y it back when I
got to teaching. But I can't bear to, after the way he treated Mother.
She wrote to him when Father died asking him to help settle up Father's
affairs. He sent her $500 and said that was all he could do for
her--that he couldn't spare the time to come here--she could hire a
lawyer. Mother never wrote to him again and we never heard from him
afterwards. I've been told he still lives in Cincinnati and is very
rich. Oh, dear, if I only could get that bank stock money--I wish Mr.
Gasset would hurry up and do something."

Alice poured out her troubles to the child for want of an older listener
and Chicken Little sympathized acutely.

She wanted to talk it over with her father but Dr. Morton had been
called away some distance into the country to see a patient and had not
returned. She relieved her mind to Katy and Gertie on the way to school
that morning and they were satisfyingly indignant over Alice's troubles,
but had no suggestions to offer.

"Her uncle's an old skinflint--that's what he is. He's awful rich and
owns a big stove factory all by himself. Father orders stoves from
there. He and Mamma say it's a shame he doesn't do something for Alice
when she's his only brother's child."

The matter troubled Jane all day and she was still thinking about it
when she started home from school. She was half way home before she
remembered about going to the postoffice.

There was a letter from Frank and she was just starting homeward again
with it clasped tight in her hand, when someone hailed her.

"Hello, Chicken Little Jane, are you postman today?"

It was Dick Harding.

"Going straight home? I'm going your way then. Here, let me carry your
books."

They passed a greenhouse en route and Dick asked Jane if she thought her
mother would mind her going in with him a moment.

Chicken Little adored going through the greenhouse. She often stopped
outside on her way to school to look at the flowers, but children were
not encouraged inside. She wondered what Mr. Harding was going to do
with the heliotrope and verbena he was selecting so lavishly. He was
having the flowers made into two bouquets, one big and one little. Her
curiosity was soon satisfied.

"Will you do something for me, Chicken Little?" he asked, after the
stems had been securely wrapped in tinfoil and the bouquets adorned with
their circlets of lace paper. "Will you give this to Miss Fletcher with
Dick Harding's compliments?" handing her the