She knew that a large majority of the world’s citizens awaken by slow degrees, with resistance at a low ebb, and whenever she found it necessary to determine a culprit among her pupils at Jefferson School she made the accusation bright and early the next morning as the boys and girls were filing into their seats. Grade Three at Jefferson School was now being administrated—undoubtedly very badly—by a substitute, but in her avocation of sleuthing Miss Withers applied the same technique. Thus it was that she rang the bell at the servant’s entrance of the Stait house a few minutes after eight o’clock the next morning. A clatter of pans died away inside, but otherwise there was no answer. Miss Withers rang again, and suddenly the door was flung open and a large and shining butcher knife was presented before her maidenly breast. “Hands up!” demanded a highly nervous voice. It was Mrs. Hoff, but her vast bulk was trembling like Jello in a high wind. Miss Withers put up, not her hands, but her eyebrows.
