a letter into the letter-box—Mabel carried it afterwards to Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, to whom it rightfully belonged.
One afternoon, when Jean was rearranging the dining room pictures—they had to be rearranged very frequently—and when Mabel and Marjory were busy putting fresh papers on the pantry shelves, there was a ring at the doorbell.
Bettie, who had been dusting the parlour, pushed the chairs into place, threw her duster into the dining room and ran to the door. A lady—Bettie described her afterwards as a "middle-aged young lady with the sweetest dimple"—stood on the doorstep.
"Is your mother at home?" asked the lady, smiling pleasantly at Bettie, who liked the stranger at once.
"She—she doesn't live here," said Bettie, taken by surprise.
"Perhaps you can tell me what I want to know. I'm a stranger in town and I want
