ar institution."

"What? You have been misinformed. That is nonsense. I know for certain
she has the children with her in Chicago. I heard from her only last
week. Here is the letter," he declared, slapping his pocket. "As for
starving and ill treating the children, Dink has had a generous check
from me every week. They have had money enough to live on the fat of
the land."

"Well, then, this Dink must have feathered her own nest with it. Would
you mind, Miss O'Gorman, telling Mr. Hunt what you know of my
children?"

And then Josie told in as few words as possible all she knew of Polly
and Peter and of the whereabouts of Dink.

"There is no use in my telling you how I know these things," she said,
"but it is enough to tell you I do know them, and I also know that the
children made their last breakfast with Miss Dingus, alias Hester
Broughton, alias Margery Dubois, on a pickle and a stale cream puff.
Miss Dubois is now doing a dance turn in Chicago with one Mike Brady.
She fondly imagines when you want to see the children she can come to
Dorfield and get them away from the Children's Home as easily as she
put them there. The fact is, Miss Dingus has more sense in her heels
than her head, and her heart was left out entirely when she was made.
She hopes, however, that she will finally become Mrs. Chester Hunt,
because otherwise she would not have kept these children with her at
all. She has fooled you and you have fooled her. In both cases I am
reminded of the old story in the fairy book called 'The Biter Bit.'"

Chester Hunt bowed his head. "You are right, Miss Josie Larson, alias
Miss O'Gorman, alias Miss Sherlock Holmes. I am bit and stung alike. I
thought at least I could depend on Cousin Dink. That honor among
thieves I was sure she had. But I see she is as bad as I am. I am going
now.

"Good-bye, Stephen. I won't even ask you to shake hands with me. As for
you, Mary, I won't even ask you to speak to me or look at me. I know
you hate me as you do a snake. Miss Josie Larson, I take off my hat to
you, as being wise in your generation. Tell me something, though, if
you don't think it is too frivolous. Did you put too much pepper on my
chop on purpose?"

Josie grinned. "Yes, and if I had not bane such a good Lutheran I would
have burnt your back when I ironed it. It was hard to keep my foot from
slipping again, but I have taken a pride in my laundry work and hated
to begin scorching anything--even your back."