The weeks rolled by. The Higgledy Piggledies prospered. Many waffles and much cinnamon toast were devoured by the elite of Dorfield. Each partner was occupied in her especial line but often everyone would have to lend a hand at afternoon tea time.

School opened and the diminutive delivery boys were forced to relinquish their jobs during school hours, but afternoon always found them at the shop ready for any kind of work their gentle employers could find for them. Proudly they held up their heads at being able to help Sister. Ben even learned to bake waffles on the electric iron and was what Elizabeth called, quoting from real estate advertisements, “an extra added feature” to the attractions of the tea room. Philip learned to wait on the tables, never dropping or spilling a thing.

“So much for the Montessori method,” said Josie. “I believe carrying soup without spilling it is the especial triumph of their system of training. You told me the boys had been to a Montessori school, did you not, Ursula?”

“Yes, that was one of the times when I had my way in spite of Mr. Cheatham.”

Irene had made the boys little linen aprons and caps and wonderfully charming they looked, with their flushed and eager faces, as they seriously and conscientiously served the guests.

“The boys at school try to tease me for doin’ it,” Ben confessed to Josie, “but I jes’ tell ’em that Alfred the Great had to mind the cakes an’ what a king ain’t above doin’ I ain’t either—only ol’ Alfred let the cakes burn an’ I don’t never let my waffles get mor’n a golden brown. I reckon kings ain’t much account when it comes to head work. It takes head work to do things ’zackly right.”

“It certainly does,” laughed Josie. “It is wonderful to find that out when you are a boy, Ben, because some persons get to be old as old can be and never know it. If you bake waffles as well as they can be baked, when that is the job before you, it will be easier to tackle the bigger job when it comes to you. I remember a story I heard a lecturer tell once that always has stayed with me.”

“Please tell it to me,” begged Ben, who could not decide which to love the more, the “Lady in the Chair” or Josie. He had almost decided on Josie, since Philip could go on caring for Irene above all others besides Sister. So Josie told this story:

“Well, this gentleman, who was a great preacher and lecturer, said when he was a little boy his father, who was also a noted divine, drew him to him one day when he was in his study and with his arm around him said: ‘My boy, have you thought what you would like to be when you grow to manhood?’ ‘Yes, Father! I want to be a hack driver.’ His father paused for a moment evidently somewhat nonplused at the strange ambition of his son, then he said earnestly: ‘All right, my boy, but mind you, be the best hack driver in town.’”

“Oh I see what you mean. Well, I reckon I’m the best waffle baker in town already—that is, the best boy waffle baker, and I’ll jes’ keep on bein’ an’ tell the fellows what tease me to go swallow themselves.”

“Exactly!” laughed Josie, “but it might be more tactful to ask them to come swallow some waffles.”

“Gee, no! That wouldn’t ever do. I ain’t sayin’ I can bake waffles fast enough to fill up boys. They are reg’lar rat holes for emptiness.”

One afternoon, several weeks before Christmas, the Higgledy Piggledies were especially busy, an order for dressed dolls having come in that had to be filled immediately. Dressing dolls was one of the things they had not been called on to do before, but if dolls had to be dressed they must be dressed and the partners made it a rule never to turn down any form of order.

“We’ll send an S. O. S. for our reserves,” said Josie. “And then the faithful shall have to stay on and work overtime. It’s Saturday, fortunately, and we can sleep late to-morrow.”

Ursula proved an able assistant, being very clever at fashioning the miniature garments.

“I always loved to dress dolls,” she said, “but haven’t done it for years and years. Of course, Ben and Philip did not want dolls.”

“I’d of wanted one,” declared Philip. “Nobody never asked me didn’t I!” He had drawn a stool up close to his sister’s knee and watched her with adoring and wondering eyes as she fashioned a tiny ruffled apron for a blue-eyed beauty with a saucy turned-up nose and yellow hair. “I wisht you’d let me hold that dolly until you finish her dress.”

“Aw, sissy!” jeered Ben. “I wouldn’t let the boys catch me playin’ dolls.”

“I ain’t a sissy,” objected Philip. “I’m all time seein’ fathers wheelin’ their kids out on Sundays. One time I peeked in a window back in Louisville an’ I saw a man a-huggin’ an’ a-kissin’ his baby an’ playin’ with it jes’ like girls do doll babies. What’s the reason that boys that’re goin’ to grow up to be big mens can’t play doll babies as much as men can play with their own babies made out of meat? I betcher if Mr. Cheatham had played with doll babies some he wouldn’t of ’spised little boys so much when he got growed up.”

The argument being unanswerable, Ben did not attempt to answer it, but satisfied himself by asserting it was sissy all the same to play dolls. Philip looked longingly at the blue-eyed beauty but made no further request to be allowed to hold it, although the young dressmakers encouraged him to practice being a father all he wished. He merely sat and watched the fashioning of the dainty garments, ever on the alert to pick up dropped spools of thread or wait on the busy seamstresses.

Mary Louise had come in to help and Laura Hilton and Lucile Neal. Edna Barlow had promised to give her Saturday afternoon to the rush order and Jane Donovan had missed a fashionable tea, so that she, too, might have a finger in the doll pie. Some of the girls had worked all day, not even going home for luncheon but having what Josie called a “pick-up” at the shop.

“A gross of dolls to be dressed is no idle jest,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “not meaning to fall into poetry, so don’t anybody accuse me of lisping in numbers. What do you think of my flapper?” She held up a doll in a fringed skirt and slipover sweater with neat collar and cuffs, bobbed hair, rakish hat and even cleverly contrived gaiters unbuttoned according to the last cry in flapperdom.

There was an outcry of approval from the workers.

“One doesn’t have to use a microscope to see my stitches, but I do think my doll is cute,” declared Elizabeth.

