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LITTLE FOLKS:

_A Magazine for the Young._

_NEW AND ENLARGED SERIES._

CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED.

_LONDON, PARIS & NEW YORK._

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

[Illustration]




A LITTLE TOO CLEVER.

_By the Author of "Pen's Perplexities," "Margaret's Enemy," "Maid
Marjory," &c._

CHAPTER XVI.--IN LONDON.


[Illustration]

"What is the meaning of this--this gross outrage?" stammered
Grandpapa Donaldson, growing very red and angry. "By what right do
you molest peaceful travellers? Go on, my dear," he added, addressing
Mrs. Donaldson. "You and Effie go on; I will join you directly."

"We will wait for you, father," Mrs. Donaldson said, in a sweet,
pensive voice. "What do these gentlemen want?"

"You cannot leave the carriage, madam," one of the men said, placing
himself firmly against the door, and drawing a paper from his pocket.
"I hold here a warrant for the apprehension of John and Lucy Murdoch,
who put up last night at the 'Royal Hotel' at Edinburgh, and engaged
a first-class compartment by the Scotch morning express."

"You are making a mistake," Mrs. Donaldson said quietly. "Our name is
not Murdoch."

"A mistake you will have to pay dearly for!" the old gentleman cried
irascibly. "It is preposterous, perfectly preposterous!"

Elsie stood by, listening with all her ears, quite unable to
understand the meaning of this strange scene, any more than that old
Mr. Donaldson was evidently very annoyed and angry about it. When the
words "John and Lucy Murdoch" fell on her ear, she gave a little
start, for Meg's remarks came back to her mind, filling her with
curiosity. Fortunately, no one was observing her, and her momentary
confusion passed unobserved in the gloom of the carriage. Not for
worlds would she have betrayed Meg.

"Effie dear," Mrs. Donaldson said sweetly, "have you the book
grandpapa gave you, and my umbrella?"

"Yes, mamma; here they are," Elsie returned, as readily as she could.
Never before had it seemed so difficult to bring out the word
"mamma" naturally.

It was the answer that Mrs. Donaldson wanted.

"Then we are quite ready," she returned. "Please do not detain us any
longer than you are obliged," she said haughtily to the man who held
the carriage door; "my little girl is very tired."

"Sorry for that," the stranger said, eyeing Elsie curiously. The
officer had been examining the various items of luggage, peering
under the seats, taking stock of everything. They seemed a trifle
undecided about something, Elsie thought.

When the man had completed his search, he turned to Elsie. "What is
your name, my little girl?" he asked kindly, but with his eyes fixed
upon her face.

"Effie Donaldson," Elsie replied, not daring for Duncan's sake to
speak the truth.

"How long have you known this lady?" he asked.

"It is mamma," Elsie answered, slowly and timidly, "and my Grandpapa
Donaldson."

The man said a few words in a low tone to the other, and then turned
again to the old gentleman.

"I am sorry to be obliged to detain you," he said, more respectfully
than he had hitherto spoken. "My directions are to take into custody
a lady and gentleman travelling from Edinburgh in a specially-engaged
compartment. The little girl is not mentioned in my warrant, but I
regret that she must be included. No doubt you will be able to set it
straight. I advise you to come quietly, and then no force will be
used."

"Come quietly, indeed! I refuse to come at all!" the old gentleman
exclaimed. "You are exceeding your authority, and will get yourself
into trouble. Read me your warrant."

Elsie listened silently while the officer read out something about a
lady dressed as a widow passing under the name of Thwaites, and a
gentleman, calling himself her brother, who had left the "Royal
Hotel" that morning, and travelled to London in a specially-engaged
carriage. This perplexed Elsie very much, for she remembered what Meg
had said of the gentleman she had been told to call Uncle William,
"then he passes himself off as her brother, and he's her husband all
the time," which seemed strangely like what the man had just read,
except for the name Thwaites, which Elsie had never heard.

"Why, it's most absurd!" the old gentleman cried. "The only point of
similarity is that of my daughter being a widow. You have not the
slightest ground for identifying us with the description you hold."

"Nevertheless, I am compelled to take you before a magistrate, where
you can explain to his satisfaction," the officer replied firmly,
drawing from his pocket some strange instruments, looking like clumsy
bracelets, with heavy chains linking them together.

Mrs. Donaldson uttered a faint scream, and sank back on the carriage
seat. The man, without a word, proceeded to clasp them on Mr.
Donaldson's wrists, while the old gentleman fumed and stamped about
the carriage.

