squarely on his feet again.

Meanwhile, Rebecca's mother had died. Then it was that George had written Tom, suggesting that his daughter come to America.

"I'll look after her education for a while," he had written. "Doane will be glad to have her in school with Marjorie. Then as soon as you get matters settled a bit, pack up and come to America. You and Becksy both belong here."

So Rebecca had sailed alone, and had spent a half-year at the home of Marjorie in Chicago. During the first part of the summer she had been with her mother's people in Indiana, and now had come on to Cloverdale, in Michigan.

At the present time, the girls were alone with their uncle. The coming of Helen's mother had been delayed, and so for a week longer the girls were to be housekeepers.

Up the walk to the old brick house they took Rebecca.

"Why, it looks like England!" she exclaimed, noting the neat lawn, the trim hedges and shrubbery. "I know I'm going to love it!"

"Sure you will!" said Helen.

"There's

the dearest arbor at the side! You can just see it from here. I wonder if Uncle George is back from the office. You'll love him, too!"

"Hold on!" said a voice, "let Uncle George speak for himself!" And George Stafford stepped from one of the French windows which opened on the porch. "How do you do, Miss Johnny Bull! Well, well! Tom's girl, sure enough! The same twinkle in your eyes! The same curly yellow hair! But do come in. These chattering magpies of girls evidently intend to park you here for the night. I won't have it."

Then picking up the bag and the suitcase, he asked obsequiously:

"Where to, Miss?"

"The blue room in the north wing," chorused Marjorie and Helen.

"Forward! March!" roared Uncle George, changing suddenly from servant to commanding officer, and upstairs they all went. During the next few days the old Stafford house was thoroughly explored and enjoyed by Rebecca. Her father had told her of the four-poster beds, the high-boy, and the rosewood melodeon in the big parlor; but he had not told her of the big attic.

"It 's like a house in a book," said Re

She lifted the lid, and there on the top lay a dainty white cap and apron.

"Oh! I have the theatrical trunk!" she exclaimed. "You see, we have a summer dramatic club, "The Cloverdale Players,' if you please, and Marjorie and I keep the costumes."

"In other words," put in Marjorie, "we are the mistresses of the wardrobe."

"What fun!" said Rebecca. "And did one of you wear these?" She had found, underneath, a dark dress which apparently belonged to the cap and apron.

"I did," said Marjorie. "I was the maid. I came in three times in "The New Footman.' Once I dusted the furniture that was at the opening of the play; then another time I announced dinner; and last, but not least, I served tea. I said, "Tea, Miss?' You see, I was quite the heroine."

"You certainly were," replied Rebecca. "The whole play, I should say. I hope you are to have a play this summer."

But just

"Oh, we 're sure to. In fact-" at this point came Uncle George's voice from downstairs.

"Girls, come here a moment, will you?" In the sitting-room the girls found their uncle frowning over a telegram.

"Here's a pretty howdy-do," he said. "Looks as if you infants would have to run the house all by yourselves for the next day or two."

"We can do it," said Helen, promptly. "But what 's the matter?"

"I was planning to go to Hanford day after to-morrow to see about a deal in farm-lands. Now the chap who was to meet me wires that he must see me to-day or not at all. I'm expecting a man named Eldredge to come here to-day or to-morrow. Hardly think he 's coming to-day; but when he does come I can't afford to miss him."

"Is he the canning-factory man?" said Marjorie.

"The very same. Eldredge represents the concern that is going to put a canningfactory in one of these towns about here. Cloverdale wants it, of course, and I want to

"If he comes," said Helen, "we 'll urge him to stay until you get back."

"I'll have to take a chance," said Uncle George. "Both deals are important and I must handle them myself. Otherwise, I'd send Norton over to represent our office. I'll try and catch the five-twenty. Help me pack a few things, will you, Helen?"

Half an hour later, as Uncle George was starting down the steps, he turned to the girls on the porch.

"I'll 'phone you before noon about my return. I don't imagine Eldredge will get here before afternoon. But if he does, don't let him go on to Kingsburg or Millington before I return."

"Leave him to us," said Marjorie.

"By the way, he 's an Englishman, and very proud of the fact. And he likes things

done in the dear old English way," added Uncle George, as he stepped into the car. "There 's where you come in, Becksy. Tell him about your 'close-clipped lawns and fallows gray, where the nibbling flocks do stray,' and all the rest of it."

"Thanks for the tip," said Rebecca. "Mr. Eldredge shall not escape."

As the girls were having tea that night in the arbor, a sharp ring of the telephone sent Helen scurrying into the house.

"It's Mary Channing," she said, returning. "The dramatic committee wants to meet here to-night. It seems we 're on, Marjie." "Oh, are we? When and how did we get

on?" "Don't know. But I told them to come." "The Arrival of Anne," a colonial play, was discussed that evening from every viewpoint.

"We can costume it all right," said Helen, after the play had been read. "We 've plenty of dresses in the old trunk."

"How about that maid costume Marjorie wore last year?" said Eleanor Gaylord. "Is it too modern? I wonder if it would fit me." The maid costume was brought down and examined critically.

"Too up-to-date," said Mary. "Much too skimpy."

"I'm thinking you 're right," said Helen. "A modern-dressed maid in that play would make the hit of the evening. I'll never forget the high-school play we had at home once, when one of the boys appeared in white trousers and a blue serge coat and remarked that the sleighing was fine."

"No, not really?" said Rebecca. "Surely!" returned Helen.

a straw hat."

