the home of
Grace--a modern brick house of tasteful design. It had ample grounds
about it, though being rather new could not boast of such noble trees as
those that added dignity to the old stone house.

Amy Stonington lived in a large, rambling wooden structure, too large for
the needs of the family, but artistic nevertheless. It was just around
the corner from the residence of Betty, and the yards of the two girls
joined---if you can call the big orchard of Betty's home a "yard."

Mollie's home was near the river, about ten minutes' walk from that of
the other three girls. It was a wooden house of a dull red that mingled
well in tone with the green grass and the spreading trees that
surrounded it.

And now I believe I have mentioned my principal characters, and places,
though others will be introduced to you from time to time as our story
progresses.

So on this pleasant spring day, for one of the few times, Amy was not
brooding on the subject that had given her such uneasiness of late.
Nor were the other girls concerned with anything save the finding of
the five hundred dollar bill, which absorbed everything else for the
time being.

"Who could have lost it?" wondered Mollie.

"There aren't so many persons in Deepdale who can afford to throw away
money like this," added Amy.

"It wasn't thrown away--it was lost," declared Betty, "and we must find
the owner if we can."

"Especially after such a pathetic message," said Grace. "Poor fellow! His
last big bill!"

"What makes you think it was a _man_?" asked Amy.

"That isn't a girl's writing," insisted Grace.

"Fine! You'll be a detective if you keep on--or should I say
detectivess?" asked Mollie, with a laugh.

"I wonder what that note means?" inquired Mollie.

"Why," said Betty, "it seems to indicate that some young man ran
through a fortune--or lost it--and had only five hundred dollars left.
He was going to try to redeem his standing or wealth with this, and
probably wrote this to remind himself not to fail. I used to have a
habit of leaving my room untidy, and Daddy suggested once that I write
a notice to myself, and pin it where I would see it as I came out each
morning. I did, and I cured myself. This young fellow probably tried
the same system."

"What makes you think he is _young_?" Grace wanted to know.

"I'm following your line of reasoning--no elderly man would do
anything like this--write such a strange memorandum to himself. I'm
sure he