The Argosy — page 294: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

276 A Great Mystery. “ There’s that woman down stairs again !—that Dess !” she exclaimed with acrimony. ‘“ Making herself at home with the servants !” “T’m glad to hear it,” smiled Miss Deveen. “She'll get some dinner, poor thing.” | Cattledon sniffed. ‘It’s not a month since she was here before.” ‘“‘ And I’m sure if she came every week she’d be welcome to a bit and a sup,” spoke Miss Deveen. ‘ Ahnow, young ladies,” she went on in a joking tone, “if you wanted your fortunes told Mrs. Dess is the one to do it.” ‘“‘ Does she tell truth?” asked Helen eagerly. ‘Oh very true of course,” laughed Miss Deveen. ‘She’ll promise you a rich husband apiece. Dame Dess is agood woman and has had many misfortunes. I have known her through all of them.” ‘¢ And helped her too,” resentfully put in Cattledon. ‘¢ But does she vea//y tell fortunes ?” inquired Helen. “She thinks she does,” laughed Miss Deveen. She told mine once —many a year ago.” “And did it come true ?” ‘Well, as far as I remember, she candidly confessed that there was not much to tell—that my life would be prosperous but un- eventful.” “T don’t think, begging your pardon, Miss Deveen, that it is quite a proper subject for young people,” struck in Cattledon, drawing up her thin red neck. ‘‘ Dear me, no,” replied Miss Deveen, still laughing a little. And the subject dropped. The rain had come on, a regular down pour. We went into the breakfast-room; theugh why it was called that, I don’t know, since breakfast was never taken there. It was a fair sized, square room, built at the back, and gained by a few stairs down from the hall. Somehow people prefer plain rooms to grand ones for every day use: perhaps that was why we all liked this room, for it was plain enough. An old carpet on the floor, chairs covered with tumbled chintz, and always a good blazing fire in the grate. Miss Deveen would go in there to write her business letters—when she had any to write ; or to cut out sewing with Cattledon for the housemaids. An old-fashioned secretary stood against the wall, in which receipts and other papers were kept. The French window looked to the garden. “Pour, pour, pour! It’s going to be wet for the rest of the day,” said Tod gloomily. ° Cattledon came in, equipped for church in a long brown cloak, a pair of clogs in her hand. Did none of us intend to go, she asked. Nobody answered. The weather outside was not tempting. “You must come, Janet Carey,” she said very tartly, angry with us all, I expect. ‘Go and put on your things.” ECORNICLOOO SS (CO) mn —_)