"I wonder what Mr. Wells will have to say about her?" she asked.

"He can't steal her canary for she hasn't one," muttered Bob Strahan.

Mary Rose caught the words, low as they were uttered.

"You don't think Mr. Wells has my Jenny Lind?" She was so astonished
that her eyes popped as far open as they could pop. "He hates birds.
He told me so himself when I offered to lend her to him. And we're
friends. Not friends like us but sort of friends. I'm sure he didn't
take her," she insisted. "I must go now. Aunt Kate said I could only
stay a minute. Good night."

"I wish I could be as sure of old Wells as she is," Bob Strahan said
when the door closed behind her.

Mary Rose hesitated as she came to Mr. Wells' door. She did not
believe that he had taken Jenny Lind and if he heard that people
thought he had, he would be so hurt and grieved. She would have to
stop and tell him that she didn't believe it, anyway, not for a moment,
and if he wanted to borrow her goldfish any time, he could. She'd be
glad to loan them to him. That would show how she trusted him. She
knocked rather timidly. Mr. Wells, himself, opened the door.

"What d'you want?" he demanded gruffly. He had a letter in his hand
and he made Mary Rose feel as if she had interrupted very important
business.

"I just stopped to tell you that no matter what other people say I know
you didn't steal Jenny Lind," she stammered.

"Steal Jenny Lind!" he thundered. His face was one black frown. "Who
said I did? Come in." He motioned toward the living-room.

"Everybody's saying so," faltered Mary Rose. "But I know you better
than they do. You couldn't steal the only pet a little orphan girl
had, could you?"

Mr. Wells opened his mouth twice before he could say a word and then he
only grunted a sentence that Mary Rose could not understand. He threw
the letter he held on the table. An enclosure dropped from it and Mary
Rose saw that there were Kewpies across the top of the paper. She
recognized the writing also.

"Why--why!" she stammered. She was so surprised that she could
scarcely speak at all. "That's my letter, the one I wrote to the owner
of this very house."

A dull red crept up Mr. Wells' face into his grizzled hair. "Yes, I
know," he rumbled. "I'm a lawyer and the owner is a client of mine.
He gave it to me so I could advise him what to do."

"And what will you advise?" asked Mary Rose after a breathless silence.
Her heart wa