od off, the better to
admire them. "Wouldn't I rave if they belonged to yours truly!
How can you folks take them so coolly?"

Juanita Sterling laughed. "I had my time when they first came!"

"You say it all, so we don't need to," laughed Mrs. Albright.
"They are beauties, that's a fact!"

Miss Crilly sat down, her eyes still on the flowers. "I don't see
a card anywhere," she nodded. "Ain't that proof positive?" winking
toward Mrs. Albright.

"There was none," smiled Miss Sterling.

"You don't mean you don't know who sent 'em?" Miss Crilly queried.

"Just that. Either the sender forgot to put in her card or she
didn't wish me to know."

"I bet 't isn't a 'her'!" giggled Miss Crilly. "Don't you, Mis'
Albright?"

That lady twinkled her answer. "I shouldn't wonder."

A soft knock sent Miss Sterling to the door, and Miss Castlevaine
came in.

Miss Crilly showed off the roses with all the pride of a possessor.

"I guess I saw them down in the lower hall," smiled Miss
Castlevaine knowingly. "There was a long box on the desk."

"You did? And ain't it funny?" Miss Crilly ran on,--"she don't
know who sent 'em!"

"Perhaps Miss Sniffen could tell you."

Miss Sterling looked up quickly.

"What do you mean?" asked Miss Crilly.

Miss Castlevaine moved her chair nearer, listened intently, and
then began in a low voice: "I was coming up with a pitcher of hot
water, and you know there's a little place where you can see down
on the desk. Well, Miss S. was there fussing over a box, and I
said to myself, 'I guess somebody's got some flowers.' Then I saw
her lift the cover and slip out something white. I didn't see it
distinctly, for just as she took hold of it she looked up, and I
dodged out of sight. When I peeked down again she was dropping
something into a little drawer, and I came on as still as I could.
I thought then that whoever had those flowers wouldn't find out who
sent 'em!"

"It isn't right!" Mrs. Albright's comfortable face took on stern,
troubled lines.

"I'd go to the florist and find out," declared Miss Crilly.

"There's no name on the box." Miss Sterling drew a deep breath, and
indignation flushed her pale cheeks.

"I did suppose we could have what belonged to us, even here!
Things grow worse every day. Boiled tripe for dinner--ugh!" Miss
Castlevaine's face wrinkled with repugnance.

"And only potatoes to go with it," sighed Mrs. Albright. "It's too
bad we can't have green vegetab