"You're a little trump, Mary," declared her father, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes. "I only hope if—when Ally comes back—But, hark, there's the door-bell!" as a sharp peal rang through the house. "It may be one of the detectives."
"A gentleman to see you in the parlor, sir," said the maid a moment later, as she brought in a card.
Uncle John glanced at the card, and then, uttering an exclamation of surprise, passed it over to his wife, and, jumping up hastily, left the room.
"Is it the chief of the detectives?" asked Laura, animatedly.
"It isn't a detective at all; it's Dr. Phillips."
"You don't mean the Dr. Phillips,—Bernard Phillips?"
"Yes."
"How strange, and at this hour in the morning! It must be something about Thanksgiving exercises," interposed Maud.
"But we're not his parishioners. We don't go to his church!"
"Oh, dear!" cried Mary; "I'm so disappointed. I did hope it was the detective bringing Ally back."