les and fruit--now, in the season."

"I heard something yesterday," resumed Miss Castlevaine, "that I
guess you won't like--I don't know what we're coming to! Miss
Major got it in a roundabout way through one of the managers, and
it may not be true; but they say they're going to cut out our
Wednesday pudding and our Sunday pie!" Her little blue eyes glared
at her listeners.

Juanita Sterling dropped back in her chair. "What next!" she
ejaculated.

"They'll be keeping us on mackerel and corned beef yet!" snapped
Miss Castlevaine. "As if we didn't pay enough when we came here to
insure us first-class board for the rest of our lives' I gave them
three thousand dollars--I was a fool to do it!--and I have been
here only two years! If they keep that woman much longer--!" The
flashing eyes and set lips finished the sentence.

"Well, ain't that great!" cried Miss Crilly. "I didn't bring any
such pile as you did, Miss Castlevaine, but that isn't to the
point! They've got more money 'n they know what to do with! What
they saving their old barrelful for, anyway? Not a scrap o'
dessert from one week's end to another--goodness gracious me!"

CHAPTER VIII

WAITING TO BE THANKED

Juanita Stirling sat alone with her roses, trying to think it all
out. The other ladies were down in the parlor, where Mrs. Nobbs
was reading aloud; but to-night Egyptian archaeology had no charm
for the possessor of the pink roses. How could she wander through
prehistoric scenes while somebody was waiting to be thanked!
Somebody--but who? The roses knew! Yet they would not tell!
Little quivers of light fluttered in and out of their alluring
hearts, almost as if they said, "We are telling! We are telling!
Only you will not understand!" The woman gazed wistfully at
them--and sighed. The secret of the roses held her through the
long, still hours of the evening. What possible reason could the
superintendent have had for withholding the name, unless--! She
shook her head and sternly chided her cheeks for rivaling the
roses. If only Polly hadn't--but was it Polly? Had not that name
appeared before Polly spoke? She clinched her teeth in scorn for
herself. "'There's no fool like an old fool,'" she muttered
contemptuously. No doubt it was Georgiana Lake. To-morrow she
would write Mrs. Lake a note of thanks. There would be no risk in
that. Yes, she would do it! She would be a fool no longer! And
if the roses chuckled over