uld in any business I know of. I want you to tell
him all this from me."

"Thank you so much," said Helen in her soft little voice. Then there
being nothing that she could think of to say, she stood waiting for Mrs.
Horton to speak. But Mrs. Horton wearily turned her gray face to the
wall and sighed.

"Would you mind if I go up and speak to Minnie?" Helen asked timidly.

"Not at all," answered Mrs. Horton. "It comforts me to know that there
is a child in the house. I think you will find Minnie in Rosanna's room.
You know the way."

Again she turned to the wall as though she had parted with hope, and
Helen ran quietly up the broad stairs and down the corridor to Rosanna's
room. Minnie was there sitting in her little sewing chair, mending a
dress of Rosanna's. Her tears fell on it as she worked.

"Don't do that, Minnie!" she said, throwing her arm around her. "I know
we will find Rosanna, and then everything will come out right."

She sat down on Minnie's lap, and told her everything that her father
had said, and all that Mrs. Horton had said, and then all about her
visit with Mary and Gwenny.

"As far as I go," said Minnie crossly, "the sooner they get all this in
the paper the better I will like it. Why, if there is one thing on earth
more than another that will stir folks up it is a lost child. All the
people, and the Boy Scouts and everybody will be hunting around
everywhere."

"And where do the Girl Scouts come in?" asked Helen hotly. "They will do
just as good work as the Boy Scouts will." She got up and commenced to
walk around the room. Minnie, having finished her sewing, arose too and
after a moment's thought produced from somewhere a silk duster, and
began wiping off the chairs and other furniture.

Helen watched her idly as she moved about the room, then the two large
portraits caught her attention.

"Wasn't Rosanna's mother beautiful?" she said, staring. "Her eyes seem
to look right at you as if she was trying to tell you something."

"I don't doubt she is, the dear saint!" said Minnie. "You can't begin to
know what a heap Rosanna thinks of those pictures. She used to want to
keep flowers in front of each one the way they do in churches in front
of the saints; but she didn't dare because she knew her grandmother
wouldn't let her. So she used to pick posies and tie little bunches and
slip them down behind the picture next the wall. She asked me if I
didn't think it would mean just as much. And I kn