d her to her feet, and in a firm,
decided voice, quite as a hospital nurse would speak to a restless
patient, she said:

"You'd better not sit up any longer, Mother dear. Come, I'll help put
you to bed."

There was no resistance. Whatever suddenly aroused memory had stirred
the outburst, the paroxysm was over now.

"Well, maybe I am tired, child," was all she said, and the two left the
room.

"Poor, dear old Mother! Poor, tired old Mother!" the girl remarked to
herself when she had resumed her place by the dying fire. "Wonder if
I'll get that way when I'm as old as she is!"

Then the hopelessness of the struggle she was making rose before her.
How much longer would this go on? Up at six o'clock; a cup of coffee and
a piece of bread; then the monotonous sorting of letters and papers--the
ceaseless answering of stupid questions; then half an hour for dinner;
then the routine again till train time, and home to the mother and the
two chairs by the fire, only to begin the dreary tread-mil! again the
next morning. And with this the daily growing older--older; her face
thinner and more pinched, the shoulders sharp; her hair gray, head bent,
just as her poor mother's was, and, with all that, hardly money enough
to buy herself a pair of shoes--never enough to give her dear mother the
slightest luxury.

Discouraged! Hadn't she reason to be?

The next morning Hiram walked into the post-office and called to Abbie,
through the square window, to open the door. Once inside he loosened his
fur driving-coat, took out a long, black wallet, picked out a thin slip
of paper and laid it on Abbie's desk.

"I have been thinking over what I told you yesterday. There's a check
drawn to your order for two hundred dollars. All you got to do is to put
your name on the back of it and it's money. It's good--never knew one
that warn't."

The girl started back.

"I didn't ask you for it. I don't--"

"I know you didn't, and when you did it would be too late maybe--got to
catch things sometimes when they're flying past. I don't know whether
it's those town lots they're booming over to Haddam's Corners, and I
don't care, but if that ain't enough there's more where that came from.
Good-day!" and he slammed the glass door behind him. Abbie picked up
the thin slip of paper and studied every line on its face, from the red
number in the upper corner to "Hiram Taylor" in a bold, round hand. Then
her eyes lighted on "Abijah Todd or order."

Yes,