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of all of them!” He was deep in a preëlection article in his paper, and wanted to return to it.
    â€œBut can’t you think of just a few?” she implored.
    â€œWell, you are the queerest child! There’s Grandfather Lambert, and your Great-aunt Lucia, and old Mr. Selby, and—oh, I can’t think, Joyce I What’s all this foolishness, anyway?” Joyce saw at once that she was getting at nothing very definite along this line, and determined on a bold move.
    â€œWell, who is the old lady that you spoke of once, who, you said, knew something about that queer old boarded-up house next door?”
    â€œNow, why in the world didn’t you say so at once, without first making me go through the whole list of my elderly acquaintances?” he laughed. “That was your Great-aunt Lucia.”
    â€œ What.! ”Joyce almost shouted in her astonishment.
    â€œWhy, certainly! What’s queer about that? She used to live in New York City, and knew all the best families for miles around. When we first moved here, next to that ramshackle old place, I remember her telling me she’d known the people who used to live there.”
    â€œWho were they?” demanded Joyce, eagerly.
    â€œOh, I don’t remember their name! I don’t know that she ever mentioned it. She only said she knew them, and they’d gone away rather suddenly and left their house all furnished and never came back. Now do let me finish my paper in peace, Duckie dear!”
    Joyce said no more, and turned again to her studies; but her brain was in a whirl, and she could not concentrate her thoughts on her work. Great-aunt Lucia! —of all people! And here she had been wondering how she could ever get to know some stranger well enough to put her questions. But, for that matter, there were difficulties in the way of questioning even Great-aunt Lucia. She was a very old lady, a confirmed invalid, who lived in Poughkeepsie. For many years she had not left her home, and the family seldom saw her; but her father paid a visit to the old lady once in a while when he was in that vicinity.
    Joyce then fell to planning how she could get into communication with this Great-aunt Lucia. She couldn’t write her inquiries,—that certainly would never do! If she could only visit her and get her to talk about it! But Joyce had never visited this relative in her life, and never particularly wanted to, and it would appear strange to seem suddenly so anxious to see the old lady. This, however, was obviously the only solution, and she began to wonder how it could be arranged. Very prudently, she waited till her father had finished his pipe and laid aside his paper. Then she commenced afresh, but casually, as though the idea had just entered her mind:
    â€œGreat-aunt Lucia must be a very interesting old lady, Father!”
    â€œShe is, she certainly is! I was always very fond of her. My! how she can talk, and the stories she can tell about old times!” said Mr. Kenway, waxing enthusiastic.
    â€œOh, I wish I could visit her!” exclaimed Joyce.
    â€œWell, you certainly may, if you really want to. I’ve always wanted her to see you since you’ve grown so, and I’ve proposed a number of times that you go with me on the trip. But you’ve always refused to be separated from your precious Cynthia, and I couldn’t think of inflicting two youngsters on her.” Joyce remembered now, with a good deal of self-reproach, how many times she had begged off from accompanying her father. It had not seemed very interesting then, and, as he had said, she did not want to leave Cynthia, even for two or three days. She realized now that she had not only been a little selfish about it, but had plainly missed a golden opportunity.
    â€œOh, Father,” she cried in real contrition, “I was mean to refuse you! I didn’t realize that you wanted me to go. I thought you only did it to give me a good time,