for beer at the Golden Lamb was greater than
it had been for years past, and in spite of his
sympathy with Fritz's trouble, old Kester
heartily enjoyed the bustle and importance of
his position.

"How was it, then, Hans?" asked a neighbour,
making the twentieth time the question
had been put that morning.

"Nobody knows. If they did, no need of
all this bother," was Hans's sententious
answer.

"But I mean, how does he think it
happened? There are no thieves hereabouts, you
know, and anything lost would be sure to be
given back to the owner."

"Oh, would it?" said Hans. "Then it's all
right."

In this laborious wayâ??but surely if vanity
feels no pain, curiosity heeds no troubleâ??bit
by bit, the story was dragged from Hans; and
this was his account. Fritz Rosenheim had
reached Ischl after nightfall, on the evening of
the day on which he left Gossau. The snow
had been falling for some hours, and man and
horse were stiff and cold and weary. Fritz
had driven into the court-yard of the inn, and
dismounted, leaving his horse and cart to the
care of a friendly ostler. But it was not long
beforeâ??being revived by warmth and meat and
drink, he had visited the stable to look first at his
beast, and then gone to the great room next
the porter's lodge on the ground floor, where
the luggage was deposited. Picture his
consternation at finding only two packages! The
leather-covered box was gone. All inquiries
and examination elicited the same statement
from the servants. There had been but the two
black trunks on the cart when Fritz arrived.
The testimony of the waiters, the porter, and
the ostler, was positive on this point.

"Indeed," said the man, who had helped
Fritz down, and afterwards unharnessed the
piebald, "I did notice that the top cord was very
loose, and seemed a deal too long, hanging down
behind; but the boxes were secured by straps,
so I thought it was all right enough."

Poor Rosenheim was like one distracted. The
travellers to whom the luggage belonged had
not yet arrived at Ischl, but they were expected
daily, and how should he face them? How face
the landlord of the Archduke Charles at
Salzburg, who had trusted him? The people of the
inn at Ischl tried to cheer him. The box had
most likely dropped on the road, and been
unheard falling on the soft snow. In that case it
would be restored as soon as possible. The people
were mostly honest enough in those parts. Every
inquiry should be made. But, up to the time of
Hans's arrival at Gossau, no tidings had been
heard of the missing box. Caspar Ebner had
come down to the Golden Lamb when the
rumour reached him, and stood listening to
Hans with the rest. There was a chorus of
comments, suggestions, and exclamations. All
at once Liese muttered,

"Perhaps Fritz himself knows more about
the box than any one else. He was mighty
careful of it when he was here."

"That's a lie, whoever said it," exclaimed
Ebner, turning quickly round. "Fritz Rosenheim,
whom I have known from a child, is as
honest in word and deed as the honestest man
in Gossau. I wonder anybody should have the
heart to cast a stone at him in his trouble."

If he had but known how near Kätchen came
to loving him at that moment! Liese scowled,
and launched what she thought to be a poisoned
arrow in reply:

"Oh, I know one mustn't say a word against
him here," said she. "I forgot he was Kätchen's
sweetheart."

That was the first revelation Ebner had as to
who was his rival. But he answered staunchly
and almost instantly,

"Not a word shall be said against him here
or anywhere else, whilst I am by to defend him.
I have known and employed Fritz Rosenheim
for years, and, I repeat, he is incapable of
dishonesty in word or deed."

Kätchen walked up to him before them all,
with streaming eyes, took his hand and kissed
it. It is a common mark of respect in that
country from inferiors to superiors. "You're
a good man," said she, with a great sob. This
little scene made a hush in the crowded
kitchen. All eyes were fixed on Kätchen, but
she did not seem to heed them. She was not
thinking of herself at all. Presently the neighbours
began to disperse. Not that they had by
any means satiated their curiosity, but it seemed
that Hans was becoming more and more
hopelessly laconic under the influence of the vast
potations of beer to which they had treated him
with the idea of making him talk. And, besides,
they had now fresh food for gossip, which could
not be discussed there. It was a memorable day
for the scandal-mongers of Gossau.

On the 10th of December will be published, stitched in a
cover, price Fourpence,

MUGBY JUNCTION.

THE EXTRA NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS.

CONTENTS.

BARBOX BROTHERS . . . . . By CHARLES DICKENS.
BARBOX BROTHERS AND CO. . . By CHARLES DICKENS.
MAIN LINE. THE BOY AT MUGBY . By CHARLES DICKENS.
NO. 1 BRANCH LINE. THE
SIGNALMAN . . . . . . . . } By CHARLES DICKENS.
NO. 2 BRANCH LINE. THE
ENGINE DRIVER. . . . . . . } By ANDREW HALLIDAY.
NO. 3 BRANCH LINE. THE
COMPENSATION HOUSE . . . . . } By CHARLES COLLINS.
NO. 4 BRANCH LINE. THE
TRAVELLING POST-OFFICE . . . } By HESBA STRETTON.
No. 5 BRANCH LINE. THE
ENGINEER 5. . . . . . . . . . } By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.