"And he wore

By ten o'clock "The Arrival of Anne" had been chosen, a tentative list of characters made, and the girls were starting for home.

"I've forgotten to get the address of the publisher!" said Mary, as they went down the walk. "I'll write the letter ordering the plays in the morning and stop here for the address. It's in that catalog I gave you, Marjie."

"I'll get it for you now," said Marjorie. "No, never mind. I'll be along in the morning. morning. Good night."

The next morning, Helen, rooming with Marjorie, was awakened by the sun streaming brightly across her face. Marjorie was dressing.

"It 's eight o'clock, my sleeping beauty!" she said. "I was just about to waken you." "Is Rebecca awake?" murmured Helen, sleepily.

"Have n't heard a stir," replied her cousin. "I'll skip in and see.”

From the next room Helen heard an exclamation of astonishment as Marjorie gazed on a bed neatly made.

"Helen! She 's not here!"

In a moment Helen had joined her cousin in the room across the hall and the two stood staring in surprise.

"She went to bed here," said Marjorie, slowly, as if trying to convince herself. "Yes, she really did. I'll bear witness to that."

Suddenly Helen began sniffing, and said, as she started toward the stairway, "I smell coffee!"

"Breakfast will be ready in about five minutes, young ladies," suddenly said a voice from below.

By this time, both girls were leaning over the banisters, vainly attempting to see the owner of the voice.

"Becksy, you scamp! What are you doing?"

"We thought you had been kidnapped!" "Not I," replied the voice. "Rush around now and ask me no questions."

When the girls came into the diningroom a few minutes later they beheld the breakfast-table carefully set. The coffee was bubbling in the percolator, a plate of ham and eggs steamed invitingly, and there was a plate wrapped in a napkin which, while concealing the contents, could not keep in the delicious odors.

In the dining-room the "ladies of the house" had listened with feelings of mirth not unmixed with apprehension.

"It's that Mr. Eldredge," whispered Helen. "Becksy must n't play a joke on him!"

"I'm afraid it 's on us," replied Marjorie. Rebecca had ushered the stranger into the parlor and now entered the dining-room, her eyes dancing.

"I

"Go on and talk to him," she said. suppose he 's the man we were to treat so charmingly."

"Becksy, why in the world did you let him think you were the maid?"

"Let him think? Dear child, I could n't help it. As soon as he saw me he knew I was the maid. I knew that he knew it. I could n't bear to disappoint him. Go on in, you two. I'll be the maid all the time he 's here."

"Becksy, what nonsense! What would Uncle George think?"

"Run along," said Rebecca, giving her cousins a little shove toward the door. "Ask him to stay to breakfast. We'll open the campaign with muffins."

As the girls passed from the dining-room door to the parlor Rebecca slipped into the hall, and, standing outside the parlor door, listened to the second act of the little drama, which she had unwittingly staged.

"Could you not wait a short time?" said Marjorie. She remembered now that Millington was a keen rival of Cloverdale in the competition for the canning-factory. "Uncle George is going to 'phone us before noon. Then you can make your plans about the other towns."

"I believe I'll wait until he calls. Meanwhile, I'll have breakfast at my hotel," said Eldredge, rising. "Would you kindly telephone me when you hear from him?"

"Won't you won't you have breakfast with us?" said Marjorie. "We were breakfasting when you came."

"Why, thank you. But that would be imposing on you. I'd better be going." "Not at all," said Helen. "Uncle George would wish you to stay at the house were he here."

"Well, I confess I 'm rather weary of hotel fare, and if you are sure it will not inconvenience you-"

"Not in the least," said Marjorie, and, excusing herself, left the room.

"I've done it," she whispered, after colliding with Rebecca, who had not had time to withdraw from her listening-post.

"And very nicely done, too," said her cousin. "Now for my part."

"Yes. Come on with your 'am and heggs. I'll help."

Helen, left in the parlor with the guest, was possessed with a sense of uneasiness. Noting that Eldredge had picked up a copy of "The New National," she was about to remark that this was her uncle's favorite magazine. But the visitor laid down the magazine and took up the conversation by introducing the topic of her uncle's maid.

"I see you have an English maid," he said, sitting back in his chair. He was happily conscious of the odor of coffee-hot and clear and just the right flavor, he knew. "Has she been in this country long?"

"Only-only a few months," said Helen, faintly.

"And does she cook?"

"Yes. Her her muffins are particularly good. We had some this morning."

"Indeed!" The visitor sat up straight in his chair. "Do you know, it's a peculiar thing, but here in America they can't make the real muffin. I've had muffins and muffins, but never the kind they make in England. I've eaten them there that were light and crisp and browned to the queen's taste.”

"I'm sure you'll like B—B—I 'm sure you'll like our muffins," said Helen.

"I'm sure I shall," said Eldredge. "And how did your uncle obtain this treasure of a maid and cook?"

"Well, you see" began Helen, desperately. Why did n't Marjorie come in? Why did n't the door-bell ring? Where was Mary, who was coming after that address? "She came over from England—”

Help at last! At this juncture, in came Marjorie announcing that breakfast was ready, and Helen, signifying in dumb show that her cousin must do the honors at the table, dashed to the kitchen.

That the muffins did not disappoint the guest was evident from the first taste.

"The real thing! The first in fifteen years! This is indeed a treat, Miss Stafford!"

"Wonder if he 's asked Marj, too, where Uncle George obtained you," whispered Helen, to Rebecca.

"Yes, he did," said her cousin. "I heard him as I came out just now."