“They’ve got a new rug down in the hall,” announced Miss Castlevaine. “’Most anybody could have new rugs if they stole the money to buy them with!”

“What do you mean?” was Miss Crilly’s quick query.

“You’d better not say anything about it; but I heard that Miss Twining wrote a poem for a Sunday-School paper and got eight dollars for it—­”

“My!” put in Miss Crilly.

“And,” went on Miss Castlevaine, “she bought a new shirt waist.  When she wore it Mrs. Nobbs asked her where she got it.  Like a simpleton, she told the whole story, so pleased to have earned the money, and never dreaming but that it was her own!  What did they do but make her give up the seven dollars she had left!  They did let her keep the waist—­she needed it badly enough.”  Miss Castlevaine shook her head, while comments flew fast.

“I’m sorry for Miss Twining,” sympathized Miss Crilly.  “She’s the kind that won’t sputter it all out, as I should; she’ll cry herself sick over it!”

“If we cried for all the hard things we have here,” said Mrs. Crump, “we shouldn’t have any eyes left!”

“I wonder if the directors know how things are going,” observed Miss Major.

“I bet they ain’t on to it!” Miss Crilly wagged her head decisively.

“But who’d dare tell ’em?” queried Mrs. Crump.

“Excuse me!” giggled Miss Crilly.

CHAPTER XI

“So mysterious”

“Are you busy?” asked Miss Leatherland at the threshold of Miss Sterling’s room.

“No, indeed!  I was wondering whether I’d go out on the veranda or sit here and mull.  I’m glad you’ve come.  Take this chair—­it’s the easiest.”

“Then I’ll leave it for you.”  She started toward another.

“No, I don’t like it!” Her hostess laughingly pushed her back.  “I’m too short for that one.  I’m always wishing I were as tall as you.”

Miss Leatherland blushed at the little compliment and smiled over it.

“I don’t know but I’m meddling in what is none of my business,” she began shyly.  “At first I thought I wouldn’t say anything; then I decided I would do as I’d wish to be done by.  I certainly should want to know anything of this kind—­though perhaps you know already.”

“What is it?  Nothing dreadful, I hope.”

“Oh, no!  Only it shows—­unless she has told you—­how things are going downstairs.”

She hesitated, as if not knowing just how to say what she had come to tell.

“You were home about four o’clock yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I met all of you down in the hall, you remember, and I thought it was along there.  Have you heard anything about a telephone message that came for you while you were away?”

“No—­was there one?”

Miss Leatherland bowed her head and drew her chair nearer.