ing the envelope, Melvina appeared in the doorway.

"Let me see it," said Ellen.

She took it in her hand and, while Melvina held the candle, examined the
package critically.

"Humph!" she muttered. "It's good as new."

For some unaccountable reason she seemed disappointed at the discovery.

"Now run downstairs and put it in the stove," she commanded excitedly.
"Wait till every smitch of it's burned up an' then come back."

"Yes, marm."

But again Melvina loitered.

"I tell you the thing is mine to do with as I please," declared Ellen
angrily.

"Yes, marm."

"Ain't you going?"

"Y-e-s."

As she heard the nurse's reluctant step on the stairs, an evil light came
into the old woman's face.

"I'll fix that!" she whispered aloud.

It took Melvina some time to fulfill her errand, but at length she
returned, and the moment she was inside the door Ellen's shrill query
greeted her:

"Well, did you burn it?"

"Yes, marm."

"Every scrap of it?"

"Yes."

"You didn't leave nothin'?"

"No."

The woman in the bed drew a satisfied breath.

"That's all right then. Now get me a drink of water, an' I'll go to
sleep."

The sleep she craved, however, did not come, for throughout the night she
continued to move unceasingly.

"Your aunt didn't so much as close her eyes," announced Melvina to Lucy
the next morning, while the two sat at breakfast. Nevertheless, although
she advanced this information, with characteristic secretiveness she said
nothing of the happenings of the previous evening.

Truly if "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from
troubles," Melvina's eternal serenity of spirit was assured.

CHAPTER XIV

A PIECE OF DIPLOMACY

When Lucy, radiant in her own happiness, entered her aunt's room, she was
surprised to find that all Ellen's recent anger had apparently vanished,
and that she had dropped into a lethargic mood from which it was difficult
to rouse her. It was not so much that the elder woman was out of
temper--that was to be expected--as that she seemed to be turning over in
her mind some problem which was either unsolved or unpleasant, and which
knitted her brow into a web of wrinkles, forcing her lips together with an
ominous curl.

Lucy, who stood at the table arranging a vase of freshly gathered pansies,
furtively studied the invalid's sullen reverie.

"How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Ellen?" she at last inquired with
courageous effort.

"No differe