was awake and not dreaming, Nancy's and Liz's minds, in true feminine
fashion, leaped ahead to the question of "clothes." Upon their
perturbed planning came Mrs. Cyrus Eaton, walking into the Hopworth
kitchen with the air of one familiar with its threshold.

Too many strange things had happened for Nancy to be amazed at this.
And when she saw Mrs. Eaton pat Eric Hopworth's arm as she sat down
beside him, Nancy knew that in the woman's heart, all silly prejudices
had been swept away by a deep affection for the man who had saved her
boy's life.

Mrs. Eaton had to hear all about the master's letter and Nonie's
wonderful chance to go to the school at Tarrytown.

"Clothes--land sakes, Liz Hopworth, you've got enough to do without
fussing over clothes. Let me get the child ready. I always did want
to sew for a girl. Besides, it isn't much for me to do,
considering----" she could not finish, but she laid her hand, again, on
Eric Hopworth's arm.

Nancy realized, more than Liz, how much Mrs. Eaton wanted to have this
opportunity to do something for Nonie, so she answered quickly, before
anyone could make a protest:

"That will be splendid if you will help out that way, Mrs. Eaton," and
she made her tone very final, as though they must all consider the
matter settled.

Nancy left Mrs. Eaton and Liz fussing over the wearing qualities of
various fabrics hitherto absolutely unknown to Nonie and walked slowly
homeward. It was a sunny, still afternoon, conducive to meditation.
And Nancy, in a pensive mood, had much to meditate over.

A moment's whim had brought her to Happy House and how much had
happened because of her coming. How curiously intermixed everything
had been; her acquaintance with Judson's hired man had brought her in
touch with the great Theodore Hoffman and then he, through her, had
found Nonie.

Life was so funny--Nancy suddenly remembered a game she had played when
she was very, very small. She had had a box of queer shaped and many
colored Japanese blocks, that, if placed together in just the right
way, made a beautiful castle upon the highest peak of which she could
place a shining red ball. But it had been very difficult to build;
Nancy had, often, in impatience, thrown the blocks down, but her father
had always come, then, to her help and had laughingly coaxed her to try
again.

Life was like that--if one could successfully fit all the queer edges
together and build up, piece by piece, one cou