“There is no honesty in such dealing.”—Shakespeare.

One day when Sophy had been trusted to go out alone to carry a few veal cutlets from luncheon to Judith, she found the door on the latch, but no one in the room downstairs, the chair empty, the fire out, and all more dreary than usual, only a voice from above called out, “Please come up.”

Sophy, pleased with the adventure, mounted the dark and rickety stairs, and found herself in the open space above, cut off from the stairs by a screen, and containing a press-bed, where Judith lay, covered by an elaborate patchwork quilt. There was a tiny dressing-table under the narrow lattice window, and one chair, also a big trunk-box, with a waggon-shaped lid, such as servants used to have in those days, covered with paper, where big purple spots of paint concealed the old print of some story or newspaper. On the wall hung a few black profiles, and all was very fairly neat, whatever the room might be shut off by a wooden partition, whence came a peculiar sour smell.

“Oh, it is Miss Sophia!” exclaimed Judith. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I thought it was Dame Spurrell, who said she would come and look in on me, or I would not have troubled you to come up.”

“I am glad I did, Judith; I like to see where you live. Only, are you worse?”

“No, miss, only as my back is sometimes, and my sister and all the children are gone to the hiring fair, so it was not handy to get me up.”

“And this is your room!” said Sophy, looking about her. “Isn’t it very cold?”

“Johnnie heats me a brick to keep me warm at night; but my feet are always cold downstairs. It does not make much difference.”

“Oh dear! And you have a screen, I see. Oh! Why, that is our drawing-room paper.”

She sat transfixed at the recognition, while Judith observed, quite innocently, with a free conscience—

“Yes, miss, my brother-in-law brought it home, and told me it was just a scrap that was left over, and he was free to have, though I said I did wonder the lady did not want to keep it in case of an accident happening.”

“Yes,” said Sophy, “I don’t think he had any business to have it, for all one division of the paper is put on upside down. The laburnums point up instead of hanging down, and I am sure Mary would have altered it if she could. It was beautiful French paper that Edmund brought home from Paris and laid up for the furnishing their house.”

This, of course, Mrs Carbonel and Dora would never have told poor Judith, but Sophy was young and unguarded, and apt to talk when she had better have held her tongue.

“I am sorry to hear it, miss, indeed I am. I am afraid one could not take it off the screen to put it back again where it did ought to be.”

Sophy looked, but it was manifestly impossible. Spoiling the screen would not mend the wall of the drawing-room.

“Perhaps Molly might have another bit left,” she said, only thinking of the triumph of carrying home the means of repairing the deficiency by her own unassisted sagacity.

“I will ask her, miss. I am sure I never thought Dan would go for to do such a thing,” mourned Judith, though, even as she spoke, there came back on her recollections of times when she had tried to be blind and deaf. “But if Mrs Carbonel would let me pay for it, miss, I should be easier in my mind. I have a shilling, though no doubt that is not the worth of it.” And she began feeling for a little box under her pillow, never mentioning that she had already paid Dan a shilling for it.

“No, no; nonsense, Judith! Of course my sister would not take it for the world; but if any one could find another bit, just to patch up the part above the book-case, it would be nice.”

“I will do what in me lays, Miss Sophy,” answered Judith.

So Sophy took her leave and trotted home, very proud of her discovery, which she communicated in an eager voice as the phaeton drew up at the front door.

“Oh, Edmund, I have found the rest of the drawing-room paper!”

“Hush! not so loud, my dear,” said Dora, getting out of the back seat, and Edmund, being busy in telling the groom to attend to something in the harness, did not heed at first.

“Did you know, Dora?” asked Sophy, in a lower voice, being struck by something in her repressive manner.

“Yes; but I did not tell, because Edmund was so much vexed, and it was of no use now.”

Dora really hoped no one had heard, as Mary was busy with her parcels, and she was too fond of Judith not to wish to shield her family; but it was too late. The captain came in with, “What’s this about the drawing-room paper?”

Sophy was delighted to pour out the history of her discovery, and tell how it appeared on the screen that sheltered poor Judith Grey.

“Exactly as I supposed,” said Captain Carbonel. “I always believed that fellow was a thief.”

“But it is not poor Judith’s fault,” exclaimed the sisters, with one voice.

“She knew nothing about it. She wanted to pay the shilling for it,” said Sophia.

The captain laughed a little.

“And she is going to search for a bit to go up there!” continued the girl more vehemently; and he laughed again.

“Yes,” said Mary, “if you only saw something of her, you would be convinced that her whole character is very different from that of the rest of the family.”

“Don’t you be taken in by plausibility,” said the captain. “I know that fellow Dan is a thief. I meant to tell his relation, George, that I won’t allow him to be employed on the new schoolroom. I shall do so now.”

“Would it not be better to forget what happened so long ago?” Mary ventured to say.

“And suppose Judith restores it,” added Sophia.

“Pshaw!” said the captain; but Mary followed him to the study, and what she did with him there her sisters did not know, but it resulted in his allowing that Dan might have another trial, with a sharp eye over him.

So unused was Uphill to the visits of ladies, that when the piece of French paper was sold to Judith, no one had thought of her being sought out in her bedroom. Molly came home with the children in the evening, tired out but excited—for all had had rather more beer than was good for them, and the children a great many more sweets. Jem and Judy were quarrelling over a wooden horse covered with white spots, but whose mane had already disappeared, Lizzie was sick, cross, and stupid, Polly had broken the string of her new yellow necklace, and was crying about it, and nobody had recollected the aunt except Johnnie, who presented her with a piece of thin gingerbread representing King George the Fourth, in white, pink, and gilt! Molly herself was very tired, though she said it was all very fine, and she had seen a lot of people, and the big sleeves they w............