You see, they found me puttin' my stocks and bonds into this."

"Sure, you never keep 'em in the house with you!" cried Mrs. Faunce, shocked at discovering in another her own reckless methods of financiering.

"Allus," was the answer. "I kep' 'em in the Bible. It's the Family Bible John and I used for twenty-five years. You see, the' was gaps in it where the leaves was gone. Julie, she had a bad temper, and once, when she was little, somethin' crossed her, and she tore out a whole handful of leaves from "Deuteronomy." Then Maude cut out some of the gospels to make paper dolls; I felt real bad about that. Well, I thought it was a good safe place, and when we came over here, I put my certificates and things into the gaps, and tied it up with a string. We haven't used the Bible what with my havin' a pocket Testament, and Julie never havin' family prayers. She says you just can't have 'em in a flat. I told her this mornin'," said the old lady mildly, "that if she'd read her Bible she'd have found out sooner where I kep' my papers."

"Hid treasures," murmured the listener. "How did she find out?"

"I was packin' 'em in here, thinkin' I'd have to go away somewhere by myself for a while, and she came in pretty sudden. First thing I knew, she yelled right out behind me; then she took a hold of the Bible, and I kep' a hold of it, and she pulled, and it come right in two. I felt real bad, for John and I had used it so long." The tears that she dried from her eyes were not all because of the torn Bible. "She, she threatened me; I don't like to tell you what she said, but I was afraid of her; for she was in one of her old tantrums, and she told me if I didn't care anything about my own flesh and blood I'd better go away and stay. Maude was there by that time,

and she looked kind of ashamed, but she didn't say a word. You see, the girls took it hard that their pa left everything to me, but of course I was only keepin' it till they got old enough to take care of it. So I took what I had and come away; Julie had a lot in 'Epistles' and 'Revelation,' but I guess I've got enough to keep me. I s'pose they can sell the bonds; they ain't got any name on them."

"Look!" whispered Mrs. Faunce, suddenly.

A smart trap was driving past them; the two people in it, bending close together, saw no one else.

"Why, it's Mo'seer Lamballe!" cried the little old lady, fixing her eyes upon the woman at his side, whose painted face, bleached hair, and purple-velvet costume were eloquent.

"He kissed her!" said Mrs. Weston, indignantly, "and him payin' attention to Maude. What do you think of her?" "I'd rather not say," answered Mrs. Faunce.

"She's real dressy," said the lady from Maine, regretfully, a mother's solicitude in her voice. "You think he means to marry this one?"

"I've no opinion in regard to that," answered Mrs. Faunce drily, "but from what I've heard, the establishment he has set up for her constitutes the business crisis you've been speakin' of."

A thin red blush mounted over the wrinkled cheeks of the little old lady to the roots of her yellow-grey hair as she slowly understood.

"Somebody must tell Maude," she faltered.

"I'll tell Maude," said Mrs. Faunce, rising, and standing at her full regal height, "and now, we've much to do, and we'd better be about it."

An empty cab, going Paris-ward, was hailed, and soon the two were rolling over one of the shaded driveways. As they passed a group of children

playing about their nurse, tenderness crept into Mrs. Weston's eyes, and transfigured her plain little face.

"Look!" she cried. "Ain't they too sweet! If they was mine I'd knit 'em some nice woolen stockings to cover their bare knees. You know, everything would have been different if Julie had had children, and now we are in this dreadful trouble. But God is good; He will help us out."

A sudden flash came into Mrs. Faunce's eyes, a gleam that shone there only when her genius was finding some way of remoulding the universe nearer her heart's desire. Here at last was the person for whom she had been long searching to mother the orphans of the Open Door!

"All my life I've wanted grandchildren terribly," the little old lady was murmuring. "When my own was little I was too busy to play with 'em or to take care of 'em. I just kep' lookin' at the Boston rocker, and thinkin' how I'd sit in it and rock my grandchildren when they come, but they didn't come."

Of the shadow and sunshine of that drive, the rumbling of wheels, the tramp of feet, the swift glimpse of the flamboyant Victory upon the Arc de Triomphe, Mrs. Faunce knew nothing. She heard only the long waves breaking on the Riviera shore, along the yellow sands, with the sweet insistent call of the south; while overhead, a flock of migrating birds, flying in long lines against the gray-blue sky, brought her a sudden free sense, as of wings at her shoulders.

"Where are we going now?" asked Mrs. Weston timidly.

"You said that your daughter's address was 15 Rue de Roland, didn't you?"

"Oh," shivered the mother, "ain't you afraid?"

A gay laugh was the only answer, as the carriage at last stopped before

a substantial apartment house, in a wide and sunny street.

"I've always thought it would have been better if Julie had had a little house of her own," said Julie's mother, as she tremblingly alighted. "Lots of women has been saved by havin' a bay window that would let 'em look down the village street."

