She was also a-tingle with another thought.  At the corner where they changed cars on the way to the Mission, she had made a discovery.  The bank where St. Boniface deposited its money loomed up ahead of them, massive and grim.  The name showed so plainly on the brilliantly illuminated corner, that it almost seemed to leap towards them.  It would be an easy matter to find by herself.  Now she need not ask anybody, but could slip away from the girls early in the morning, and be on the steps first thing when the doors opened.

Fortunately for her plans, Joyce announced that they would have an early breakfast, in order that she might begin work as soon as possible.  Mrs. Boyd and Lucy had not returned with them the night before, but had gone back to Brooklyn to finish their visit with their friends immediately after the exercises at the Mission.  So only a small pile of dishes awaited washing when their simple breakfast was over.  Mary insisted on attending to them by herself so that Betty could begin her story at once.

“Strike while the iron is hot!” she commanded dramatically.  “Open while opportunity knocks at the door, lest she never knock again!  I’ll gladly be cook-and-bottle-washer in the kitchen while genius burns for artist and author in the studio!  Scat!  Both of you!”

So they left her, glad to be released from household tasks when others more congenial were calling.  They heard her singing happily in the kitchenette, as she turned the faucet at the sink, and then forgot all about her, in the absorbing interest of the work confronting them.  With so many conveniences at hand the washing of the dainty china was a pleasure to Mary, after her long vacation from such work.  Quickly and deftly, with the ease of much practise, she polished the glasses to crystal clearness, laid the silver in shining rows in its allotted place, and put everything in spotless order.

Joyce heard her go into the bath-room to wash her hands, and thought complacently of Mary’s wonderful store of resources for her own entertainment, wondering what she would do next.  She had been asking questions about the roof garden, and how to open the scuttle.  Probably she would be investigating that before long, getting a bird’s-eye view of the city from the chimney tops.

“I believe she could find some occupation on the top of a church steeple,” thought Joyce, recalling some of the things with which she had seen Mary amuse herself.  There was the time in Plainsville when a burned foot kept her captive in the house, and she couldn’t go to the neighbours.  Always an indefatigable visitor, she amused herself with a pile of magazines, visiting in imagination each person and place pictured in the illustrations, and on the advertising pages.  She played with the breakfast-food children, talked to the smiling tooth-powder ladies, and invented histories for the people who were so particular about their brands of soap and hosiery.