“Yes, the hat was almost new; it was a present to Mrs. Beatoun from her cousin. It was a beauty. Mrs. Beatoun was going out to lunch, and she sent the Peters boy back to the parsonage to get some bundles for the rummage sale, and that stupid new girl of hers gave him the box with the hat in it with the other things from her room. She had left it on the bed. So off it went to the sale. The only one who remembers anything about it is Gladys Tucker, and she doesn’t remember much, she had such a headache. She says a lady—she thinks it was a lady—came in and bought one for a quarter; she heard her talking to Nannie Leduc. Gladys didn’t even see it; the place was full of Italians. Of course the woman took advantage.” “Those girls are so scatter-brained! But no lady would have bought a hat there.” “That’s just what I say. If she did, she must have known it was a mistake. That hat cost thirty dollars, and it had been worn twice. And to pay only a quarter for it! It was as bad as _stealing_. You know how reserved Mrs. Beatoun is, but she’s decided, very. Well, she did say that if she saw any woman with it on she thought she would really walk up to her and speak about it. It’s the effrontery of the thing that’s so maddening.” “Mrs. Beatoun never seemed to care much for clothes,” said one lady. “I suppose she’s human, like the rest of us,” said the first, grimly. “She’s worn that black straw of hers five summers.” “I do believe she’d rather go without than not have just the right thing,” said yet another. “Her family always thought a great deal of themselves, I’ve been told.” “Well, they have a right to,” said the first speaker again. “Mrs. Beatoun’s a good woman, but I didn’t blame her for being angry to-day. When she’s worked as hard as she has for the church, to be cheated in this way! And Gladys Tucker says she’s sure it was a lady. Well, I told Mrs. Beatoun one thing. I said, ‘Be sure we’ll all look out for her!’” Through all the week in which the disappearance of Mrs. Beatoun’s Paris hat was canvassed Mrs. Briarley remained happily unconscious. The excitement had reached fever-heat on Easter Sunday, that Sunday on which Mrs. Briarley’s precious five-dollar bill was solemnly laid in the contribution plate. She, all her little lone self, was actually paying off part of the church debt! It seemed to her as she left the church that several women looked at her rather oddly—or was it at her hat? She had changed the trimming a little in the front. Perhaps they were admiring it. She had expected to take little Emily to the children’s service in the afternoon, and when the child fell asleep instead, she went by herself. The service was pretty; it was full of flowers and music and children’s voices. When it was ended she stood in the vestibule, lingering, with her eyes fixed on a group of women talking to Mrs. Beatoun.