The flunkey who opened the door grinned impertinently when he saw Mrs. Weston, then covered his mouth with his hand and coughed apologetically as he caught sight of the majestic old Irish lady. With her head held erect, like that of a conquering general, she swept past him into the corridor.

"I say, the mistress gave orders that nobody was to be let in this afternoon. She's got something particular on hand."

But already a trumpet-toned voice was resounding through the apart ment.

"Regan, Goneril! Come here!"

"Now whatever does the old party mean by that?" he muttered, wideeyed with wonder, as he backed discreetly away from a situation that had passed beyond his hands. There was a rustle of silken skirts; from behind a heavy portière appeared a handsome, dark-haired woman, a rising flush of mingled fear and anger in her face. Even as she made her advance upon the salon, Mrs. Faunce noted the provincial emphasis on the extreme in the red and yellow house-gown, and in the huge coiffure of over-puffed hair.

"What has brought you here?" demanded the mistress of the house, shrilly. With her heavy scowling eyebrows she looked a formidable antagonist.

"We've come for the 'Book of Revelation' and your mother's securities, Regan," said Mrs. Faunce calmly. ""Tis the manner of the shopwoman," she added to herself, "and the back

ground is in keeping." The salon, with its display of pink and scarlet satin, of tawdry lace and showy bric-a-brac might easily have offended taste less fastidious than that of the old Irish lady.

"You insolent thing!" gasped Julia Weston Foster; then, for the first time, she discovered her mother's little form, shrinking behind the folds of the portière, and she made a convulsvie effort at self-control.

"I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure, for bringing my mother back. She left us this morning against my will. She's not quite right here, you know," and the daughter tapped her forehead significantly.

"And you, Regan, I judge," said Mrs. Faunce, putting her hand upon her heart and bowing slightly, "are not quite right here."

The angry flush on the woman's face deepened to crimson, and she spoke in fury.

"So you have found out that she has money, and you are planning to rob her!"

"You must not judge others too much by yourself," said the old Irish lady, good-humoredly, "and I'm afraid we've caught you in the very act. Now, unless that half of your mother's Bible has already been given to M. Blanc, will you kindly produce it?"

"I don't know what you mean," stammered Julia.

"Oh yes, you do, Regan! And if here isn't Goneril!" A younger woman had appeared, fair-haired, weak, a curious repetition in large of the mother, with the sweetness left out of the face.

"Mother!" cried the elder daughter, in a frightened voice: "Where did you pick up this crazy woman?"

"She ain't crazy," said Mrs. Weston, stoutly. "I know about those names if you don't. They're in a play by William Shakespeare, that your Pa

and I read together, about two daughters that took their father's property, and turned him out doors."

"I won't stay to listen to such talk!" cried the young matron. "Come, Maude!" and she somewhat roughly led her sister away. Mrs. Faunce's eyes were full of whimsical pity as she watched the lagging village walk, the mistaken elegance of their clothes, and she thought to herself that the two ought to be at home, taking icecream sodas with their rustic escorts, To what outside edge of Parisian life they had found their way, she wondered, too ignorant to detect the counterfeit?

At the door, Maude paused, some natural emotion struggling with the sullenness of her expression. Had it not been for the remorseless blue of her fantastically cut gown she would almost have been pretty.

"I'm sure we've tried to take good care of mother," she ventured to Mrs. Faunce.

"Stop, both of you," commanded that lady, with the manner of some ancient Irish queen. "Mrs. Foster, I give you five minutes in which to restore to her mother the property you took from her this morning. If you refuse, we must go with this story to your husband's office. You are expecting your lover; Mr. Foster must know that, too."

The high-heeled woman tapped on floor.

"Will you do it?"

slippers of the the hard-wood

"I won't!" she cried, stamping. "Then," announced the old lady, in the clear voice that had rung out in many a victory over cowardice, or trickery, or wrong-doing, "I will this afternoon lay before the police information in regard to M. Blanc which will take him back to the galleys, from which he escaped some four years ago, having been sentenced at Nîmes, un

der the name of Marton, to ten years' imprisonment for forgery."

Julie's face grew white.
"It isn't true," she muttered.

"She really loves him," said Mrs. Faunce to herself, taking out an antiquated gold watch, whose loud ticking could be heard throughout the room. "Five minutes," she repeated.

"How dare you?" blazed the young woman. "You couldn't know anything about a man of M. Blanc's rank. I believe you're a common highway robber."

"I'm not, me dear, though the situation might point to that. Shall we settle the dispute by telephoning to your husband? No? Then you must believe me. I happen to have heard the early history of your lover, from a fellow-rascal that just escaped being sent to prison with him. Richards he called himself, when he didn't call himself something else. And he did me a good turn with the Orphanage of the Open Door. Four minutes! Would you mind hurrying a bit?"

The feet of Julie Weston Foster dragged heavily away. A minute later, a whirlwind swept back through the portiéres, scattering leaves of "Revelaiton," together with thin, folded documents that fell this way and that. A torn book was hurled at Mrs. Faunce; she caught it and touched it reverently.

