, but honest, eyes, and felt once again that her feel was leading her in the right direction.

"uncle william, i should like some tea very much," she said.

"well, then, my dear, if you want tea you shall have it," replied uncle william.

he hailed a fly, and took the children immediately to the best hotel in the town.

when fortune found herself alone she turned round, and gazed to right and left of her. the great tent was almost empty, for the spectators had all departed; a few, however, were standing in little groups talking to one another. fortune edged near one of these. it consisted of a good-looking young man and two pretty girls. they were standing opposite the

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poster which gave such a lifelike account of little diana and orion.

"i see you are reading that poster," said fortune, "and maybe you're interested?"

"why, of course we are," said one of the girls, turning and looking at fortune.

"now, i wonder," continued fortune squeers, "if it lies anywhere in your power to give me a bit of help? fact is, i'm interested in the children described in that poster, and as i was sitting inside the circus, i heard a neighbor say that the children belonging to your show were not present. being an american, i never lose any clews, and there may be just the ghost of a chance that the children who were not at the performance to-day are the very identical same children that are written about in that there poster. maybe you has heard of those children—that is, if you are madersley folk?"

"yes, yes; we are madersley folk," said the young man, now turning and speaking eagerly to fortune.

"well, sir, do you know anything about the children who were not in the circus to-day?"

"i have heard of them, of course," said the man. "don't you remember, amelia," he added, "when i came home last saturday night how i told you we must go and see holt's circus, for he had got a little girl who was riding wonderfully? i could not manage it on saturday, and to-day, it seems, she's off."

"and he had a boy as well, hadn't he?" said fortune.

"yes, there was talk of a boy; but he didn't seem to have the spirit of his sister. anyhow, they are neither of them playing to-day, and, for my part, i thought the performance lame."

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"well, that's my opinion," said fortune. "no american would go the length of the road to see anything so poor and common. and so the children are off—but the children were on. now, i wish to goodness i could see those children."

"i don't suppose they have anything to do with the lost children who are spoken of in these posters," said the man. "they say they were brown as gypsies, that the boy was timid, and the girl rode wonderfully. she must have been trained for some time to ride as well as she did."

not being able to get anything more out of these folks, fortune turned on her heel and wandered in another direction. she crossed the entrance to the great tent, and made for the exit at the opposite side of the field. in doing this she ran right up against a fair-haired, rather pretty circus girl.

"my dear," said fortune, "you'll excuse my stopping to speak to you, but will you tell me if i can get into the town by the gate yonder?"

"it's rather a roundabout way," answered the girl, "but you can go, of course. you will have to walk quite a way down a country lane, then turn to your left, and it will bring you to the other side of the town."

"fact is," continued fortune, "i'm anxious to see some more of those posters. i'm mighty took with them. they seem to describe a most elegant little pair of children."

the girl uttered a sigh and changed color.

"maybe, miss," said fortune, fixing her with her keen eyes, "you can tell me something about 'em? now, if you could, and would, it would be worth your while."

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"oh, i know nothing at all," said the girl, in alarm. "what should i know?"

"how is it," continued fortune, "that the little children belonging to your circus were not present this afternoon? it seems a sort of cheating of the public."

"the little children belonging to our circus?" repeated the girl. "but we hasn't no children." she turned very white now, and suddenly leaving fortune, ran as fast as ever she could in the direction of the tent.

fortune followed her with her eyes. she saw a dark man peeping out.

"that girl is frightened; she's hiding something," thought the woman. "there's no doubt the trail strengthens, and i, being an american—well, well, 'taint likely i'm going to leave off now. yes, hot grows the trail."

fortune pursued her way. she had just reached the gate of the opposite exit of the field when a light hand was laid on her arm. turning quickly, she saw the same girl.

"for the love of god, madam," she said, "don't you tell on me—it's as much as my place is worth—he would kill me, if he knew—but we had two little kids here, and that poster in front of the circus gives their very description to a hair. but they have run away—they ran away some days ago, and god in heaven only knows where they are now."

"what were their names?" asked fortune.

"diana was the name of the girl——"

"diana!" cried fortune. "you need not tell me any more; and so it was you who stole 'em?"

"i!" said the girl; "i had nothing to do with it.

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i was kind to 'em when i could, and nothing would ever frighten diana. but oh, please, promise you won't tell on me—you won't let out that i said anything?"

"no, my dear; i won't injure you," said fortune; "but i must know this: when was it they ran away?"

"three nights ago, madam; and ben holt, he's fairly wild at losing the girl. he doesn't think anything at all about the boy, but the little girl—why, she won us all, she was so plucky and fearless. but they ran away three nights back, and no one knows where they are."

"don't keep me," said fortune. "i'm much obliged to you; but don't keep me now."

she left the field where the tent was, and began to walk rapidly down the lane.

