his top floor? The maids who slept here were
all accounted for. She had seen them about the house. And Gregson, too. Of
course Mr. Lawdor and Mrs. Olstrom had their own rooms below.

Then who could it be who was being served on this upper floor? Helen was
more than a little curious. The sounds she had heard the night before
dove-tailed in her mind with these soiled dishes on the tray.

She was almost tempted to walk through the long corridor in which she
thought she had heard the scurrying footsteps pass the night before. Yet,
suppose she was caught by Mrs. Olstrom--or by anybody else--peering about
the house?

"_That_ wouldn't be very nice," mused the girl.

"Because these people think I am rude and untaught, is no reason why I
should display any _real_ rudeness."

She was very curious, however; the thought of the tray-load of dishes
remained in her mind all day.

At dinner that night even Mr. Starkweather gave Helen a glance of approval
when she appeared in her new frock.

"Ahem!" he said. "I see you have taken my advice, Helen. We none of us can
afford to forget what is due to custom. You are much more presentable."

"Thank you, Uncle Starkweather," replied Helen, demurely. "But out our way
we say: 'Fine feathers don't make fine birds.'"

"You needn't fret," giggled Flossie. "Your feather's aren't a bit too
fine."

But Flossie's eyes were red, and she plainly had been crying.

"I _hate_ the old books!" she said, suddenly. "Pa, why do I have to go to
school any more?"

"Because I am determined you shall, young lady," said Mr. Starkweather,
firmly. "We all have to learn."

"Hortense doesn't go."

"But you are not Hortense's age," returned her father, coolly. "Remember
that. And I must have better reports of your conduct in school than have
reached me lately," he added.

Flossie sulked over the rest of her dinner. Helen, going up slowly to her
room later, saw the door of her youngest cousin's room open, and glancing
in, beheld Flossie with her head on her book, crying hard.

Each of these girls had a beautiful room of her own. Flossie's was
decorated in pink, with chintz hangings, a lovely bed, bookshelves, a desk
of inlaid wood, and everything to delight the eye and taste of any girl.
Beside the common room Helen occupied, this of Flossie's was a fairy
palace.

But Helen was naturally tender-hearted. She could not bear to see the
younger girl crying. She ventured to step inside the door and whisper