am troubled. I must go." No,
she did not want to discuss it. She must go home. "May I not go, Friend
Schmidt? If this is a joke, uncle, it is not to my taste. I must go."

"Certainly. The sleigh is at the door."

Langstroth was angry. He had had no thanks, not a word. There was some
embarrassment, but the women must need felicitate the unwilling winner.
She made short answers.

"The puss has her claws out," murmured Mrs. Byrd, as she heard in reply
to her congratulations: "I think it is a misfortune--a--a--what will my
mother say? I must go." She was a child again. Mrs. Penn, understanding
the girl, went out with her, saying kind things, and helping her to put
on her over-wrap.

"Damn the fool!" said her uncle, who had followed her into the hall, and
to whom she would not speak.

The gentlemen were silent, not knowing how to sympathize with a
misfortune so peculiar. Schmidt, tranquil and undisturbed, made the
usual formal adieus and followed her out of the room. He tucked in the
furs with kindly care, and through the early evening dusk they drove
away across the snow, the girl silent, the man respectful of her mood.

X

It was after dark when Schmidt left Margaret at her home. As he was
about to drive away to the stable, he said, "Those are wild girls, but,
my dear child, you were so very pretty, I for one almost forgave them."

"Oh, was I?" she cried, shyly pleased and a little comforted. "But the
lottery prize; I shall hear about that, and so will my mother, too. I
never gave it a thought when uncle spoke of it long ago."

"It is a small matter, Pearl. We will talk about it later. Now go in and
quit thinking of it. It is shrewd weather, and nipping."

Margaret knew very well that she had good cause to be uneasy. Friends
had been of late much exercised over the evil of lotteries, and half of
Langstroth's satisfaction in this form of gambling was due to his love
of opposition and his desire to annoy the society of which he still
called himself a member. Although, to his anger, he had long ago been
disowned, he still went to meeting once or twice a year. He had had no
such sacrificial conscience in the war as made Clement Biddle and
Wetherill "apostates," as Friends called them. He was by birthright a
member of the society, and stood for King George, and would pay no war
tax. But when the vendue-master took his old plate and chairs, he went
privately and bought them back; and so, having thus paid for t