this was what had happened.

when ben was fairly on his way up the monument, the lady addressed emma.

"my dear," she said, "are you fond of candy?"

"ever so much," said emma.

"suppose we go to a candy store and get some?"

"but i don't want to leave ben," said the little girl.

"oh, we will be back before he returns," said the lady. "will you come?"

"if you are certain sure you will be back in time."

"oh, yes, my dear."

the lady's manner was so kind that emma felt entire confidence in her promise.

"yes, i will go."

they walked down the hill in a different direction from that which they had come up. this brought them to a street on which were some shops. the lady entered one, leading emma by the hand.

"give us one half-pound of assorted candy," she said.

the girl behind the counter weighed out the candy and handed it to her.

they left the shop.

"now are we going back to ben?" asked emma.

"i have sent word to him to come to my house and take supper, my dear child. come with me, and you will see him soon."

how should emma know that this was not true? she was a little girl, with no experience of the world, accustomed to put confidence in those she met, and the lady was very kind in her manner.

"is your home far off?" she asked.

"no, it is quite near."

this proved to be true.

the lady turned up a street lined with neat dwellings and rang the bell.

a servant answered the bell.

"is it you, mum?" she said.

"yes, jane."

jan looked inquiringly at the little girl, and was on the point of asking who she was; but she knew her mistress was peculiar and said nothing.

"this little girl will stay to tea," said the lady. "put on an extra plate."

"yes, ma'am."

"and isn't ben coming, too?" asked emma, noting the omission.

"yes, jan, you may put on two extra plates."

emma followed her new acquaintance up-stairs, and was led into a neat bedchamber. the lady entered it, bade emma enter, locked the door, and then, sinking on the floor before the astonished child, exclaimed with evident emotion: "have i found you at last, my dear, dear child?"

emma was startled at the lady's tone, and for the fist time felt alarmed.

"i ain't your child," she said. "what makes you call me so?"

"are you not my dear little mary?" said the lady.

"no, my name isn't mary. my name is emma."

"did they change your name, my dear child? was it not enough to take you away from me, without changing your name?"

"i don't know what you mean," said emma, ore and more alarmed. "i want to go back to ben."

"would you leave your mother, my child?"

"you are not my mother. let me go."

emma ran to the door, but it was locked, and the key was in the lady's pocket.

"i cannot let you go, my dear child. you have been away from me too long already. i have been very lonely without you."

her tone was still kind—it had never varied—but emma was thoroughly frightened.

"let me go!" she began to cry. "i want to go to ben."

the lady looked at her in mingled grief and wonder.

"can a child turn from her own mother to a stranger?" she said musingly. "she forgets that she is my little mary. she no longer loves me."

"my name is emma," said the little girl. "why did you take me away from ben?"

help was at hand, though it came from a stranger.

a knock was heard at the door, and the lady rose and opened it. the newcomer was a little younger than the lady already mentioned, but bore such a resemblance to her as to indicate that she was her sister. she looked at surprise at emma.

"where did you get this child, clara?" she asked.

"it is my little mary. don't you see that it is?"

"you are mistaken, clara. your little mary is in heaven."

"she has come back again. this is she. don't you see that it is she?" asked the lady called clara earnestly.

"my poor sister," said the younger lady compassionately, "you are mistaken. this is not your little mary. where did you find her? to whom does she belong?"

emma had listened to this conversation with interest, feeling that it concerned her. she answered the question herself.

"i belong to ben," she said.

"where is ben?" asked the younger lady.

"he is at the big stone chimney. he was going up to the top. he left me with her."

"you mean the monument, don't you, my dear child?"

"yes, ma'am."

"is this true, clara?"

"yes," the elder sister admitted.

the younger lady looked perplexed.

"you did wrong, clara, to take the little girl from her brother. he will feel very anxious about her.

"she said she would buy me some candy," said emma.

"could i see my child, and not claim her?" said clara.

"i am not your child. what makes her say i am her child?"

"my dear," said the younger lady gently, "my poor sister lost her little girl not long since. she has not been well since. when she saw you to-day she thought you were her little mary."

"i want to go back to ben. what will ben say?"

"certainly, you must go back to your brother. come, my child, we will try to find him."

emma went down-stairs with her new friend. clara did not attempt to hinder her, but seated herself with an air of dependency in an armchair, and buried her face in her hands.

"i am afraid ben has gone away," said emma.

"it is very perplexing," said the young lady to herself. "we will go out and try to find your brother. if we cannot, you can tell me where your home is and i will take you there."

"i don't know exactly where it is," said emma; "i have never been there. i came from new york. i am going to board with ben's aunt."

"and you don't know where she lives? you don't know the name of the town."

emma shook her head.

"my poor sister has done great mischief," said the young lady gravely. "i must do my best to remedy it."

they went out into the street together.

meanwhile, ben, in great trouble of mind, remained in the neighborhood of the monument for ten minutes or more.

"perhaps the lady has taken emma on a little walk," he thought. "perhaps she thought i wouldn't be down so soon."

ben felt that it was very inconsiderate, but he would not at first believe that there was anything really wrong. but when ten minutes has passed he became alarmed, and began to blame himself.

"aunt was right," he thought. "i wasn't fit to be trusted with the care of a little girl. what shall i say to mr. manning? what shall i do?"

he looked about him in despairing bewilderment. streets radiated from the monument in several different directions. which should he take? if he took any, there was not more than one chance in four that it would prove the right one.

he was still standing there when the gentleman who had gone up with him descended.

"where is the little girl?" he asked.

ben explained his trouble.

"don't be alarmed, my boy," said the gentleman, in a tone of sympathy; "i will help you. sooner or later we shall hear of the child."

"what shall i do?" asked ben.

"it is possible the child may be brought back. i will remain here to receive her if she comes, and you may go and search for her. come back in about half-an-hour."

ben started on his quest, and with feverish haste he explored street after street, but in vain. with sad heart he retraced his steps to the monument. what was his joy to find emma returned, and in charge of the gentleman he had left behind and another lady.

an explanation was given, to which ben paid little attention, such was his joy at the recovery of his young charge.

"what time is it, sir?" he inquired of his companion.

"five minutes to five."

"then we are too late for the train," exclaimed ben, in dismay.