ely," said Betty eagerly. "I wouldn't want to go elsewhere."

"But it must be very hard for one like you to be thrown constantly with
illiterate, uncultured people."

Betty smiled dreamily:

"I don't think they are exactly uncultured," she said slowly.
"They--well, you see, they make a friend of God, and somehow I think
that makes a difference. Don't you think it would?"

"I should think it would," said Warren Reyburn reverently with a light
in his eyes. "I think, perhaps, if you don't mind my saying it, that
you, too, have been making a friend of God."

"I've been trying to," said Betty softly, with a shy glow on her face
that he remembered all the way back to the city.

CHAPTER XV

CANDACE CAMERON paced her little gabled room restively, with face
growing redder and more excited at every step. For several weeks now she
had been virtually a prisoner--albeit a willing enough one--in the house
of Stanhope. But the time had come when she felt that she must do
something.

She had gone quietly enough about a proscribed part of the house, doing
little helpful things, making herself most useful to the madam, slipping
here and there with incredible catlike tread for so plump a body,
managing to overhear important conversations, and melting away like a
wraith before her presence was discovered. She had made herself so
unobtrusive as to be almost forgotten by all save the maid Marie, who
had been set to watch her; and she had learned that if she went to bed
quite early in the evening, Marie relaxed her watch and went down to the
servants' quarters, or even sometimes went out with a lover for a while,
that is, if the madam herself happened to be out also. On several such
occasions she had made valuable tours of investigation through the
madam's desk and private papers.

That she was overstepping her privileges as a servant in the house went
without saying, but she silenced her Scotch conscience, which until this
period of her existence had always kept her strictly from meddling with
other people's affairs, by declaring over and over again to herself that
she was doing perfectly right because she was doing it for the sake of
"that poor wee thing that was being cheated of her rights."

Several weeks had passed since her sudden re-establishment in the
family, and the reports of Betty, so hastily readjusted and refurbished
to harmonize with the newspaper reports, had not been any more
satisfying. Mrs. Stanhope had