"You really shouldn't treat the Holy Scriptures that way," she said rebukingly. "I've heard that you began life by tearin' out the Ten Commandments. Don't do it! Somehow we need that leaf of the Bible if we have naught else."

"Now, Mrs. Weston, will you please sit down somewhere and see if your property is all here?"

"You do it!" she begged. "There's a list John made before he died." "Goneril," said Mrs. Faunce, turning to Maude, "your mother has some

information to give you about M. Lamballe. Meanwhile, I will verify the list," and, taking the bag from Mrs. Weston, she added its contents to those gathered from the floor, seated herself upon a brocaded, gilt-legged fauteuil, and began systematically checking off bond after bond.

"Twenty Pennsylvania Railroad bonds, ten Delaware and HudsonMadam, your husband seems to have been a good investor."

"Who the devil are you?" demanded Julie Foster. At this moment of her fury Mrs. Faunce partly understood the fascination she had evidently exereised over M. Blanc.

"Ay, who the devil are we all?" said Mrs. Faunce, philosophically. "Tis the question we all ask but never answer, for we do not know. All I can say is, I am one who has tried to be what I hope you will grow into, an honest woman. Check! They are all here. Now, will Miss Maude come with us?"

The girl had been talking with her mother, one of whose withered hands still clutched the bright-blue gown. She shook her head sullenly; her eyes were full of smarting tears, and she was evidently unable to speak.

"Come!" said Mrs. Faunce. "And now you two little girls, fresh from the country, that think you belong to the great world, just take a word of warning from me. You're only playin' with the whirlpool, that will draw you in and suck you down if you don't run away from it."

"But," faltered the mother, as the door had closed upon the awed and frightened faces of the daughters, "I've got to stay and take care of them."

Rich Irish laughter rang out through the bare and desolate halls.

"With that money of yours in the bank, there will be no trouble for the present from MM. Lamballe and

Blanc. This very day I cable to your daughter Maude's Maine young man, and we'll marry him to her the day he lands. He can help her now better than you can. There's nothin' the matter with your daughters, me dear, save ignorance; and I'll see that your son-in-law gets the message that will make him look after his wife a trifle better."

Tears were running down the wrinkled cheeks of the fugitive.

"They was such cute little girls," she said. "Julie's hair was yellow, too, when she was little."

Within half an hour, Mrs. Weston's little fortune was safely locked up in a safe-deposit box in one of the tourist banks that were open in the afternoon; her key and her bank-book were safe in her bag.

"Now there's no one on earth can touch what belongs to you," said Mrs. Faunce gaily, as the two came down the broad stone steps with the relief of their inmost hearts shining in their faces. A flower-girl was calling violets; the pungent odor of chrysanthemums came from a stand near by; the crisp air was full of that homeward call of hearth and settle that autumn twilights bring.

"You said I might go home with you to-night," ventured the fugitive. "Indeed and you may. And I've just taken the liberty of telephoning your son-in-law at his office, askin' him to call on you there to-morrow."

"Have you any grandchildren?" asked Mrs. Weston wistfully, as they drove through the chilly streets to the Orphanage of the Open Door.

"Dozens of 'em," answered Mrs. Faunce, laughing; "twenty right here."

A misgiving came into Mrs. Weston's eyes; was this woman, after all, as Julie had said, crazy? Through the open front door, however, streamed reassuring light and warmth and color, and as they entered the air was all

alive with children's laughter. A fat little German boy, fair-haired and sturdy, rushed upon Mrs. Faunce and clasped her about the knees in ardent embraces. Jeannot started to climb to her shoulder, and there was a sound of gathers ripping in the handsome black silk skirt; as she stooped to kiss Petit Pierre, the tallest of the lads, little English Mary climbed upon her back. The strange old lady watched the little flock in their clean linen dresses, with fresh faces shining above their white frills, and she held out her arms yearningly. There was a rush toward them; little Gabrielle, only two years old, won the place of honor and snuggled down in Mrs. Weston's neck.

"Would you want a finer family of grandchildren than this?" demanded Mrs. Faunce.

"They're lovely," said the other, her bonnet hanging rakishly over one ear. "Are they really your own?"

"They're me own because they're nobody else's, and I've collected 'em where I could find 'em. Who is there is not your own when they're in

need?"

"I knew you was a good woman the minute I set eyes on you," said Mrs. Weston simply. "Would you let me help take care of them?"

"I'll let you take care of 'em altogether for a while, if you can be happy here," exclaimed Mrs. Faunce exultantly, taking a few waltz steps.

"Oh!" cried the other; the tenderness of the enfolding arms about little Gabrielle spoke for her. "But would I have to manage the help?"

"The help will manage itself, but you will have to answer the children's questions," chuckled Mrs. Faunce.

The front door still stood open; through it came sickening sounds of cruel blow after blow; a Paris cabdriver was beating his horse after the manner of his kind.