"now, am i an american or am i not?" she thought. "do i, or do i not, want the police to interfere in this matter? do i, or do i not, want to find those children my very own self? they were here three nights ago, and they have run away. what can be the meaning of it?"

fortune pressed her hand to her forehead.

"well, if there's one thing more evident than another." she muttered after a pause, "it's this: i must not leave madersley at present. i'll just go to the hotel and tell mr. dolman that i am on the trail, and that not all the coaxing and all the worriting in the world will get me off it until i have found those children."

no sooner had this resolve formed itself in fortune's stalwart mind than she hailed a fly and desired the man to drive her to the madersley arms. when

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she reached the big hotel she was shown at once into mr. dolman's presence.

"now, sir," she said; "i hope you have all had a good tea and enjoyed it."

"very much, thank you," replied uncle william, who really, if the truth must be known, was having quite a delightful time—no aunt jane to pull him up, no sermons to write, and a vast amount of variety to occupy his mind. "we have enjoyed our tea, all of us," he said; "and now, fortune, would not you like a cup? iris, my dear, we'll ring the bell for some more hot water."

"thank you, sir" replied fortune; "but i have no time to eat nor drink at present. i am on the trail, and no one can get me off it."

"do you really mean that you have had news of the children?"

"i have had very positive news. why, they belonged to the circus we went to see to-day! i had my suspicions as soon as ever i heard that woman talking and saying that the performance was miserably poor without the children. at that very instant it came right over me that it was our little miss di who had made things so sparkling and lively."

"oh, fortune! let me go to her," cried iris. "is she there? please, fortune, take me to her at once."

"now, iris, love, that's just what i can't do. patience has to be exercised always in the matter of trails," continued fortune; "and when we hurry or flurry ourselves we lose the scent, and then we are nowhere. the children did belong to the circus, for i had it from the lips of one of the circus girls. poor innocent lambs, to think of them having anything to do with such a defiling place! but there they were,

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and there they would not stay, for three nights ago, iris, they ran away, and nobody in the wide world knows where they are at the present moment."

"well, and what do you propose to do?" said mr. dolman. "for my part, i think the police——"

"excuse me, sir, this is a matter for me, not the police. i propose, sir, to stay at madersley until i bring the children back. i hope to bring them back to-night."

"to-night!" cried iris. "oh, fortune! do you mean it?"

"yes, my love. i am an american, and i generally do what i say. i mean to bring the little dears back to their rightful home to-night. and now i'm off, and please expect me when you see me."

fortune turned abruptly and left the hotel. she walked down the high street.

"now," she said to herself, "why should not i just go and pay a visit to my old friend and neighbor, matty bell. i want a woman that is a gossip just now, and if there is a gossip in the whole of madersley, it's matty bell. as a rule, i can't abear her, but there are times when a gossiping woman comes in handy; and matty's neither very low nor very high up in the world, so she's acquainted with all that goes on in both circles, the high and the low. yes, i'll go to matty this very moment; and as there's not any time to lose, i'll take a fly and drive there."

fortune hailed the first fly she came across, and was quickly borne to the abode of her old neighbor, matty bell.

matty bell was a woman of about sixty years of age. at one time she had been a servant at delaney manor, but having married, and then lost her hus

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band, she had set up in the laundry line. in that interesting trade she had done a thriving business, and kept a comfortable roof over her head. she had never had children, and consequently had plenty of time to attend to her neighbors' affairs.

"well, to be sure, fortune, and what brings you here?" she said, when fortune alighted from the fly. "dear heart! i didn't know that you would care to leave delaney manor with all the troubles about."

"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

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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 crêpe 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?"

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"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."

"well," said fortune, "well—then that's all right. it was a trouble, but it's over, thank the good god. i could fall on my knees this moment and offer up a prayer; that i could, matty bell."

fortune's small, twinkling eyes were full of tears; she caught her neighbor's hand and wrung it hard.

"and i bless you, matty," she continued, "for you have put me on the right trail. i'll never blame a gossiping neighbor again, never as long as i live."

"but you haven't heard me out to the end," said matty, "for one of the little 'uns is very ill. you have found 'em, it is true; but it isn't all beer and skittles, fortune squeers."

"one of the children ill?" said fortune.

"yes; little miss diana. you come along and see her at once. they say she fell on her head out of a ring at the circus, and she must have hurt herself rather bad. anyhow, she don't know a word she is saying, poor little dear."

when fortune heard this news she shut up her mouth very tight, tied her bonnet-strings, and followed her neighbor out of the house.

the darlings' humble little domicile happened to be in the next street, and in less than five minutes fortune was standing over little diana's bed. the child was tossing from side to side, her big eyes were wide open; she was gazing straight before her, talking eagerly and incessantly.

"is it to be a pwivate funeral?" she said, when

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fortune entered the room, and, falling on her knees, clasped the hot little hands in hers.

"oh, my little darling!" said the good woman, "and have i really found you at last?"

she sank down by the child and burst into more bitter tears than she had even shed when mrs. delaney went away.