According to what he had learned, the Duchess had left Virginia to save money and appearances, dragging along like a fetter a debt of honor contracted by a worthless scamp of a brother. Of course it was not in any sense a legal debt, but she, with her old-world ideas, had considered it to be a blot upon the family 'scutcheon, and had been paying interest, and bit by bit the principal, from her rigidly conserved little income. Presently an investment which had been indicated through the Spirit of Guidance Group's interpretation of one of madam's dreams reduced its dividends and madam cut off a few of her filial memberships. Another recommended by the dream magazine went wholly wrong. More memberships were reluctantly resigned. Old Sally, as head of the commissary, with full powers and responsibilities, was compelled to operate on a radically reduced apportionment. Two items took precedence of all else--the rent and the debt. “You meantertellme,” chirped Mr. Boggs, “that Madam Tallafferr hasn't had enough to eat?” “I do not,” said the Little Red Doctor emphatically. “She has. Old Sally hasn't. But her mistress doesn't know that.” Mr. Boggs raised pious eyes to the ceiling. “Wotche going to do about it?” he inquired. He was, I take it, reminding Providence of its responsibility in the matter. The Little Red Doctor wasn't for leaving it to Providence. “We've got to find a way to help.” “Charity? To madam?” twittered Mr. Boggs. “I'd hate to try it on.” The Little Red Doctor scratched his large red head in perplexity. Then he called Old Sally in. “Now, Sally,” said he, “we're all friends of yours here.” “Yessuh,” said Old Sally gratefully. “And friends of your mistress's.” Old Sally bristled. “My young mist'ess ain' needin' no _frien's_ 'roun' yeah. She hol's her haid _high!_” “Well, admirers, then,” the Little Red Doctor tactfully amended. “The point is, we want to help. Now, haven't you got some things there you could sell without missing them? Some of that old furniture must be valuable.” “Sell the Tallaffeh homestead fuhni-ture!” cried Old Sally, scandalized. “Well, perhaps madam has more of that old lace than she needs.” “The Pinckney lace!” said Old Sally in a tone of flat finality, which settled that point. “Possibly, then, the diamonds,” I suggested diffidently. At this Old Sally's lips, which had been pressed firmly inward, inverted themselves. She began to blubber. The blubbering became a sobbing. The sobs waxed to subdued howls. From the midst of the howls one coherent and astounding statement emerged:-- “I stole'em.” “Stole the Pemberton diamonds!” cried Mr. Boggs in consternation. His structure of social splendor was fast disintegrating. “What did you do with em?” “Hocked,” wept that sorry and shrunken old negress. “Gossome cheap trash in deir place to fool my young mist'ess. Her sight ain' good no mo'.” “And the money went for food,” I suggested. “Some. Rest I put on a dream figgah.”