"Why, she went up to Miss Twining's room, late one night, and
carried a riding-whip,--she had threatened that afternoon to 'flog'
her--and it upset Miss Twining and brought on a fainting turn. Now
Miss Sniffen keeps her locked in all the time! I don't know what
she would do if it weren't for Mrs. Albright! She rooms right
across the hall, and her key fits the lock; so she goes in every
little while. There's a card on her door, saying she's too ill to
see visitors."

"That is the feeble-minded one, isn't it?"

"No!" flashed Polly. "She's not feeble-minded any more than you
are! That's just a bluff! Miss Sniffen got scared and made up all
that rubbish! Miss Twining is beautiful. I love her--oh, I love
her dearly! She writes the nicest poetry! Father says it is real
poetry, too."

"Why did Miss Sniffen wish to whip her?"

"Just because she wouldn't tell who gave her some money. She
couldn't--she had promised not to! And it was her own money! But
I must begin at the beginning, or you can't understand."

Polly drew a long breath, and recounted the details of the sad
story.

"The next morning I happened to go over to see Miss Nita," she
concluded, "and Mrs. Albright told me this. Miss Crilly was there,
too. Miss Crilly rooms right next to Miss Twining and heard a good
deal; but she didn't dare to stir."

Nelson Randolph gazed at Polly with troubled eyes, and rested his
arm upon his desk.

"David Collins overheard something one night," she went on. "He
was going up Edgewood Avenue when he came upon Mrs. Nobbs and a
man,--probably her brother,--and what Mrs. Nobbs was saying made
him keep along behind them, instead of passing as he was intending
to do."

As the talk was repeated, the listener's face grew stern, and when
Polly came to the end of her story he fingered the little silver
elephant upon his desk before he spoke.

"You say that the board is not what it should be?"

"It is poor, dreadfully poor, Mr. Randolph. Lately they've had
stale meat and sour bread--and hardly any fruit or green vegetables
all summer long!"

"Yet her accounts stand for expensive roasts, lamb chops, early
fruits when they are highest in price--the best of everything!"

"They never get on the table," asserted Polly. "Miss Nita and the
others have spoken again and again of their wretched living. And
the cooking is awful!"

"I am told that she pays her cook fifty dollars a month."

"I don't know what she pa