A signal brought up several porters and the guard of the train, who
crowded round the door, eager to see the exciting scene.

"Take this child in your arms and keep before me," one of the
officials said in peremptory tones to a porter, who lifted Elsie up,
and stood in readiness, while the "fairy mother" and Grandpapa
Donaldson were assisted to alight.

"That's a queer go!" said the guard, eyeing the old gentleman with a
broad stare of astonishment. "It was a gentleman looking quite
different that got in the train at Edinburgh."

"Are you quite certain of that?" the officer asked him.

"I'm pretty certain. They, as near as possible, missed the train. I
was just starting her when they came flying across the platform. I
caught sight of them with the little one between, being jumped almost
off her feet. They couldn't have more than got in when we began to
move."

"You didn't look into this compartment at any of the places you
stopped at, then?" the officer asked.

"I caught sight of the lady and the little girl once as I passed
along the train at Carlisle," the man replied. "I don't remember
noticing the gentleman, but I fancy he was asleep, with a large silk
handkerchief over his head."

"Name and address, please?" the officer said, drawing out a
pocket-book, in which he wrote quickly a few lines.

The lady and gentleman were then conducted across the station, one of
the officers, who were both dressed quite plainly, walking on either
side of them. They attracted very little attention as they passed
quickly on, only the people close at hand turning to stare. In less
than two minutes they were inside a cab, one officer accompanying
them inside, another taking his seat on the box.

After a jolting, uncomfortable drive of some distance, they passed
through some gates into a great courtyard, which seemed to be
surrounded by a huge dark mass of buildings. Here the officer sprang
out and helped them to alight.

Some other men in uniforms came out of a doorway and crowded round
the prisoners. The officer who accompanied them gave some directions
concerning Elsie, to which she was listening, and trying in vain to
understand, when Mrs. Donaldson burst out sobbing, exclaiming wildly,
"Will you part me from my child? Anything but that! Do what you will
with me, only let my child be with me. She will perish with fright.
Father, I implore you, do not let them be so cruel! Effie, my
darling, do not leave me!"

Elsie tried to move towards her, but was held firmly by the hands of
one of the policemen. She was dreadfully frightened and bewildered,
and would have clung to Mrs. Donaldson, had she been allowed, in her
dread of facing new and unknown terrors.

But not a chance was given to her. She was quite helpless in the
strong grasp that held her firmly, though not harshly. Mrs. Donaldson
began to catch her breath quickly, as two men caught hold of her arms
and began to lead her along, while the one who had charge of Elsie
led her away in another direction. The next moment Elsie heard a
piercing scream, and turning her head, saw what, as far as she could
make out, appeared to be the resisting, struggling form of the
unfortunate "fairy mother" being carried into the hall by two men.


CHAPTER XVII.--IN A STRANGE PLACE.

Elsie was presently delivered into the hands of a woman, who asked
her, not unkindly, whether she wanted food. Elsie was much too
fatigued and perturbed to think of eating, so the woman told her she
must undress herself and go to bed. She was taken to a large bare
room where there were other children asleep in small hard beds. One
was apportioned to her, and the woman stood by while she undressed.

Elsie wondered very much what sort of place this could be, and why
Mrs. Donaldson had not been allowed to take her with her. She puzzled
her head over it in vain. Only one thing was clear: that both her
companions had been brought here against their will, and were very
angry about it.

Perhaps Elsie would have thought more about her own discomfort and
loneliness if her mind had been less exercised about Duncan. She
wondered what had happened to him after she had been parted from him
by that shameful trick of the wicked "fairy mother." How angry and
indignant she felt when she thought of it! Had Duncan wanted her?
She seemed to see him lying up in that dark, stifling garret,
perfectly still, on the dirty, unwholesome bed. She crept up and
touched him. He was cold and dead. Then her mother came in, with
grannie and Robbie following in slow procession behind. They were
dressed in beautiful white robes like angels, and as they passed to
the bedside they each in turn looked at her with stern, reproachful
eyes. Then her mother lifted Duncan in her arms and carried him away,
closing the door after them, and leaving her quite alone. They had
seen her, but would have nothing to do with her.

She started up and rubbed her eyes, scarcely able to believe she had
not seen those faces. Then she peered timidly round the room, and
gradually recollecting all that had taken place, knew that it was a
dream.

After an uninviting breakfast of dry bread and water gruel, she was
placed in