with yellow covers."

Hepsey withdrew, muttering vague apologies, and Ruth found her at
the head of the stairs when she went up to her room. "How long
have you been with Miss Hathaway?" she asked.

"Five years come next June."

"Good night, Hepsey."

"Good night, Miss Thorne."

From sheer force of habit, Ruth locked her door. Her trunk was
not a large one, and it did not take her long to put her simple
wardrobe into the capacious closet and the dresser drawers. As
she moved the empty trunk into the closet, she remembered the box
of money that she had left in the attic, and went up to get it.
When she returned she heard Hepsey's door close softly.

"Silly child," she said to herself. I might just as well ask her
if she isn't a'lady detective.' They'll laugh about that in the
office when I go back."

She sat down, rocking contentedly, for it was April, and she
would not have to go back until Aunt Jane came home, probably
about the first of October. She checked off the free,
health-giving months on her tired fingers, that would know the
blue pencil and the typewriter no more until Autumn, when she
would be strong again and the quivering nerves quite steady.