Mr. Van Alstyne dropped into a chair, and through force of habit I gave him a glass of spring water.

“This was a pretty girl, too,” he said dismally.

I sat down on the other side of the fireplace, and it seemed to me that father’s crayon enlargement over the mantel shook its head at me.

After a minute Mr. Van Alstyne drank the water and got up.

“I’ll have to tell my wife,” he said.  “Who’s running the place, anyhow?  You?”

“Not—­exactly,” I explained, “but, of course, when anything comes up they consult me.  The housekeeper is a fool, and now that the house doctor’s gone—­”

“Gone!  Who’s looking after the patients?”

“Well, most of them have been here before,” I explained, “and I know their treatment—­the kind of baths and all that.”

“Oh, you know the treatment!” he said, eying me.  “And why did the house doctor go?”

“He ordered Mr. Moody to take his spring water hot.  Mr. Moody’s spring water has been ordered cold for eleven years, and I refused to change.  It was between the doctor and me, Mr. Van Alstyne.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, “if it was a matter of principle—­” He stopped, and then something seemed to strike him.  “I say,” he said; “about the doctor—­that’s all right, you know; lots of doctors and all that.  But for heaven’s sake, Minnie, don’t discharge the cook.”

Now that was queer, for it had been running in my head all morning that in the slack season it would be cheaper to get a good woman instead of the chef and let Tillie, the diet cook, make the pastry.

Mr. Sam picked up his hat and looked at his watch.

“Eleven thirty,” he said, “and no sign of that puppy yet.  I guess it’s up to the police.”

“If there was only something to do,” I said, with a lump in my throat, “but to have to sit and do nothing while the old place dies it’s—­it’s awful, Mr. Van Alstyne.”

“We’re not dead yet,” he replied from the door, “and maybe we’ll need you before the day’s over.  If anybody can sail the old bark to shore, you can do it, Minnie.  You’ve been steering it for years.  The old doctor was no navigator, and you and I know it.”

It was blowing a blizzard by that time, and Miss Patty was the only one who came out to the spring-house until after three o’clock.  She shook the snow off her furs and stood by the fire, looking at me and not saying anything for fully a minute.

“Well,” she said finally, “aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Why?” I asked, and swallowed hard.

“To be in all this trouble and not let me know.  I’ve just this minute heard about it.  Can’t we get the police?”

“Mr. Van Alstyne is trying,” I said, “but I don’t hope much.  Like as not Mr. Dick will turn up tomorrow and say his calendar was a day slow.”

I gave her a glass of water, and I noticed when she took it how pale she was.  But she held it up and smiled over it at me.