(Distance lends enchantment, and Clover had become “My dear” again.) “I’m glad I could come out and help you along; and now that you know so many people here, you won’t need me so much as you did at first.  I shall tell Mrs. Perkins to write to Mrs. Hall to tell your father how well your brother is looking, and I know he’ll be—­And here’s a little handkerchief for a keepsake.”

It was a pretty handkerchief, of pale yellow silk with embroidered corners, and Clover kissed the old lady as she thanked her, and they parted good friends.  But their intercourse had led her to make certain firm resolutions.

“I will try to keep my mind clear and my talk clear; to learn what I want and what I have a right to want and what I mean to say, so as not to puzzle and worry people when I grow old, by being vague and helpless and fussy,” she reflected.  “I suppose if I don’t form the habit now, I sha’n’t be able to then, and it would be dreadful to end by being like poor Mrs. Watson.”

Altogether, Mrs. Marsh’s house had lost its homelike character; and it was not strange that under the circumstances Phil should flag a little.  He was not ill, but he was out of sorts and dismal, and disposed to consider the presence of so many strangers as a personal wrong.  Clover felt that it was not a good atmosphere for him, and anxiously revolved in her mind what was best to do.  The Shoshone was much too expensive; good boarding-houses in St. Helen’s were few and far between, and all of them shared in a still greater degree the disadvantages which had made themselves felt at Mrs. Marsh’s.

The solution to her puzzle came—­as solutions often do—­unexpectedly.  She was walking down Piute Street on her way to call on Alice Blanchard, when her attention was attracted to a small, shut-up house, on which was a sign:  “No. 13.  To Let, Furnished.”  The sign was not printed, but written on a half-sheet of foolscap, which was what led Clover to notice it.

She studied the house a while, then opened the gate, and went in.  Two or three steps led to a little piazza.  She seated herself on the top step, and tried to peep in at the closed blinds of the nearest window.

While she was doing so, a woman with a shawl over her head came hastily down a narrow side street or alley, and approached her.

“Oh, did you want the key?” she said.

“The key?” replied Clover, surprised; “of this house, do you mean?”

“Yes.  Mis Starkey left it with me when she went away, because, she said, it was handy, and I could give it to anybody who wished to look at the place.  You’re the first that has come; so when I see you setting here, I just ran over.  Did Mr. Beloit send you?”

“No; nobody sent me.  Is it Mr. Beloit who has the letting of the house?”

“Yes; but I can let folks in.  I told Mis Starkey I’d air and dust a little now and then, if it wasn’t took.  Poor soul! she was anxious enough about it; and it all had to be done on a sudden, and she in such a heap of trouble that she didn’t know which way to turn.  It was just lock-up and go!”