“Oh! Say, Betty, can you find me a cloth or something to go over this desk with? It’s covered with dust.” “I’ll bring one right away,” replied the unseen owner of the voice. The footsteps retreated and Barry returned to a satisfied contemplation of his new purchase. He liked the old-fashioned wooden knobs on drawers and door. They looked sort of interesting, sort of quaint, he decided. He was still absorbed when he was aroused by Betty’s voice at the doorway. “You’d better let me dust it,” she suggested. Barry turned. Close by stood a girl of about his own age, a slim, rather pretty girl with dark hair and gray eyes and a smooth tanned skin, a self-possessed young lady who smiled at him in a friendly way as he stared back, surprised. “But――” stammered Barry――“but, look here, you’re not Betty!” “Why, yes, I am!” “Well, but――I mean to say――you’re not the maid!” “The maid?” She seemed to find that most amusing and laughed outright, and Barry in spite of his confusion noted without distaste that a dimple appeared in each cheek. “Yes, I thought――Mrs. Lyle said――” Barry stopped, conscious of reddening cheeks. “We haven’t any maid,” was the answer. “I’m Betty Lyle. My! it is dusty, isn’t it?” CHAPTER IV “PUP NIGHT” Barry, protesting, would have taken the dust-cloth from Betty, but the latter shook her head and went vigorously and proficiently at the task. “We’ve got some furniture polish somewhere,” she said, “and to-morrow I’ll put some on. It’s a real nice desk. Did you have it sent from your home?” “Oh, no; I bought it in the village, from an old chap with a yellow beard. He has what he calls an antique shop.” “Mr. Hannabury,” said Betty, nodding. “Mother has bought some things from him.” Barry unconsciously glanced at the bureau and Betty, observing, smiled and shook her head. “No, that didn’t come from the antique store. That was left here three or four years ago by a boy who had the back room. It isn’t very good, I know,” she added apologetically. And then, frankly: “Lots of our things aren’t, Mr. Locke.” “It’s plenty good enough,” he declared stoutly. “And my name’s Barry.” She nodded. “And you know mine already. If there’s anything you want, you must let me know. Of course,” she laughed, “we may not have it, but, then again, we may. I’m sorry you had to buy a table. You shouldn’t have let Toby do that.” “Well, he certainly needed it,” said Barry, with a grin. “What does he do with all those things in there, anyway?” “Just has them. Toby’s a collector. Collectors are like that, you know. They just――just _collect_!” “But he collects such messy things,” Barry protested. “Insects and――and frogs――” “Oh, yes, and turtles and even snakes. But he seems to have a lovely time doing it, and so we try not to mind. And he’s a nice boy, too.” Betty smiled again, nodded and vanished from the doorway.