and the sharp air brought colour to her cheeks, and a
sort of desperate philosophy to her thoughts. Waiting for the
prescription for Margar's croup, with the baby in her lap, Martie saw
herself in a long mirror. The blooming young mother, the rosy, lovely
children, could not but make a heartening picture. Margar's little
gaitered legs, her bright face under the shabby, fur-rimmed cap;
Teddy's sturdy straight little shoulders and his dark blue, intelligent
eyes; these were Martie's riches. Were not comfort and surety well lost
for them at twenty-seven? At thirty-seven, at forty-seven, there would
be a different reckoning.

No woman's life was affected, surely, by a trifle like the tourist fare
to California, she told herself sensibly. If the money was not to come
from John, it must be forthcoming in some other way, if not this month,
then next month, or the next still. Perhaps she would still go to John,
and tell him the whole story.

Pondering, planning, she went back to the house, her spirits sinking as
the warm air smote her, the odour of close rooms, and of the soaking
little garments in the kitchen tub. Wallace had come in, had flung
himself across his bed, and was asleep.

Martie merely glanced at him before she set about the daily routine of
undressing the baby, setting the table, getting a simple supper for
Teddy and herself. No matter! It was only a question of a little time,
now. In ten days, in two weeks, she would be on the train; the new
fortune hazarded. The snoring sleeper little dreamed that some of her
things were packed, some of the children's things packed, that Margar's
best coat had been sent to the laundry, with the Western trip in view;
that a furniture man had been interviewed as to the disposal of the
chairs and tables.

At six o'clock Margar, with her bottle, was tucked away in the front
room, and Martie and Teddy sat down to their meal. Roused perhaps by
the clatter of dishes, Wallace came from the bedroom to the kitchen
door, and stood looking in.

"Wallace," Martie said without preamble, "why did you never tell me
that you borrowed money from Mr. Dryden?"

He stared at her stupidly, still sleepy, and taken unawares.

"He told you, huh?" he said heavily, after a pause.

"I found his note!" Martie said, beginning to breathe quickly.

Without glancing at Wallace, she put a buttered slice of bread before
Teddy.

"I didn't want to distress you with it, Mart," Wallace said weakly.

"D