was none of my affairs!â
âThen perhaps you could tell usââ Joyce was persisting, when the agent suddenly interrupted, turning on her suspiciously:
âSay, what do you want to know all this for? Whatâs the old place to you, anyhow?â
âOh, nothingânothing at all!â protested Joyce, alarmed lest their precious secret was about to be discovered. âWe only asked out of curiosity. Good day, sir!â And the two girls fled precipitately from the office.
âI was going to ask him the name of the lawyers,â Joyce explained as they hurried away. âBut it wouldnât do any good, I guess, if we knew. We couldnât go and question them, for itâs plain from what the agent said that they donât want to talk about it. My, but that man was cranky, wasnât he!â
âI think he was sick,â said Cynthia. âHe looked it. Well, I suppose we will have to give it all up! Weâve tried just about everything.â Suddenly she stopped and stood perfectly still, staring blankly at nothing.
âCome on!â urged Joyce. âWhatever is the matter with you, standing here like that?â
âI was just thinkingâseems to me I remember something about the first day we got into the B. U. H. Didnât you tell me that you knew the house was left furnished, that somebody had told your father so?â
âWhy, of courser cried Joyce, excited at once. âI certainly did, and what a stupid I am not to have thought of it since!â And she herself stopped short and stood thinking.
âWell, what is it?â demanded Cynthia, impatiently. âWhoâs stopping and staring now?â
âThe trouble is,â said Joyce, slowly, âthat the whole thingâs not very clear in my mind. It was several years ago that I heard Father mention it. Somebody was visiting us when we first moved here, and asked him at the table about the old house next door. And Father said, I think, that he didnât know anything much about it only that it was a queer old place, and once he had met an elderly lady who happened to mention to him that she knew the house was left furnished, just as it was, and she didnât think the owners would ever live in it again, I donât know why I happened to remember this. It must have made quite an impression on me, because I was a good deal younger and didnât generally listen much to what they were saying at table.â
âWell,â announced Cynthia, still standing where she had stopped, and speaking with great positiveness, âthereâs only one thing to do now, and that is, find out who the old lady is and hunt her up!â
âI suppose I can find out her name from Fatherâif he remembers itâbut what then? I canât go and scrape up an acquaintance with a perfectly strange person, and she may live in Timbuctoo!â objected Joyce.
âItâs the only thing left, the last resortâ as they say in stories,â said Cynthia. âBut, of course, you can do as you like. Youâre engineering this business!â
âWell, I will,â conceded Joyce, not very hopefully, however. âIâll lead Father round to talking of her this evening, if I can, and see what comes of it.â
âDo you know any real elderly people, Father?â
Joyce was as good as her word. That evening when she and her father were seated cozily in the library, she studying, her father smoking and reading his paper, while her mother was temporarily out of the room, she began diplomatically:
âDo you know any real elderly people, Father?â He looked up with a quizzical expression.
âWell, a few. Most people do, donât they? What do you inquire for, Duckie? Thinking of founding an old peopleâs home?â he asked teasingly.
âOh, no! But who are they, Father? Do you mind telling me?â
âMercy, Joyce! I canât think just now
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