“I didn’t write you any note,” said Betty, in well-feigned surprise. “I just came in now, hoping I’d find you in, because I wanted to ask you—” “For employment, because I used to know your Uncle Roger!” Mr. Irving almost shouted. “Yes,” said Betty, seemingly pleased, “but how did you know about Uncle Roger?” “I tell you I have your note.” “And I tell you I wrote no note. Let me see it, please.” Betty scanned the letter, and then said, very gravely: “Mr. Irving, I didn’t write that. Some impostor must have represented me.” “Two of them, in fact,” said Mr. Irving; “here they are.” Betty looked at Dorothy and Jeanette, seeming to notice them for the first time. “Oh, I understand,” she said angrily; “these two young women sat behind me in the street-car, and they must have overheard my conversation with a friend to whom I confided my plan of coming to you. Did they claim to be Miss Arundel? Which of them did?” “Both!” said Mr. Irving, who had grown deeply interested in the queer affair. “They must have deceived each other as well as yourself.” Dorothy and Jeanette were the personification of discovered culprits. Dorothy’s face was buried in her handkerchief, and she shook convulsively, apparently with sobs, but really with suppressed laughter. Jeanette looked crestfallen, but still haughty and independent. Her manner seemed to say that she had been discovered, but she was ready to face the consequences. “I own up,” she said, as Mr. Irving seemed to want an explanation. “This other young lady and myself overheard Miss Arundel, and we both tried to get the position ahead of her. I’m sorry we failed.” Jeanette’s high and mighty air was almost too much for Betty, but, as a spasm of laughter seized her, she managed to turn it into a fit of coughing. “I have a fearful cold,” she said, still whispering hoarsely, “but it will be better soon. Did you say you had a position for me? I need money very much and I know you’ll help me, won’t you?” “Bless my soul! I don’t know!” exclaimed poor Mr. Irving, who was totally bewildered now by the trio of poverty-stricken girls. “I don’t give out positions. My assistants do that. What do you want, anyhow?” A short pause followed this sentence, and then, throwing off her veil with one hand, and pulling off her glasses with the other, Betty cried: “I want a hat, Grandpa! I want a hat!” “Bless my soul!” gasped Mr. Irving, dropping back into his chair. “_Betty!_ bless my soul!” and then, as the other girls took off their veils and broke into bursts of laughter, Betty snatched up the desk calendar, which stood at April 1, and held it before her grandfather’s dazed eyes. Rapidly, then, it dawned upon him. The laughing girls, the date of April 1, and Betty’s demand for a hat, were the missing links to a full understanding of it all. “A perfect success, Betty!” cried Jack, coming up to the jolly group when he heard the laughter. “Was it!” cried Betty; “_was_ it, Grandpa?”