the letters which the postman had left.

He dared not meddle with them, but he paused for a moment to study them
as they lay upon his salver, while he wondered if the handwriting upon
either envelope were in the least familiar.

The little French maid, peering over the baluster, laughed softly.

"M'sieur is curious, but he should not delay. The lettairs, it may be,
of importance are, and the madam already waiting is."

With a soft, yet merry laugh, the maid returned to dress her mistress's
hair, and the burly butler stalked up the stairway, angry that Marie
should have seen him studying the letters, and annoyed by her saucy
laugh. "That girl is always 'round," he muttered.

It was Saturday morning, and although it was October, it was as warm as
a June day.

Mrs. Barnet was in the hands of the French maid, and could not be
disturbed while her hair was being dressed.

Flossie wondered what she could find to play with.

She wished that Saturday had been a schoolday.

Usually she found the baby amusing, but Uncle Harry's little daughter
was out for an airing.

The kitten skurried down the hall and Flossie caught her, and ran off to