in the kitchen and pantry
first and then proceed to the other corners of the house. The
succession of incompetent servants that had been employed by the
present master of the old Waller house had left layers of dirt and
grease, each according to to her lights. Josie was bent upon getting to
the bottom of dirt as well as the mystery of what Chester Hunt was up
to.

"The better I do my work the more he will trust me. I do so hate to
steam open his mail," she wailed as there came a sharp ring and a thud
of falling letters through the slot in the front door.

If Chester Hunt could have peeped in on the new servant and had seen
her deftly sorting his mail, putting aside the advertisements and
invitations, carefully pocketing an official-looking envelope
postmarked from somewhere in Indiana and another sloppily written
envelope from Chicago, perhaps he would have changed his mind about her
lack of brains. The scouring of the kitchen must wait for a few moments
while the new maid-of-all-work held these two letters over the steaming
kettle just long enough to loosen the flaps, which she rolled back
neatly and carefully.

The official-looking letter was from a sanitarium in Indiana. This
Josie devoured greedily. It was merely a report from the physician in
charge concerning one of his patients. That patient was Mrs. Waller.

The letter stated that the lady was quite normal except for the fact
that she refused to believe her husband was dead. She spent much time
writing to her children and trying to devise means of getting the
letters mailed to them. She was evidently a far from meek patient and
was giving the attendants a good deal of trouble. The owner of the
sanitarium was willing to keep the lady longer if Chester Hunt, the
person in authority, decided she must stay. The rate would be
increased, however, as it was much more trouble to look after a normal
person than one more or less demented.

The letter was a cold, businesslike one. There was something in it,
read between the lines, that made Josie shudder. She no longer had any
qualms about having steamed open Chester Hunt's mail. She made a quick
copy of the letter in the cryptic characters taught her by her father,
carefully noting the address and date. She then sealed the letter
neatly and turned to the communication from Chicago.

As she had divined, it was from the faithless Dink. It was full of
reproaches to her darling Ches for not writing oftener and of deman