me. I am as modest as most of my sex, but I am not
squeamish. Corset laces are strings, and as such only I present them to
your notice.) I should like to have added a button-hook to my
collection, but not having as yet discarded the neatly laced boot of my
ancestor, I could only produce a small article from my toilet-service
which shall remain unmentioned, as I presently discarded it and turned
my whole attention to the other objects I have named. A poor array, but
out of them I hoped to find the means of fishing up my lost whistle.

My intention was to lower first a lighted candle into the hole by means
of a string tied about its middle, then to drop a line on the whistle
thus discovered and draw it up with the point of a bent hairpin, which I
fondly hoped I could make do the service of a hook. To think was to try.
The candle was soon down in the hole, and by its light the whistle was
easily seen. The string and bent hairpin went down next. I was
successful in hooking the prize and proceeded to pull it up with great
care. For an instant I realized what a ridiculous figure I was cutting,
stooping over a hole in the floor on both knees, a string in each hand,
leading apparently to nowhere, and I at work cautiously steadying one
and as carefully pulling on the other. Having hooked the string holding
the whistle over the first finger of the hand holding the candle, I may
have become too self-conscious to notice the slight release of weight on
the whistle hand. Whatever the reason, when the end of the string came
in sight there was no whistle on it. The charred end showed me that the
candle had burned the cord, letting the whistle fall again out of reach.
Down went the candle again. It touched bottom, but no whistle was to be
seen. After a long and fruitless search, I concluded to abandon my
whistle-fishing excursion, and, rising from my cramped and undignified
position, I proceeded to pull up the candle. To my surprise and delight,
I found the whistle firmly stuck to the lower side of it. Some drops of
candle grease had fallen upon the whistle where it lay. The candle
coming in contact with it, the two had adhered, and I became indebted to
accident rather than to acumen for the restoration of the precious
article.

XIX

A KNOT OF CRAPE

I was prepared for some change in the appearance of my young hostesses,
but not for so great a one as I saw on entering the dining-room that
memorable morning. The blinds, which