ss that comes with long
tenure--and his physique was trim. No, she decided, he was probably a
fresh young assistant to an elder professor.

"Gretchen, dear." Miss Sadie's voice crackled behind her in a very
strange manner and Gretchen looked around. "I do fear I'm catching
some contagion, dear," Miss Sadie continued in a whisper, "can you
possibly mind the desk until closing?"

Gretchen hesitated for a moment. She had worked long enough in the
library to feel at ease, and with classes already in recess for the
Christmas holidays, there were few patrons. "Of course, Miss Sadie,"
she answered. "I do hope you're feeling better tomorrow."

"If not, I shan't be in," Miss Sadie replied in a very weak tone.
"I'll--I'll try to send word."

"I'll see to everything, Miss Sadie--just take care of yourself." She
paused. "And I'll inform Mr. Johnson--it's no trouble at all." With a
smile and a pitying wag of her head, she added, "Take good care of
yourself."

Miss Sadie thanked her, and took her leave. Gretchen was alone, at
last, if only for an evening, as temporary queen of the reference desk.
Well, it was about time she was asked to do something besides fetch
books, she thought airily, and took a seat at Miss Sadie's desk. Miss
Sadie was not very neat for a librarian, she thought, wiping a finger
across the desk, so she began to tidy a few things up. She put down a
fresh blotter and arranged the papers in a more orderly manner, then
opened a drawer in search of a cloth. Really, Miss Sadie is the
epitome of disorganization, she muttered, seeing the jumble. It's a
wonder that a woman like her can retain such a position.

Bing-bing! Gretchen looked up suddenly when the bell upon the front
counter sounded. Standing there with his hand poised above the bell
was the young man.

"May I be of assistance?" Gretchen asked, in her most librarian-like
tone.

The young man smiled. "I sincerely hope you can. I wonder if you
might be able to help me find this book?" He held out a small slip of
paper between two fingers. "It doesn't appear to be in the open
stacks."

Gretchen glided to the desk and took the slip of paper from him. A
glance at the number was sufficient. "You're correct," she told him,
handing the paper back. "It's in one of the special collections."

"I wonder, then, Miss..." He paused, drawing out the word into a
silence, until Gretchen felt obliged to fill the audible gap.

"Haviland," she