h of her far-reaching arm.

"I wish you'd look at that pocket. I don't know how long this coat has
been hanging there, but there is a nest of field mice in it," she said.

Katy promptly retreated to the improvised dining table, seated herself
upon an end of it, and raised both feet straight into the air.

"Small help I'll be getting from you," said Linda laughingly.

She went to the edge of the declivity that cut back to the garage and
with a quick movement reversed the coat catching it by the skirts and
shaking it vigorously.

CHAPTER XXVII. The Straight and Narrow

This served exactly the purpose Linda had intended. It dislodged
the mouse nest and dropped it three feet below her level, but it did
something else upon which Linda had no time to count. It emptied every
pocket in the coat and sent the contents scattering down the rough
declivity.

"Oh my gracious!" gasped Linda. "Look what I have done! Katy, come help
me quickly; I have to gather up this stuff; but it's no use; I'll have
to take it to Peter and tell him. I couldn't put these things back in
the pockets where his hand will reach for them, because I don't know
which came from inside and which came from out."

Linda sprang down and began hastily gathering up everything she could
see that had fallen from the coat pockets. She had almost finished when
her fingers chanced upon a very soiled, befigured piece of paper whose
impressed folds showed that it had been carried for some time in an
inner pocket. As her fingers touched this paper her eyes narrowed, her
breath came in a gasp. She looked at it a second, irresolute, then she
glanced over the top of the declivity in the direction Peter had taken.
He was standing in front of the building, discussing some matter with
the contractor. He had not yet gone to the spring. Shielded by the
embankment with shaking fingers Linda opened the paper barely enough to
see that it was Marian's lost sheet of plans; but it was not as Marian
had lost it. It was scored deeply here and there with heavy lines
suggestive of alterations, and the margin was fairly covered with fine
figuring. Linda did not know Peter Morrison's writing or figures. His
articles had been typewritten and she had never seen his handwriting.
She sat down suddenly on account of weakened knees, and gazed unseeingly
down the length of Lilac Valley, her heart sick, her brain tormented.
Suddenly she turned and studied the house.

"Before the Lord!" s