"Maggie," said Elma, "I wish to speak to you."
"Oh lor! miss, how you startled me," cried Maggie. She jumped up as she
spoke, dropping Kitty's violets to the floor. They were so natural, so
beautiful, so exactly like the real flowers, that more than one girl had
remarked upon them, and among these had been Elma. As they lay on the
by-no-means-too-clean kitchen floor, she stooped now to pick them up.
"Where did you get these?" she asked in a sharp voice.
"Oh, Miss Helma, they're mine, and you have no right to 'em," was the
quick reply.
"Where did you get them, Maggie? You're a bad girl; you must have stolen
them."
"I steal 'em! I like that," said Maggie, turning first crimson and then
very white. "They was give to me by the young Irish lady."
"By Miss Malone, Miss Kitty Malone?"
"Yes, miss; the prettiest young lady I ever clapped eyes on; she give
'em to me herself."
"Look here, Maggie," said Elma, "the violets don't matter. Let us talk
of something else. Do you know anything about some money which I keep in
my drawer upstairs? Now look me straight in the eyes. I miss that money,
and you know I can call in the police and have your boxes searched. Do
you know anything about it? If you'll tell me the truth I'll be merciful
to you.
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