Chief Lonsdale’s talk to Slater had a very salutary effect in that in watching the Hathaway house he used eyes and ears as well as his heels and did not confine himself to walking around and around the block but made occasional trips into the yard examining doors and windows and, every now and then, standing in the shadow of the building and listening attentively. Of course, nothing happened to disturb the quiet of his watch. Night after night the place was under surveillance and morning after morning it was reported that nothing of importance had happened. The light in the alley was broken very often and that caused some anxiety but it seemed difficult to place the blame.

Once, Aunt Hannah Conant saw an Italian-looking youth taking aim at the light with a gumbo shooter but she knocked on her kitchen window and scared him away. Irene met this boy several times on her way to the Higgledy Piggledy Shop. She looked at him a little curiously the second time, for in some way he was familiar to her, something about the set of his head or the turn of his pale emaciated cheek. He met her eye boldly and a little saucily, making an almost imperceptible moue which made Irene blush and drop her eyes.

“I can’t imagine where I have seen him before. Perhaps he is like some picture—may even have posed for some artist. So many of the Italians are models,” she said to herself.

After that, the boy avoided her, never meeting her face to face but, several times in the dusk as she was on her way home, she saw his shabby, if jaunty, back disappearing around the corner or sliding up the alley. She didn’t mention this to anybody, it seeming of no especial importance. When Aunt Hannah spoke of the boy with the gumbo shooter, she was inclined to think it was the same one but, when one mentioned anything to Aunt Hannah, she made so much of it that Irene had fallen into the habit of keeping minor matters to herself, and so she made no attempt to identify the saucy boy.

A tenant was not found for the Hathaway house in spite of its being very desirable from many standpoints. It was large, comfortable, in a good if not stylish neighborhood convenient to the business section. There were many boarding house keepers who were anxious to get it, but Mr. Conant was opposed to Mary Louise’s renting it to any of them.

“The wear and tear would eat up the profits,” he would declare. “Give it away or burn it up but don’t rent it for a boarding house.”

And so the great house with its luxurious furnishings remained empty, sad and gloomy in its isolation and desertion while its owner lived in the Higgledy Piggledy Shop, a good part of the day busily plying her clever needle fashioning hats and bonnets for the ladies of Dorfield and, after five o’clock, donning her little white apron and serving tea and cinnamon toast, waffles and hot chocolate to the hungry treating trysters.

Months went by. Spring was in the air. Electric fans must be installed at the Higgledy Piggledy to keep the balcony cool, the menu changed somewhat to suit the weather. Business was flourishing.

“If we could rent the big house we could afford to put an awning on that old back porch that is nothing more than a dirt catcher now,” sighed Mary Louise, whose ideas for improvement in the business made Josie clap her hands with delight.

Josie was rather glad the big house had not been rented. The loss of the Colonel’s money was ever on her mind and she spent much time studying the case and wondering if she could have overlooked any spot in or about the house where gold might have been concealed. Of one thing she was sure and that was he could not have buried it in the yard. Manual labor was never Colonel Hathaway’s strong point and Josie doubted that he could have handled a pick and shovel any better than a new born baby. She hoped she could give the place another thorough going over before a tenant took possession.

Uncle Peter Conant scorned the imputation that his old friend had concealed actual cash anywhere. He was inclined to think he had bought heavily in some gold mines he talked about and then had mislaid all papers connected with the deal. It was rather strange that no clue to the gold mines could be found. The Colonel seemed to have been the only purchaser in stock of such mines. At least, Mr. Conant, after diligent inquiry, could find out nothing about anyone else being involved. The good old man was sorely puzzled.

“Jim Hathaway always was close-mouthed about his affairs but I was certainly an unneighborly fool not to have questioned him some about his business when I felt all the time he was not quite himself. I was afraid of intruding. Thinking about myself and not about dear little Mary Louise!” he would reproach himself.

Not many hours after Mary Louise had spoken of the desirability of putting an awning over the old back porch and enlarging their possibilities for tea service, the telephone rang with a message from a real estate agent saying a tenant had been found for the Hathaway house, a gentleman and his son. The gentleman was blind and wanted a quiet retreat for a few months. He was not willing to take a long lease on the house, as he expected to go abroad a little later on. Mr. Conant advised Mary Louise to accept the proposition. Certainly a blind gentleman and his young son could not do much damage to a furnished house and it was better to get some one in for even one month than let the property lie idle, eating its head off with taxes and insurance.

Mary Louise accepted the tenant joyfully.

“Now we can have an awning and some pretty wicker furniture for the porch!” she exclaimed. “The agent says he has insisted upon their paying in advance.”

“When will the new tenants go in?” asked Josie.

“Next week, I believe.”

“Have they seen the place?”

“No, they say they are willing to take it ‘as is’ and are sure it will suit them. The agent was quite jubilant over such pleasant people wanting it. They have a Chinaman who cooks for them. It seems they are western people who are in Dorfield because of its climate. They know nobody at all and are not anxious for acquaintances because of the gentleman’s affliction. He has not been blind long and is very sensitive about it until he can learn to handle himself with less awkwardness.”

“Poor fellow!” spoke up Irene. “Aunt Hannah and I will try and be neighborly.”

“I know you will, dear, and then perhaps they won’t want to go abroad but will just keep the house for a long time. I am sure I’d rather have you for a neighbor than go abroad,” said Mary Louise affectionately.

Mary Louise had said all the time she wanted to rent the big house but now that the thing was accomplished her heart misgave her. It seemed so final to have strangers in her old home. All day the thought was buzzing in her head, “My youth is dead and gone! I have no home! I have no kin! I am alone.”