r mates already were.

Outside, the storm abated and the moon arose, lighting the scenery
with its brilliance and setting the still dripping trees aglitter with
its glory. Moonlight often made Dorothy wakeful and did so on this
eventful night. Its rays streaming across her unshaded window roused
her to sit up, and with the action came remembrance.

"My heart! That money! All those beautiful new bills that are to buy
pleasant things for my Party guests! I had it all spread out on the
library table when that crash came and I never thought of it again!
Nobody else, either, I fancy. I'll go right down and get it and I
mustn't wake the girls or Dinah. It was careless of me, it surely was;
but I know enough about money to understand it shouldn't be left
lying about in that way."

Creeping softly from her bed she drew on her slippers and kimono as
Miss Rhinelander had taught her pupils always to do when leaving their
rooms at night, and the familiar school-habit proved her in good stead
this time. Once she would have stopped for neither; but now folding
the warm little garment about her she tiptoed past old Dinah, snoring,
and down the thickly carpeted stairs, whereon her slippered feet made
no sound. Quite noiselessly she came to the library door and pushed
the portiere aside.

Into this room, also, the moonlight streamed, making every object
visible. She had glanced, as she came along the hall, toward the big
door, bolstered into place by the heavy settle and hat-rack; and the
latter object looked so like a gigantic man standing guard that she
cast no second look but darted within the lighter space.

Hark! What was that sound? Somebody breathing? Snoring? A man's snore,
so like that of dear Father John who used, sometimes, to keep her
awake, though she hadn't minded that because she loved him so. The
sound, frightful at first, became less so as she remembered those long
past nights, and mustering her courage she tiptoed toward the figure
on the lounge.

Old Ephraim! Well, she didn't believe Aunt Betty would have permitted
even that faithful servant to spend a night upon her cherished leather
couch; but the morning would be time enough to reprimand him for his
audacity, which, of course, she must do, since she stood now in Mrs.
Calvert's place, as temporary head of the family. She felt gravely
responsible and offended as she crossed the room to the table where
three chairs still grouped sociably together, exactly as th