“I shall run it myself,” she vowed, when Arethusa returned; “an’ I bet they clear out when they see me comin’.”

It did seem highly probable.

“I don’t know how I can live if I don’t get away from here soon,” she declared a few minutes later.  “You don’t appreciate what life is, Arethusa.  Seems like I’ll go mad with wantin’ to be somewhere else.  I can see Jack gets his disposition straight from me.”

There was a sigh and a pause.

“I shall die,” Aunt Mary then declared with violence, “if I don’t have a change.  Arethusa, you’ve got to write to Jack, and tell him to get me Granite.”

“Granite!” screamed the niece in surprise.

“Yes, Granite.  She was a maid I had in New York.  I want her to come here.  She must come.  Tell him to offer her anything, and send her C.O.D.  If I can have Granite, maybe I’ll feel some better.  You write Jack.”

“I’ll write to-night,” shrieked Arethusa.

“No, you won’t,” said Aunt Mary; “you’ll get the ink and write right now.  Because I’ve been meeker’n Moses all my life is no reason why I sh’d be willin’ to be downtrodden clear to the end.  Folks around me’d better begin to look sharp an’ step lively from now on.”

Arethusa went to the desk at once and wrote: 

DEAR JACK: 

Aunt Mary wants the maid that she had when she was in New York.  For the love of Heaven, if the girl is procurable, do get her.  Hire her if you can and kidnap her if you can’t.  Lucinda has played her usual trick on me and walked off just when she felt like it.  I never saw Aunt Mary in anything like the state of mind that she is, but I know one thing—­if you cannot send the maid, there’ll be an end of me.

Your loving sister,

ARETHUSA.

Jack was much perturbed upon receipt of this letter.  He whistled a little and frowned a great deal.  But at last he decided to be frank and tell the truth to Mrs. Rosscott.  To that end he wrote her a lengthy note.  After two preliminary pages so personal that it would not be right to print them for public reading, he continued thus: 

I’ve had a letter from my sister, who is with Aunt Mary at present.  She says that Aunt Mary is not at all well and declares that she must have Janice.  What under the sun am I to answer?  Shall I say that the girl has gone to France?  I’m willing to swear anything rather that put you to one second’s inconvenience.  You know that, don’t you? etc., etc., etc. [just here the letter abruptly became personal again].

Jack thought that he knew his fiancee well, but he was totally unprepared for such an exhibition of sweet ness as was testified to by the letter which he received in return.

It’s first six pages were even more personal than his own (being more feminine) and then came this paragraph: 

Janice is going to your aunt by to-night’s train.  Now, don’t say a word!  It is nothing—­nothing—­absolutely nothing.  Don’t you know that I am too utterly happy to be able to do anything for anyone that you—­etc., etc., etc.

Jack seized his hat and hurried to where his lady-love was just then residing.  But Janice had gone!