"I don't think it; I know it."

"Then all I can say is that it must have been a very poor apology for a washing, for, unless I am greatly mistaken, those marks were made by fingers that had been holding gingerbread."

At this point Mr. Winston caught sight of his daughter.

'Phebe, have you touched this book to-day?" "Only to close it and lay it on the table. when I came home an hour ago."

"Where was it?"

"On the sofa," Phebe spoke reluctantly. Mr. Winston turned to his son.

'I thought we agreed that these books when not in use must be placed either upon the shelf or the table."

'I left it on the table when I went out "; and Percy's lips went together with a snap, as if he had decided to say nothing more.

"Well, there is certainly something very strange about the affair," said Mr. Winston. "No one but you and Phebe has been in the front of the house this afternoon, and yet you insist that you laid the book on the table, and she found it on the sofa."

"Father, you don't mean that you doubt my word!" There was an ominous quiver in Percy's voice.

"Why, no, Percy. I should hardly put it so strongly as that. But you know it is quite possible for a person to have so strong an intention of doing a thing that he may be persuaded that it has been done."

As he spoke Mr. Winston laid the book down and left the room. For one instant Percy stood perfectly still, then followed his father's example, and Phebe was left alone.

Seizing the copy of "Quentin Durward," she turned the leaves quickly till she came to an illustration of the encounter between Quentin and the Duke of Orléans. Sure enough, there on the margin were two brownish-yellow spots, plainly finger-marks. But Phebe's sharp eyes spied something else a tiny crumb wedged between the leaves, close up to the binding.

To set it free with the aid of a pin was the work of one instant, to place it between her lips that of another, and then a look of bewildered surprise spread over her face.

That evening, before going to bed, she wrote the following notes for future use:

Who touched "Quentin Durward" Wed. afternoon between 4 and 4:30? Mother and Flora were away after 12. Percy came in at 3, went out, leaving Q. D. on the table. I came home at 4:30 and found it on the sofa. Crumb of chocolate between the leaves. Percy says he had no chocolate this P. M. Jane says no one came to the front door between 2 and 6 P.M.

A day or two passed. Percy went about with the soberest face, restricting his conversation to monosyllables, and "Quentin Durward" remained untouched upon the shelf.

Then came a rainy morning, and a new link was added to Phebe's chain of evidence.

"I wonder," said Mrs. Winston, about to start for market, "why Cousin Kate does not return my umbrella. She borrowed it last Sunday."

Where did you find it?"

"In the umbrella-stand; and I put it away in your closet. I'll see if it is there now." And Phebe ran upstairs, returning in a moment with the umbrella.

"Thank you, dear. Cousin Kate must have returned it that afternoon, for I remember that it was not in the stand when Flora and I went out. Probably Jane forgot to mention it." And Mrs. Winston departed, leaving behind her a greatly excited little daughter.

That afternoon, much to her mother's surprise, Phebe, who was usually not too ready to perform social duties, announced her intention of calling upon her cousin Kate.

Mrs. Smith was very glad to see her little cousin, but after the usual questions had been answered concerning the health of the visitor's family, and how she liked her teachers, and what she was studying, Phebe felt that the situa tion was becoming serious. How was the conversation to be brought to bear upon umbrellas?

To gain a few minutes' time she inquired for Ted, her cousin's four-year-old son. Mrs. Smith laughed.

"He just told me that he thought he had better walk around the block for exercise.