“Cute is a silly word to use for her,” laughed Mary Louise. “To my mind she has real literary value.”

“I want to dress one to look like an old-fashioned grandmother, now,” said Elizabeth, “but we haven’t any black silk. I want her to frown on the flapper.”

“What did I tell you? Elizabeth always has to bring literature into life, even into the dressing of dolls. I’ll go get some black silk suitable for grandmothers for all time,” cried Mary Louise, jumping up and dropping her thimble and spool of cotton, which little Philip quickly restored, thereby gaining a kiss from Mary Louise, to whom all children appealed.

“I’ll go instead of you,” suggested Ursula. “I have a few other purchases to make. It is very cold and you have a little cough.”

It was agreed that Ursula should do the shopping. Ben also had to go out to deliver some linen Josie had laundered, as well as some other parcels.

The girls settled themselves again, working rapidly, each one endeavoring to outdo the other in fashioning clever and out-of-the-way costumes—putting in the literary touch according to Mary Louise. “This is quite like old times,” said Laura Hilton. “This is the same crowd we had when we were working on Mary Louise’s wedding clothes.”

“Except for that terrible Hortense Markle,” shuddered Jane Donovan.

“She didn’t seem terrible on that morning, however,” said Edna Barlow. “I thought she was the loveliest person I had ever seen, and do you remember the song she sang as she embroidered the rose?”

“Yes, it was ‘Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May,’ and I also remember she embroidered a faded place on the edge of one petal. I couldn’t help hating her for doing it, too,” said Irene. “It seemed so cynical. You remember she declared it was because the song suggested it to her. She might have put a worm in the heart of the rose if suggestion was anything.”

“Well, well, poor Hortense! She loved her Felix anyhow,” sighed Mary Louise, who had a hard time being persuaded that anyone was really wicked. “Let’s change the subject. Don’t you think Miss Ellett—Ursula—is lovely?”

“She is indeed!” from all of the girls. “Where on earth did you make the find?”

Then the story of Ursula and her misfortunes had to be recounted.

“Well, I call her pretty spunky,” said Lucile.

“And aren’t the little boys precious?” put in Mary Louise. “Did Philip go with Ben?”

“No!” answered Josie, “Ben went alone; he thought it was too cold for Philip. He must have gone with Ursula.”

Ursula returned from her shopping expedition. An unwonted pallor had spread over her face and her mouth was drooping at the corners as it had when she first came to the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.

“Here is the black silk,” she said. Her voice had a strange tonelessness. Josie looked up quickly at her friend. The other girls seemed not to notice the change in the girl.

“What is it, Ursula?” Josie asked following her to the rear of the shop.

“What is what?”

“Now, of course, Ursula, if something has happened that you don’t want to mention to me, it is your own business; but I want you to understand that if it is anything I can assist you in I am ready.” Ursula looked into Josie’s honest face and hesitated a moment.

“Somehow everything is so wonderful and peaceful and happy up here with the Higgledy Piggledies that I can’t bear to bring any troubles among you. I haven’t a real trouble but just a nameless dread.”

“Out with it then! If you name it perhaps we can dispel it. The girls can’t hear us talking back here—and besides they are chattering so they couldn’t make out our conversation if we shouted.”

Ursula, however, did not shout but only gasped:

“Miss Fitchet is in Dorfield!”

“You mean the woman—the nurse—your stepfather wanted to have live in your home as housekeeper?”

“Yes! Oh Josie, she is a terrible person and as unscrupulous as the worst character in fiction! I feel she is in Dorfield for some evil purpose. I can’t imagine just why, but her being here depresses me so I can hardly bear life.”

“You mean she may work some ill on you or your brothers? But what could she do?” “I can’t tell. Mr. Cheatham already has all the money we should have and—oh, Josie, I just can’t tell what it is but—but—” and here the poor girl burst into tears.

Josie drew her into her own bedroom, which was a small cubby hole tucked away in the rear of the shop.

“Now, now, you poor, dear thing!” Josie could be remarkably tender, considering she was such a determined and relentless little detective. Her voice now had a motherly ring. “You mustn’t feel so despondent over a thing like this. I don’t know what you dread—”

“I don’t know myself.”

“Well, whatever it is I can promise you that I am here to see you through. Tell me what was this Fitchet person doing?”

“I think she was following me, because I saw her several times as I went in and out of shops. She was heavily veiled, but her face isn’t what gives her away. I’d know her figure anywhere, under any disguise. She is quite stout, with abnormally small feet, and always carries her head a little on one side and she has a peculiar way of walking, never keeping on a straight line but unconsciously zigzagging.” “Why, bless my soul! You’d make a good detective,” laughed Josie. “I can actually see the person from your description. Now I’ll go out and take Captain Charlie Lonsdale into my confidence and have him keep an eye on the person. He is chief of police, you know, and my very good friend. How old is Fitchet?”

“About thirty-five, I should say. She is a trained nurse and Mr. Cheatham had her nurse my poor little mother in her last illness. Thank goodness the boys did not have to know her. I sent them to friends in Peewee Valley during Mother’s illness.

“Oh, she is horrible, and such a liar and so unkind! I couldn’t begin to tell you of all the despicable things she is capable of doing and saying.”

“Well, never mind thinking about such things, my dear. You wash your face now and calm yourself. It is such a cold day I am sure there will be nothing doing in the tea room this afternoon. Why don’t you get the boys and go home and have a nice little cozy time away from the old Higgledy Piggledy?”

“And leave you girls with all those dolls to finish? Indeed, my dear Josie, I’m not made of that kind of stuff. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“I might have known it,” smiled Josie. “You are not of the deserter type. After all you would be better off here with us. I believe I’ll keep you all night. There is always plenty of room in the Higgledy Piggledy for visitors.”