dripped on a
stone flagging near the back door. He drank the pan of water Cleo drew
for him, shook himself vigorously, then started in for a "sniffing
tour," as Madaline described the canine method of investigation. He
was left quite alone and to his own resources while the girls continued
in their attempt to gather up Reda's things.

"I feel queer to go among her trinkets," said Mary. "She was always so
careful no one should see her belongings."

"All old people are that way," said Madaline, who was having the time
of her life pulling trash out of the big rattan trunk. "You don't
intend to send all this stuff, do you, Mary?" she asked.

"Oh, no, certainly not," Mary replied, "but it is rather hard to tell
the hay from grass in Reda's wardrobe."

"And I must say," put in Grace, "she had a queer idea of the uses of a
bureau. Just look at all the moldy roots and growing things!" Grace
was gingerly touching the "moldy things" in a rather vain attempt at
exploring the depths of the old mahogany bureau drawers.

"Don't throw any of those away," warned Mary, "because--well, because
they might grow into pretty orchids, you know," she finished, with such
a poor attempt at disguising her real meaning that it almost shouted
out past her actual words.

"Of course they must be flower bulbs," assented Grace, "but fancy
keeping them in a bureau drawer!"

Bits of bright ribbons, odds and ends of lace, so much lace of all
kinds, and such a tangle of threads, strings, tapes and almost
everything that could snarl up, was dragged out by Madaline from a work
box, that she jammed the whole mass back in despair. "She won't need
any of that," Cleo decided, "and I guess some new sewing stuff will be
welcome whenever Reda gets a chance to use it."

"But she must have her thimble," insisted Mary. "Just wait until I get
this dress and shawl in the box, and I'll try to find it--I think she
kept it there."

"Oh, look here," called Madaline. "Here is a cute little secret place
in the work box. See, the top comes out when you press here." As she
pressed the indicated spot in the finely inlaid box a secret drawer
shot out. This was literaly crammed with papers, printed and written,
and even here were the remains of the dried roots, the dust of bulbs,
and the powder of dried leaves.

"Should we look over her papers?" asked Madaline, again referring to
Mary.

"Well, I don't believe we should," decided the girl, whose face was