ry which she had to illustrate the following
week, and Mary came home a bundle of tingling sympathies and burning
desires to sacrifice her life to some charitable work for neglected
children.

She was also a-tingle with another thought. At the corner where they
changed cars on the way to the Mission, she had made a discovery. The
bank where St. Boniface deposited its money loomed up ahead of them,
massive and grim. The name showed so plainly on the brilliantly
illuminated corner, that it almost seemed to leap towards them. It would
be an easy matter to find by herself. Now she need not ask anybody, but
could slip away from the girls early in the morning, and be on the steps
first thing when the doors opened.

Fortunately for her plans, Joyce announced that they would have an early
breakfast, in order that she might begin work as soon as possible. Mrs.
Boyd and Lucy had not returned with them the night before, but had gone
back to Brooklyn to finish their visit with their friends immediately
after the exercises at the Mission. So only a small pile of dishes
awaited washing when their simple breakfast was over. Mary insisted on
attending to them by herself so that Betty could begin her story at
once.

"Strike while the iron is hot!" she commanded dramatically. "Open while
opportunity knocks at the door, lest she never knock again! I'll gladly
be cook-and-bottle-washer in the kitchen while genius burns for artist
and author in the studio! Scat! Both of you!"

So they left her, glad to be released from household tasks when others
more congenial were calling. They heard her singing happily in the
kitchenette, as she turned the faucet at the sink, and then forgot all
about her, in the absorbing interest of the work confronting them. With
so many conveniences at hand the washing of the dainty china was a
pleasure to Mary, after her long vacation from such work. Quickly and
deftly, with the ease of much practise, she polished the glasses to
crystal clearness, laid the silver in shining rows in its allotted
place, and put everything in spotless order.

Joyce heard her go into the bath-room to wash her hands, and thought
complacently of Mary's wonderful store of resources for her own
entertainment, wondering what she would do next. She had been asking
questions about the roof garden, and how to open the scuttle. Probably
she would be investigating that before long, getting a bird's-eye view
of the city from the chimney tops