ised to help you, and I will."

Elsie clasped her hands suddenly. "I can't do without your help," she
cried. "Dear Miss Saxon, you are one of the born helpers--some are born
hinderers, you know. Oh, how glad I am that I am come to you!"

"I'm glad too," Miss Saxon answered, with quiet warmth. And then they
walked away together in silence, across Portland Place and on to
Dashwood Street.

No. 132 was a house which looked as if it could never have contained
anything so old-fashioned as Elsie's table. It had been smartened up
till it looked more like a doll's house than a human habitation. In the
windows there were yellow muslin curtains tied with pink sashes, and
amber flower-pots holding sham plants of the most verdant hue. The maid
who opened the door exactly matched the house. She was like a cheap
doll, very smart, very pert, and capped and aproned in the latest style.

In answer to Miss Saxon's question she gave a curt reply.

"No; nobody of the name of Penn had ever lived in that house. Mrs. Dodge
was the mistress. She didn't know anything about the name of Penn. Mrs.
Dodge took the house about two months ago."

"Please take my card to Mrs. Dodge," said Elsie, in a manner which
instantly took effect.

They were invited to walk into a hall which smelt of new oil-cloth, and
were solemnly ushered into the room with the green linen plants and
yellow blinds. Presently Mrs. Dodge, dressed in harmony with her house,
came in with a rustle and a flourish. She was a big woman, with hair so
yellow and cheeks so rosy, that she seemed the very person to preside
over this gaily-coloured establishment.

At a sign from Miss Saxon, Elsie took the questioning into her own
hands. She described the table to begin with.

Mrs. Dodge was bland and civil. She had taken the house of her aunt, an
old lady who was getting too infirm to attend to lodgers. It was filled
from top to bottom with the most hideous old things, and she had put
them all into the broker's hands. She fancied she remembered the table,
but could not be certain; there were a good many queer old tables.

No; she had never heard the name of Penn. But she had a young sister who
knew all her aunt's friends better than she did. She should be called.

The sister was called, and proved to be a young and smiling copy of Mrs.
Dodge. She remembered that she had once seen Mrs. Penn, about two years
ago. Mrs. Penn was a small spare woman about fifty. Yes; Mrs. Penn had
let