" "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. . "Good bye!" cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses, "to-morrow, at the same time. When she spoke, her lips twitched. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. CHAPTER IV. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time.
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