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"I do wish they wouldn't send those circulars to us. They're so disappointing, for half the time they look like real letters," said Judith, reaching an eager hand for her own mail. "I think they ought to keep them for older people who don't care so much. Oh, it is Mrs. Shelly, Miss Pat," she broke off, as she tore open the first envelope and began eagerly to scan the sheets.,

"It seems too good—after all those years at the boarding schools, and the scrimmage we had when the mortgage was foreclosed—to feel secure at last," said Elinor gratefully. "Everything seems to be heaping up to make us happy.",

A real love-letter ought to be like a cream puff with a drop of dynamite in it. Alfred's was that kind. I felt warm and happy down to my toes as I read it, and I turned round so that old Lilac Bush couldn't peep over my shoulder at what he said.,

"Oh, did he though?" cried Patricia, kindling. "How clever of him to see. I thought no one dreamed!"

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I reached into a trunk that stood just beside me and took out a box that I hadn't looked into for years. His letters were all there, and his photographs, that were very handsome. I could hardly see them through my tears, but I knew that they were dim in places with being cried over when I had put them away years ago after Aunt Adeline decided that I was to be married. I kissed the poor little-girl cry-spots; and with that a perfect flood of tears rose to my eyes—but they didn't fall, for there, right in front of me, stood a more woe-stricken human being than I could possibly be, if I judged by appearances.,

"Why?" said Etwald, with an agreeable smile. "There are two opinions about that. Mine is that I shall go free. Then," he added, coolly, "I intend to seek Barbadoes and search for that black witch in order to recover the Voodoo stone.",

"I may be a believer in votes for women," she said solemnly, clasping her vanity case so hard that she unconsciously shattered its clasp. "I may be a yellow suffragist, as Judy calls me, but I must say, men can make things mighty comfortable for you.",

When Etwald took his departure, Major Jen sent David to bed, in spite of the young man's remonstrances, but remained up himself to talk to Arkel. For a long time Jen discussed the matter with the inspector, but the conversation proved extremely unsatisfactory. Arkel was not a clever detective, or even a keen-witted man, and in a case like the present--difficult and involved--he was quite at a loss how to proceed. Finally, Major Jen dismissed him in despair, and while Arkel went to see his men, who were posted round the house--a clear case of shutting the stable-door after the steed was stolen--Jen remained alone to think of what he should do. "I must be my own detective," he thought, pacing the library. "This man is a fool. He will find out nothing, and I won't have even the satisfaction of burying the body of my poor lad. I must do the work myself, with the assistance of David. To find out who stole the devil-stick; that is the first step. To discover who killed Maurice; that is the second step. To learn who carried away his body; that is the third step. Three very difficult things to find out, and I don't see where to begin. I must learn all I can about Maurice's past life, for he may have enemies of whom I know nothing. Once I learn who his enemies are--if he had any--and I may discover the truth. I shall go and sleep, and when I awaken I shall set to work to solve these mysteries."