quarrels—they have occasionally among themselves, I would suggest that it is possible—just possible—that the gardener, during the night, thus carefully displaced these things—not with any wicked object in view—but merely for the purpose of annoying the maids."
"A very proper suggestion," observed the reverend gentleman, who, finding that stilts wouldn't do, came down. "Very proper, indeed. It is possible: nay, highly probable."
"But," observed Sylvester, "Judkins has lost all his clothes!"
"Have you lost anything of value, ma'am?—anything out of this room?" inquired Legge.
"Not a single thing! Oh! by-the-bye," she added, "where's the silver tankard?"
They looked round the room: it was not to be seen: nor could they see the salver upon which it had stood. Presently, however, the reverend gentleman perceiving something under the couch, removed it, and there found, not only the tankard and salver, but the bread, butter, ham, and a bundle of clothes, which were instantly known to belong to Judkins!
This altered at once the complexion of things. It was then quite clear to them all, that this confusion had been created with no felonious intention; and as it was plain that no entrance had been forced, Aunt Eleanor, as well as her reverend friend, felt convinced, that with the motive assigned by Legge, the things had been thus disturbed by Judkins.
Legge, however, now had a doubt on the subject, and gave Judkins the benefit of that doubt without delay. "1 do not," said he, "think it was the gardener now."
"Oh!" cried the Pastor, "the case is clear against him! Look at his clothes! How came they here?"
"The very fact," returned Legge, "of their being here, tends to convince me, that he is not, after all, the man. I think that if he had done it, he would not have left his clothes—for I do not believe that he has sufficient art to leave them in order that all suspicion might be removed, on the ground that no man, in his senses, would thus convict himself. If he left them at all, he could only have left them for the purpose of having it said, 'Oh, it couldn't have been him: he would never have been such a fool!' and I do not think that he is artful enough for that."
"There's no telling," observed the reverend gentleman. "Really the world has got to such a pitch that there's no such thing as knowing the human heart at all."
"But," said Aunt Eleanor, "if it were not Judkins, who on earth could it have been?"
"1 can't imagine," returned Legge; "still I would not too hastily condemn him. All I can say is, that this was not done by any one of the party at my house last night."
"I believe it," said Aunt Eleanor; "firmly believe it."
"And so do I now," observed the reverend gentleman. "I did at first think that they had done it by way of a frolic, which, in the house of a lady, would have been of course disgraceful. However, as it is, I
